“I’m getting that. How about at the beginning?” Daniel replied, stirring two sugar packs into his cream-heavy coffee. He tapped the spoon twice on the edge of his mug (a memory flash, Daniel always doing this after stirring his coffee) and waited for me to tell him why I’d burst into tears.
And so I did. About the slip and fall, the coma and head injury, about how when I woke up in the hospital my memory wasn’t what it used to be.
“Shit, Lucy, that’s intense. But I’m glad you’re okay. Or mostly okay,” he said. He hadn’t yet touched his sandwich, which had to be cold by now. “What exactly does ‘spotty’ mean?”
“Your lunch is getting cold,” I said, searching for a distraction. Unloading the events of the past two months was cathartic, but it also left me feeling split wide-open and close to tears again.
“Is it amnesia?” he asked, his forehead wrinkling with the question.
“Sort of,” I said. I suppose I could have left it at that. But then I decided I had come this far, and as Dr. Kay was fond of saying, I needed to “be true to the experience.” Skirting the realities of the situation wouldn’t help me. And if I was being honest, I was curious to see what his reaction would be.
“I’ve forgotten some stuff entirely, from the past few years in particular. Like the actual accident, for one.” I didn’t mention it extended far beyond the day of my fall. Or about Matt. That was too big of a parcel to unload right now.
“But I also have these, uh,falsememories.”
“False memories?”
“I have a few memories that aren’t real, but they feel superreal to me.”
“Wow,” he said, leaning forward, sandwich hanging from his hand. “All from hitting your head?” I nodded, sipped my lukewarm latte. “Like what sort of memories?”
“Well, I remember switching to vegetarianism. But apparently it never happened.”
“You? A vegetarian?” Daniel laughed.
“I know, right?” I sighed, ran my finger around the lip of my latte bowl, a small amount of the foam transferring to my finger. “Apparently brains don’t like blank spaces. So when I was in the coma and not making new memories, my brain decided to stitch some things together and voilà. Customized, fake memories.” I shook my head, realizing how strange it all sounded once I said it out loud. “I told you, it’s screwed up.”
Daniel nodded. “You’re not kidding. How have you been dealing with everything?”
I shrugged. “I’m not? I mean, I’m trying. I haven’t been cleared to go back to work yet, and I’m still screen free. It’s a postconcussion thing,” I explained. “But I am seeing a therapist—right after this actually—who’s helping me with my ‘memory confidence.’” I put air quotes around the last two words. “Here’s hoping that helps.”
“I hope so,” Daniel said.
“Me, too.”
“How’s your family doing?” he asked. “With the memory stuff?”
“It’s been tough on them obviously, but they’ve been there for me. However, I was beginning to think my mom might move into our place permanently. Force me to drink tea 24/7. You know how she is with her tea.”
“I do remember that,” Daniel said, laughing again. He had drunk many cups of tea with my mom while we were together, even though he hated the taste of it. “So, ‘our place’...you live with someone?” He watched me without reproach, innocently interested.
“I do. Matt. He’s been great, amazing actually.” I flushed, felt terrible for being here with Daniel even though it was only a coffee. Because I knew Matt wouldn’t want me here. And he would be hurt by how much I was sharing with Daniel, whom I had opened up to more in the span of thirty minutes than I had in weeks with Matt. That didn’t say good things.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Thanks,” I replied, smiling as best I could. Then I thought about Margot, the other part of this equation, and my heart sped up. I felt hot and flustered, and before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “I heard you and Margot got married.”
“We did,” Daniel said, leaning back in his chair. “Two years ago, tomorrow actually.”
“Happy almost-anniversary.” I hoped I sounded genuine. “And please say hi to her for me.”
“Thanks. I will.” Daniel looked at his plate, fiddled with his fork and cleared his throat. He chewed the edge of his lip the way he used to when he had something to say he knew I probably didn’t want to hear, and I regretted bringing up Margot. But I still had so many questions only he could answer.What happened with us, Daniel? And how in the hell did you and Margot end up together?He’d once commented he wouldn’t be surprised if she never married—far too independent to compromise for a relationship.So how are you with her, and not me?
However, asking those questions would mean admitting exactly what I remembered, and what I didn’t. Not to mention being wildly inappropriate for a quick visit with a guy I hadn’t talked to in years, and who owed me no such answers.
“Where are you living now?” he asked a moment later, thankfully changing the subject into less emotional territory.
“In Leslieville. What about you?”
