I gestured to the bathtub. “I remember this bath. The rose petals.” I didn’t tell him that when I had previously remembered this moment it had been Daniel in the bath with me and not Matt, because that detail was only important for me to know. What mattered now was I was finally remembering this moment as I should have from the beginning—as it really was—a memory of an intimate and romantic experience sharedwith Matt. I had not taken a bath full of rose petals with Daniel, and definitely not the night I originally believed—before our engagement party—because as Daniel had confirmed, my arm had been in a cast. Also—and I couldn’t believe I was only now realizing this—the faucet on the bathtub at Daniel’s place had been at the end of the tub, not in the middle like this one.
So, it had been Matt I rested back against in the bathtub, the warm, rose-scented water lapping at our skin as he kissed my neck and then some. My memory had righted itself—it had always been Matt. He had booked a hotel room at the Four Seasons, asking them to fill a tub with rose petals one day after Valentine’s Day, which was both a little cheesy and a lot romantic. Matt had done that for me, not Daniel. “I ended up with a bruised knee, right? From the faucet?” Now I remembered Matt gently running an ice cube over my knee and the blossoming purple mark, later, as we lay naked in bed.
“That’s right. You did.” He sounded breathless, understanding creeping into his expression. Then he buried his face in the tops of my thighs, where his hands still rested, and I wrapped my arms around him.I remembered.
We stayed like that for a moment before I wordlessly moved his arms, stood and pulled him up with me, undressing and keeping my eyes on his as I did. He followed suit and then we slipped into the warm water, the petals clinging to our naked skin, the water cresting over the side with our slow and purposeful movements.
24
“Have you seen your mother today?” Dad asked. It was shortly after noon on Friday, and I was getting ready to see Dr. Kay. We were down to once-a-week appointments—to better accommodate my upcoming back-to-work schedule. I was still floating high after my date night with Matt and I couldn’t wait to tell her about my memory breakthrough.
I threw my notebook and a pen into my purse, tucking my phone between my shoulder and cheek to not drop it. “I haven’t,” I replied, and Dad sighed. I stood up straight, held the phone tighter to my ear. “Why? Was I supposed to?” For a brief moment I wondered if I’d forgotten I had plans with my mom.
“No. I don’t think so,” Dad said. “I’m sure she’s out with a friend or at the market. I only got home an hour ago myself.”
“Okay,” I replied. “So why do you sound worried about where she is, then?”
“Oh, do I? Well, sorry about that, pumpkin. It’s fine. We have an appointment with the Realtor in five minutes and she’s not here and you know your mom. She’s never late for anything.”
That was true. And five minutes early was actually late to my mom—in fact, anything less than fifteen minutes early meant you were already behind schedule. It was one of my mother’s idiosyncrasies I’d long ago given up trying to understand or rationalize.
“Did you try her cell?” I asked, glancing at the time. I had to be out the door in two minutes.
“Yes...yes. It went to voice mail.” He sounded distracted, and I could hear him unloading the dishwasher.
I continued walking through the apartment and tossing things into my purse—a granola bar and bottle of water, a small pack of tissues in preparation for the inevitable tears that came with a Dr. Kay appointment, despite my best intentions to hold it together. “Speaking of the Realtor, where are things at with that?” I hoped they wouldn’t sell the house. I had a lot of memories there—great ones—and for whatever reason it felt like if they sold our house they were selling those, too, right out from under me.
“Just a meeting. Oh, there’s the doorbell. I’d better go. Let me know if you hear from your mom, okay? Though I’m sure she’ll be home any minute. Any minute. Maybe that’s her now.”
“I will,” I said, and was about to comment Mom probably wouldn’t be ringing the doorbell to her own house when I realized Dad had already hung up. Staring at my phone for a moment, I wondered if he was okay. He sounded so scattered, which was unlike him. My dad was the most even-keeled of all of us. But I knew they’d had a lot on their plates since my accident—because of my accident. And with my mom pushing for a possible move to her dream town house with the “gorgeous north-facing morning sun, perfect for painting,” he was likely feeling pressure to make that happen, too.
I slung my now-heavy purse over my shoulder and headed out the door, my conversation with my dad already pushed out of my mind as I focused on whether I still had time to take the streetcar to Dr. Kay’s office or needed to grab a cab.
* * *
As soon as I got out of my appointment with Dr. Kay there were three messages on my phone. One from Dad, saying he found Mom and everything was fine, though his voice was strained and I wondered again what was going on. Maybe they had decided to sell the house, after all, and were worried about telling me. There was another message from Matt, asking if I’d talked with my dad and did I want to go out for dinner tonight, and one from Alex asking me to call her immediately.
“What’s up?” I asked when Alex answered, fumbling to hold my phone and get a token for the streetcar out of my wallet without dropping everything.
“Move the ladder,” Alex said.
“What? Are you talking to me?”
“No, sorry. Hang on a second,” she said.
“Are you talking to me now?” I asked.
“Yes. But ignore me for a moment while I try to get these clueless people into their places.” Her voice was low so only I could hear. But then I had to move the phone away from my ear as she yelled at someone again about the ladder.
“Okay, sorry about that,” she said to me. “I’m doing a tableau on climbing the corporate ladder and they’re insisting on using an actual wooden ladder in the shoot. Uninspired but well-paying assholes.” She raised her voice back up above normal levels. “Fantastic. That’s the right spot. Yes. Leave it. Right there. Okay, I’ll be with you in a minute.
“Amateurs,” she mumbled, and I laughed. “Okay, I’m back. What’s up?”
“Alex, you called me and told me to call you.Immediately.Remember?”
“Right! You’d think I was the one with the fucked-up memory, huh?” She chuckled and I rolled my eyes. Alex wasn’t known for her tact. “Mom was in the hospital.”
I stopped walking, right in the middle of the sidewalk. “Watch out!” someone said from behind me, and my purse dropped from my shoulder when the fast-moving pedestrian collided with me. I mumbled an apology and stepped to the side, out of the flow of foot traffic, my purse dangling from my fingertips.
