“What do you mean?”
“He gave us a pop quiz.” She grinds out the words, as if she’s still trying to convince herself of what happened.
“I see.” I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. Not because I don’t feel for Sarah, but because I know Malcolm did it to test her, and I know full well he’ll give her a chance for extra credit later. But I can’t tell her this. “Have you discussed this with Mr. Geer?”
She scoffs. “Are you kidding me? It’s like talking to a brick wall.”
I laugh despite myself.
“Could you talk to him for me?”
“Ms. Kim…”
“Come on,” she groans. “You’re his boss now. Surely you can fix this.”
I don’t have the energy or, by the looks of my watch, the time to fight her on this. I concede with a sigh, and she immediately wraps me in a hug. She’s aggressively strong for someone her size, pinning my arms to my sides.
“Thank you, thank you.”
The bell rings just as she releases me, tossing her backpack over her shoulder and shuffling toward her next class. And right on cue, Malcolm turns the corner. He doesn’t see Sarah disappear down the hallway, but he has ears like a hawk.
“She bug you too?” he asks, his mischievous grin peeking out from beneath his beard.
“Pop quiz? Really?”
“Have to keep things interesting.” His smile is smug as we head down the hall.
“You’re going to drive the girl mad.”
“She’ll be fine.” He waves me off, his easy grin coming more often lately. I remember when he used to be stone-faced, never showing an ounce of emotion. But ever since he and Kate started dating, there’s been this light about him. An effortless joy that comes when you’re head-over-heels in love.
I hadn’t felt that in a long time. Until last night.
I can still feel Steven’s arms wrapped around my waist, his lips at the nape of my neck, whisperingMrs. Jonesover and over. I haven’t ached for my husband in years, not in the ways I used to, not in that head-over-heels, breathless way. Somewhere along the line, those feelings slipped behind the weight of kids and jobs, life in general. I sort of thought the feelings were lost entirely at this point, replaced with the cordial, compassionate kind of feelings you have for someone you’ve built a life with.
My skin hums at the memory of him, the broadness of his chest pressed into mine, our legs tangled together, his hands splayed across my back as if to hold me there forever. I could’ve stayed there forever.
Will I lose this feeling if he gets his memory back?
This dreadful question follows me the rest of my day, all the way to Dr. Belo’s office. My stomach is knotted into a tight coil, and my chest simmers with the anxiety that seems to never fully cease. I need to say it out loud, to admit these absurd, selfish thoughts. To acknowledge them and, quite possibly, be told to take them back to the very person who caused them. All while trying not to disrupt my family’s peace in the process.
Simple enough.
“We’re supposed to leave tomorrow,” I speak before either of us have sat down. “What if seeing his mom affects his memory? What if it’s too much for him?”
Dr. Belo gestures for me to sit but doesn’t say anything, giving me space to continue.
“And what if there’s a part of me that doesn’t want his old memory to come back?”
“Why would you want that?” she asks, tilting her head.
“I don’t know,” I groan, sinking back into the leather couch. “He’s been nicer lately. More attentive, more intentional.Happier.”
“And you miss that side of him?”
“Of course I do. Seeing him happier makes me happier. And ugh…I miss being happy.”
“Do you think you haven’t been?”
