“Hot chocolate?” I asked, the smell wafting into my nose. I brought a cup closer and sniffed, the scent sharp. “Ah, grown-up hot chocolate. Nice.”
“When I was a kid, I wanted to be a hockey player.” Matt sipped at his steaming-hot cup, blowing a few times across its surface. “But I was a terrible skater. Like, worse than you can imagine. ‘Two left feet,’ my grandfather used to say.”
I laughed, sipped the hot, boozy beverage. “What’s in here?”
“Bourbon,” Matt said. “My grandmother used to make a thermos of it for my grandfather when he took me skating at the outdoor rink by their house. He was determined to teach me to skate but apparently needed something to smooth out the frustration. We spent a lot of weekends on that rink, and still I never learned to skate well.”
Looking out at what used to be the ice-skating rink, I wondered about why Matt had brought me here tonight. He seemed to know what I was thinking, pointed to the left side of the rink, and I followed his hand. “See that spot right there? Over by the bench? That’s where I wiped out on our first date. I twisted my ankle and you had to help me off the ice.” He grinned and I tried to picture it. Matt grimacing with pain, me supporting his lanky frame.
“You brought me ice skating on our first date? But why? If you can’t skate?”
“Because you said you loved ice skating but didn’t get to do it much anymore.” He shrugged. “So I thought it would be romantic. Keep in mind, it was a couple months past the costume party, and I knew Jake had asked you out and I wanted to make a big impression.” He laughed, big and genuine. “And that’s exactly what I did. But not in the way I’d hoped.”
It had been February 15 and apparently very cold, but it hadn’t snowed in close to a week, so the rink was bare aside from the thousands of blade slices marking its surface. It was busy, Matt said, and so being agile was critical. Otherwise, you could take out an entire family with one wrong move. “We started with skating and spiked hot chocolate, then I’d made a reservation at Bymark so you could try that thirty-dollar burger.” I nodded appreciatively, perking up at the restaurant’s name and famously overpriced hamburger.
“Don’t get too excited,” Matt said, nudging my shoulder. “We didn’t make it to Bymark because of my ankle, so that’s not next on our agenda.”
“Bummer. I’d like to know what a thirty-dollar hamburger tastes like.”
“It’s even more now, close to forty, I think. We’ll put it on the to-do list, okay?”
“Okay. So, what happened next?” I asked, the hot chocolate warming both my belly and my hands.
“I’d been presumptuous and booked us a hotel so we didn’t have to deal with our roommates.” He paused, waiting to see my reaction to this as by now I’d figured out what those overnight bags meant—he was taking me back to the same place where we’d spent our first date night. “Because we’d missed our reservation but were starving, after you practically carried me off the ice, we grabbed a taxi to the hotel and ordered room service instead.”
“Are you that bad of a skater?” I asked, still imagining us on the crowded skating rink, me trying not to laugh as Matt stumbled but tried to appear like he knew what he was doing.
“Terrible. Horribly unskilled. I’m pretty grateful the ice has melted so we don’t have to re-create that particular part of the night.”
I leaned over and quickly kissed him on the lips, then smiled as I pulled back. We were apart for only a moment before he put his cup down on the bench and placed his hands on either side of my face—his palms warm against the coolness of my cheeks—and kissed me deeply. Closing my eyes, I gave myself over to him and to this night, to the memory of us. When we finally broke apart, both of us a little breathless, Matt asked if I was ready for part two. I nodded and let him pull me up from the bench. He tossed our half-full cups of hot chocolate in the nearby trash can, then pretended to skate across the concrete, dancing me around in a spin. I threw my head back and laughed, the stars above twirling in a dizzying pattern as I did.
* * *
The room was beautiful, luxurious, and probably cost per night about the same as our monthly rent. “The Four Seasons?” I’d whispered as we walked through the sliding glass doors—holding tightly to each other’s hands—into the opulent lobby. “You were trying to make an impression.”
“I had to go all out,” Matt said with a grin. “I knew the skating could go either way—though I didn’t plan on an embarrassing ankle injury that would land me on crutches for a week.” I cringed at this, and Matt leaned over to kiss the frown off my lips. Perhaps it was the alcohol, or the sweetness of how much effort he had put into re-creating this night, but I wanted to do nothing but kiss him. And then some, which I took as a good sign for the rest of the evening.Maybe I will remember something. Maybe I can put Daniel back in the past where he belongs.
At the thought of Daniel my good mood faltered slightly, but Matt didn’t seem to notice—he, too, was enamored with how our evening was going so far. I forced Daniel from my mind.Tonight is about Matt. Tonight is about us.“I figured a good meal and a nice hotel room would make up for my lame rink skills.”
After we ordered room service, Matt pulled out a bottle of wine and two tumblers from his overnight bag, and something in a brown paper sack. Opening the wine, Matt gave me a wink and said, “I hope you took my ‘drink lots of water’ seriously, because this is only the beginning.” I was grateful for the wine—for the idea of getting right drunk tonight—because I had discovered how nicely alcohol softened the rough edges of my current situation.
We clinked glasses and I took a long, slow sip. It was delicious—smooth and oaky, a hint of vanilla—and with a jolt I realized I recognized the flavor. “I think I know this wine,” I said with surprise, and Matt beamed. It didn’t matter whether I remembered it because of this night (which I could tell was what Matt decided to believe) or because it had been a regular go-to for years; it mattered I’d remembered it at all. “I think I love this wine.”
“You do,” Matt said. Then he seemed to make a decision, putting down his glass and grabbing the paper bag. “I’ll be right back. Sit tight, okay?”
I poured myself another glass while Matt was in the washroom. I could hear water running and wondered what he was doing—taking a shower? Waiting, I took my glass over to the large floor-to-ceiling glass window and drank it down as I gazed upon the lights of the city in front of me. A moment later the water stopped and Matt came out of the washroom. He seemed eager, but also nervous—he shifted from one foot to the other, his shirtsleeves rolled up past his elbows.
“Will you come in here with me?” Matt asked, his voice gentle—almost pleading. He held out one hand, and I took it, following him. The air was warm and humid, and it smelled gorgeous. Like walking into a blooming flower shop. The bathtub was three-quarters full of water, and there were dozens of pink rose petals floating on its surface. I froze at the sight of the petals.
“Lucy?”
I couldn’t stop staring at the tub. At the floating rose petals. At the faucet, which was positioned in the middle of the far side of the bathtub, and would have left a perfect circle of a bruise if you happened to bend your knee up hard against it. “Hey, you okay?” Matt gently put a finger on my chin and turned my face toward him. His forehead was creased with worry, and I could also see regret there. “I thought...what if we could go back to the beginning, you know? Start over.” He took in a long breath, eyes never leaving mine. “I’m sorry. This was a bad idea. Let’s go back out and drink that wine you love, okay?”
I started crying, which made him look even more desperate to cut this part of the evening short. “Please, Luce. Let’s go. Do you want to leave? The hotel, I mean.”
Shaking my head, I tried to explain. Tried to talk through my tears, which had now turned to gulping sobs. I sat down on the closed lid of the toilet and tried to pull myself together. Matt crouched in front of me, his hands on my thighs, every now and then reaching up to wipe a tear off my cheek. One stray rose petal was stuck to his forearm, and I gently peeled it off, holding it carefully between my fingers. Finally I managed to say, “I remember.”
He looked at me, not understanding exactly what I meant. “You remember...what?”
