“I was lucky to get a job in a nice place,” Papa says. “So were you, Florian. Boston is beautiful.”
I beam. “It is. And my teammates are all nice.”
“Ah, you met new ones today,” Papa says. “How was that?”
“Well, they weren’t really new,” I say. “I got my memory back today.”
“Florian!” Mama and Papa and Annika clap in delight.
“How could you not mention that first?” Mama asks. “You are a terrible son!”
“I am sorry.”
Mateo puts his hand on my thigh. I gaze at him, startled.
His cheeks turn a rosy color, and he starts to lift it. I pull his hand back and rest it back on my thigh.
He gives a pleased exhale, like he wants his hand to be there.
I link my hand with his, and our fingers tangle together.
He continues to eat. Every so often he turns to me, then he blushes, and takes another bite of chicken piccata.
He is so adorable.
“So?” Mama asks. “You can’t just say you got your memory back and stop.”
“I can’t?”
“No!” she exclaims. “You were wondering how you and Mateo first met.”
“We met at work,” I say. “Mateo already told you.”
“Yes—but now I want to get your perspective,” Mamasays. “I want to know how my shy son got himself a boyfriend! And at work. That’s sort of risqué these days.”
I stiffen.
I didn’t get a boyfriend.
She’s right.
I ran away from Mateo.
I was rude to him.
I know I was. I remember.
I remember all the times he would look worried and embarrassed when he saw me. All the times he would grimace when he encountered me, bracing for me to turn and run around.
He didn’t like me. I made his life difficult.
I definitely did not make him my boyfriend.
When Mateo gets a boyfriend, it will be someone braver than me. Someone better. Someone?—
“It happened like I said it did,” Mateo says. “We met at work, then he asked me for dinner at the nicest restaurant in Boston. That’s when I knew he liked me.”
“I did like you,” I assure Mateo.
