Everyone stares at him. Annika presses her lips together in the way that people do when they want to hide a smile and when they are of a sufficiently advanced age to know that pointing and laughing is not the most socially appropriate action.
“I noticed them,” Florian says. “I did not remember them.” He shoots me a worried look, like I might walk out the door if I fear he has displaced memories of me in favor of remote controls and takeout menus.
“I saw you open the drawer last night,” I tell him.
Florian’s shoulders ease.
I remove the takeout menus from the drawer and hand them to Florian’s mother. “You can choose.”
“Which is your favorite?” Florian’s mother asks.
I glance at Gina. She smiles back.
And not the sort of smile that involves pressing your lips together.
Annoying twin sister.
“Well, mostly Florian and I cooked in the past,” I say.
“Florian cooked?” Florian’s mother looks impressed.
Florian starts to laugh.
I look back at him, uncertain if he’s going to say that his memory returned, and it was triggered by the apparently absurd statement that he cooked.
“I think, mi amor, that you mean to say that I watched you cook,” Florian says.
“Well—”
“Mateo is an excellent cook,” Florian says. “Gina and Mateo made chili last night.”
“Florian is a huge fan of takeout,” Florian’s mother says. “I am glad to hear his taste is evolving.”
“Mama.” Florian frowns.
“What? I can’t celebrate that my son is no longer the bad eater he normally is?”
“Florian is not bad at anything,” I say loyally.
Then Florian sweeps me into his arms. He dips me down, like he’s doing a full Hollywood kiss. Or he’s just a man who has done a lot of ballroom dancing.
My heart pounds too quickly.
This is all wrong, and soon Florian will know and hate me.
Florian lifts me back at once. “Are you okay, mi amor?”
I nod.
“He probably misses the you who used to remember things,” his mother says.
Florian’s eyes soften. “I am sorry, mi amor. I know it is difficult. If we used to cook together, then that is what we used to do.”
“I shouldn’t have laughed,” his mother apologizes.
I flutter my hands. “It’s fine! You didn’t do anything wrong. Really.”
“You picked a true gentleman,” Florian’s mother tells him.
