“Uh… yeah, I guess.” I have more to say. I want to tellhim that I’m trying to get back to my routine to try to recover my memories. I want to talk to him about how nervous I am for my first day, and tell him I’m meeting Savannah and Rory for breakfast next week at the Dinor. I want to know if I’ve ever mentioned the boy who works there. But even with the TV turned off now, things just… aren’t feeling right between us, like we’re operating on different wavelengths. And it’s like he can’t even hear the one I’m on.
This garage may not have changed. But my dad definitely seems different. So we end up eating our sandwiches in almost complete silence until my mom honks her horn from outside.
“Everything is looking good,” Dr. Reicher says, sitting down across from my mom and me in her office after my checkup. “Your latest scans show things progressing just as we’d like them to. Incision is healing well too. How have you been feeling?”
“I’m okay, I guess. I haven’t had to take the prescription pain meds at all and the headaches are getting better,” I reply, squeezing my hands between my knees as I try to quiet the anxiety that’s been building in my chest since we got here.
“That’s great to hear! Well then, I’m happy to tell you that you have my full permission to get back behind the wheel. Your mother tells me that you’ve been chomping at the bit. Just take it slow and…”
“Look. I still haven’t gottenanyof my memories back,” I interrupt her. “What does that mean? Is it bad? Does it mean I never will?”
I don’t care about the scans. I don’t care that my incision ishealing or that I can drive. I care that my own dad and I can’t even manage to hold a conversation now and I have no recollection ofwhy. No memory of what has changed about me or him, or between the two of us.
She tilts her head in concern and folds her hands on top of her wooden desk. “Well, to be honest with you… most times, people do start to recover them within those first few days…”
Shit.
“Look, Stevie. You might want to consider the possibility that this is something you may need to make peace with. I know starting fresh sounds really scary, but it also might be a much healthier way for you to move through your life at this point. Okay?”
I nod, too frustrated to say anything back to her. My own doctor doesn’t even believe I can do this, but I am not giving up. I’m notstarting fresh.Not when everyone else can remember a version of me that I can’t.
I’m going back to work at the coffee shop and that’s all I need to focus on. I won’t stop until I remember. Until I prove Dr. Reicher wrong.
CHAPTER 13
EVEN THOUGH DR. REICHER GAVEme the go-ahead to start driving again, my mom still insisted I drive with her in the car first. So I drove to the coffee shop in her car for my first day of work and she drove it back home.
As expected, I passed her test with flying colors, and so far I seem to be doing the same at work.
I don’t know why I was up half the night worrying about today. Well, I guess I do. This is my very first job ever, but now that I’m here… it isn’t so scary.
Green buttons for food. Blue buttons for drinks. Total. Take payment. Write the order on the appropriate cup for the barista down the line. Easy peasy.
With each customer who trickles in, the process gets a little smoother. The locations of the buttons aren’t there in my memory when I search for them, but they start to stick and my descriptions on each cup get shorter and more efficient.
“Decaf hazelnut latte,” I announce, writingde Haz Laton a paper cup before sliding it down the line to Cal, a guy around my age who’s crafting each drink as if he was born to do this. His hands fly to different flavor pumps and milk cartons andlevers, without ever taking his eyes off the espresso machine. I wonder if I was ever able to do that.
“Hey, Stevie. How are you doing?” Kendra, my manager, appears out of the back during a lull.
Her graying roots are giving way to long bleached-blond hair twisted into a bun using two pens. I straighten up even more.
“Pretty good, I think. Hey, quick question. When I emailed you about cutting my hours back to ten per week, you said that’s what I was already working? My mom told me I was doing twenty.”
She gives me a weird look, cocking her head to the side. “No. You’ve only ever worked ten per week,” she replies.
“Oh, okay. Perfect, then.” That’s weird, though. I know the sixty was just Savannah and Rory being dramatic, but ten doesn’t seem like too many hours at all. Definitely not enough to justify missingprom.
“Hey, I’ve been dying to ask you a few questions,” Kendra says eagerly.
“Okay?” I reply, giving her the floor. I don’t know what sort of relationship we have, but it must be good if she wants to chat.
“I’ve got to know. What was it like waking up from that coma?” she asks, leaning on the counter, her eyes wide with… excitement?
“Oh, umm…” I wasn’t really expecting to talk about this here, with people I don’t know anymore. I remind myself that to her, we’ve been coworkers for years—we might even be friends.
“I mean, two entire years of your life missing? What does that feel like?”
“I…” I think back to that horrible night when I woke up in the hospital, expecting to be at home in my bed but instead opening my eyes to fluorescent lights and voices I didn’t recognize. Tubes and needles sticking out of my arm, my head searing.
