“In my gin and soda?” I replied. “Always.” That was my go-to drink order, or at least I thought it had been. I frowned. “Isn’t that what I drink?” He gave me one last curious look, then shrugged before leaning across the bar to give our drink order—beer for him, gin and soda for me, lots of lime.
I tried to relax but was struggling to find my bearings, the environment too loud and boisterous for my fragile brain and fickle emotions. Matt handed me my drink, asked again if I was okay. “Lucy? Do you want to leave?” Part of me did, but I also wanted to enjoy my drink and dance and have fun with friends on a Saturday night. I wanted to be past-Lucy for one night and figured maybe I could find her with enough gin and sodas—or maybe that would help me forget all of new-Lucy’s problems.
“No, I want to stay.” I smiled wide as though to prove I was okay. Everything was under control.
Matt shifted uneasily in front of me, his eyes darting around the room like he was expecting something to happen at any moment. He hadn’t even taken a sip of his beer. “Look, Lucy, there’s something I should have said before...before we got here. And I’m not sure—”
But before Matt could finish his thought, someone grabbed me in a hug from behind and my drink spilled with the sudden shift of my body. “Lucy!” the hugger shouted, spinning me around before embracing me again. It was Jake, the birthday boy. He held me at arm’s length, gave a low whistle. I laughed at Jake’s theatrics until I saw Matt’s face. He did not look well at all. But there wasn’t a chance to ask him ifhewas okay, because Jake was hugging me again. This time I held my drink away from our bodies so it didn’t spill. “You look better than ever. Are you sure you didn’t make up this hospital stuff to hide an extended vacation?”
“Yeah, hospitals are the new spas,” I said. Finally Matt smiled, then tucked me protectively into his side and kissed my temple.Did I like that?Matt acting like I needed a shield? I tried to decide if it was sweet or cloying, voted for the latter and shifted slightly away from the nook of his arm to clink glasses with Jake. “Happy birthday,” I said.
“Thank you,” Jake replied, eyeing me closely. “So, how are you really?” He held the neck of his beer bottle between his thumb and forefinger, rested it on his hip casually as he waited for me to answer.
“Good! Great!” I said. Matt squeezed my elbow gently, and I smiled at him. But as much as I wanted to take care of myself, to prove I wasjust fine, I was feeling rattled because now I realized this was how I would spend the evening: not drinking and relaxing with friends, but answering their same concerned and curious questions, over and over. “I’m doing well, thanks.”
“Glad to hear it. So crazy, right?” He looked between Matt and me and I saw Matt shake his head a little. But while I caught it, Jake didn’t seem to. “I’ve had a dozen concussions playing hockey but never had anything like that happen. Crazy. I can’t imagine.”
Matt stiffened beside me and I realized why he had been so anxious leading up to tonight. Why he had given me so many outs for the evening, and why he had tried to give Jake the signal to stop talking.
Jake knew.About my memory. Glancing around the room, I felt like all eyes were on me. I spotted a handful of our colleagues in the crowd, was immediately self-conscious being on display like this.How many of them know?My irritation from earlier blossomed into full-fledged rage, and my head pounded as though the only place for my anger to go was straight out the top of me.
“Amnesia would be a trippy thing.” Jake gave a low whistle, took a sip of his beer.
“She doesn’t have amnesia, Jake,” Matt interjected. I glanced at him sharply, but he kept his eyes on Jake. “It’s just a few—”
“It’s called false-memory syndrome,” I said, keeping my tone even despite the pounding through my skull, the simmering heat in my cheeks. I wasjust fine, thank you very much. “Actually, apparently they don’t call it a syndrome anymore. So I guess it’s false-memory...”
Now I turned to Matt. “What should we call it, do you think? Maybe ‘Lucy hit her head and then made shit up’ condition?” I laughed hard—forcing it out—and so did Jake, still not noticing the bands of tension between Matt and me. Matt looked down at his feet, not laughing with us.
“Atta girl,” Jake said, clinking his bottle against my glass, which I raised in response and took a long sip. “You haven’t lost your sense of humor. Glad to see it.”
“Thanks. Me, too.” I took another long sip of my drink as Matt whispered in my ear, “Maybe you should slow down?”
“Maybe,” I said, then drained my glass.
“So, any idea when you might be back to work?” Jake continued. “We miss you. Especially this guy.” He clapped Matt on the shoulder. “He mopes around the office. Seriously, it’s freakin’ sad. Lucy, get back to us soon, okay?”
I glanced at Matt, who stayed silent.
“I will. Shouldn’t be long now,” I said.
“Oh, yeah? That’s great news.”
“Mmm-hmm,” I said, now desperate to escape. It was exhausting playing “just-fine”-Lucy—my skin crawled, my stomach rolled, my head pounded with the effort of pretending to be okay when I wasn’t. “Every day a little better.”
Jake nodded, sipped his beer. “Fantastic,” he said. A couple of guys I didn’t recognize (Did I know them? Did we work together, and I’d forgotten?) came up and pulled Jake away for shots at the other end of the bar. He offered one last “You look great, Lucy. Thanks for coming tonight,” over his shoulder as he went and Matt and I stayed in place, saying nothing.
There was a long moment of silence, then, “Lucy, I’m sorry. I tried... I didn’t mean to—”
I held up my hand, and Matt abruptly stopped talking. “I thought we’d agreed to say nothing to anyone at work.” My hands shook as I set my empty glass on top of the bar. “Why did you tell Jake? It’s no one else’s business.”
“At some point it’s going to be their business, Lucy!” He was practically yelling. In part because he was upset and frustrated—high-strung with the stress of the past few weeks—and in part to be heard over the bar’s loudness. “What did you want me to say when he asked? What?”
“How about nothing?” My voice rose to match his. “Or that I’m still dealing with the postconcussion stuff. Which is the truth, by the way.”
“You don’t know what it’s been like,” he said, his voice pleading. “I didn’t plan on saying anything about the memory thing.”
I had to get out of there because I didn’t want to hear any more excuses about how Matt had once again made a decision for me, kept something from me. I also couldn’t seem to catch my breath and needed to get outside into the fresh air, but Matt was right behind me and grabbed hold of my arm, begging me to let him explain. We were now in a quieter corner down by the washrooms, so I leaned back against the wall and crossed my arms over my chest, which heaved with the effort of trying to take in a full breath.
