by Jewel E. Ann
But you also felt helpless to do anything to stop it.
Fisher glanced up at me with a frown on his face. “If I say no, you won’t believe me. If I say yes … well, I don’t know how you’ll react. So why can’t I just plead the Fifth here?”
I may have been ten years younger than him, but that didn’t mean I was born yesterday. If it hadn’t been memories of good sex, he would have said as much, and he would have gone to great lengths to make me believe the truth. That wishy-washy explanation was a yes. He remembered having good sex with Angie.
Fantastic …
So a week before he was set to go with her to Costa Rica (her and her new lingerie and a king bed), he was having good sex dreams about her.
Forgive me, but I was still human with a tendency to have irrational feelings and an instinct for jealousy.
I drew in a long breath of courage, weak courage at best. Then I exhaled it. “Well, it’s wonderful that you’re slowly getting your memory back. And at least you’re getting a sense of why you fell in love with her and agreed to marry her. The sex was good. But I think I already knew that because I came to your house that morning after the two of you had good sex that was apparently my doing because I questioned your ability to get and sustain an erection.” With a fake smile, I averted my gaze to the floor. “I’ll get the vacuum.”
“Reese …”
I didn’t pause. My heart had already shifted into defense mode. Fight or flight.
“Did he finish the job?” Rory asked as I retrieved the handheld vacuum from the entry closet.
Yes. He finished crushing my heart.
“He did. Just needs to clean up the drywall dust.” I held my breath or at least most of it while taking only tiny inhales and exhales like a woman in labor while I shouldered past him blocking the doorway.
“Reese …”
I turned on the little vacuum which silenced him, and I took lots of time making sure I sucked up every speck of drywall dust. Before I got it shut off, he squatted behind me, his hand taking the vacuum from mine and shutting it off.
“I love you today,” he whispered in my ear.
Nope. Wrong four words. I loved those words on any other day. They just fell flat when all I could think about was him having sex with Angie because it seemed like that was all his mind cared to remember about her. Rory’s words replayed in my head.
A virile young man.
I highly doubted virile young men were immune to sex dreams, especially the lingering thoughts they provoked. Just because one didn’t want to think about something didn’t mean they had control over it. There was no way I wasn’t going to be thinking about him and Angie having sex, and it definitely wasn’t because I wanted to think about it.
“Thanks for putting up the bar. I’m sure my grandma will really appreciate it.”
“Are you punishing me for my honesty?”
With pursed lips, I shook my head a half dozen times.
“You asked me.”
My head shake quickly transitioned into a series of nods. “I did. Stupid me. I think I’m done asking you about anything.”
“Reese.” He took a step forward and reached for my waist.
“No.” I shifted to the side, wedged between the toilet and the vanity as I held my hands up to let him know I didn’t want to be touched.
“It means nothing … at least nothing that you’re worried about.”
I grunted a laugh. “You’re going to Costa Rica with her. It might end up meaning something.”
“Why don’t you trust me?”
I rubbed my temples. “We’ve been over this. Even if I convinced myself it’s safe to trust you, I don’t trust your memories lurking at every turn. One trigger after another. I mean … that’s all it could take. One trigger to remember why you said yes to her. And what if that comes on the heels of a beautiful wedding where everyone is in the mood for love? Good friends. Food. Alcohol. Dancing. Coordinating outfits. A shared hotel room.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“And you’re being stupid!”
Fisher flinched. And the noise in the kitchen silenced. Everyone and everything was silent except the lingering echo of my outburst.
“If you’re done, it might be time for you to leave.” Rory appeared a few feet from the bathroom door. “What do I owe you, Fisher?”
Keeping his back to her, he stared at me, but I kept my attention focused on the floor between us.
“Nothing. You owe me nothing.” He snagged his tool bag off the floor and headed straight to the front door.
Click.
It closed behind him.
“Want to talk about it?” Rory said.
“No.” I still had lots of anger to unleash as my “no” came out a little harsher than intended. “I don’t want to talk to you, not after more than a week of you not talking to me. I don’t want your opinion, a lecture, a long string of I-told-you-so’s. Just …” I handed her the vacuum and made a sharp left into my bedroom, slamming and locking the door behind me.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Dear Lost Fisherman,
I’m really mad at you right now. And I don’t care if it’s rational thinking on my part or not. Sometimes a person just needs to be irrational. This front that I’ve been holding up is exhausting. One can only show bravery for so long. Even the strongest people break sometimes. I wish I was immune to insecurities, but I’m not. I wish your I-love-you’s made me feel more confident in us, but they don’t.
I know Angie’s still dazed with disbelief that you can’t remember the first girl you ever loved. The girl you met when you were six. I get it. Because I’m struggling with us. It’s equally as hard for me to imagine us falling in love twice without you remembering the first time. And I can’t even articulate how badly I wish you would remember us. Not deduce the fact that you must have liked me a lot to show me your nerdy cruciverbalist heart, but actually feel what that really meant. I can’t tell you how many times the eager words have sat on the end of my tongue, desperate to jump out and just tell you. Tell you that we were in love. Tell you that you were my first and forever love. And in my gullible, fairy-tale head, you magically remember everything and we live happily ever after.
Fuck fairy tales.
Seven across. Hint: Disloyal. Ungodly.
Faithless.
I was angry. Angry that it was Thanksgiving and she was with him.
Angry that I had to endure the long stares from Rose and Rory while my grandparents yapped about their aches and pains.
Angry that Fisher hadn’t tried calling me to apologize for … I didn’t even know. But something. Really, he needed to apologize for something.
And if I were being completely honest, I was angry that he got on his motorcycle that day. Angry that he lost his memory. Maybe that meant I wouldn’t have moved back to Colorado. That might have meant we wouldn’t have had the possibility of a second chance. But as I simmered like a pot of soup left on the stove too long, I started to think Michigan sounded pretty good.
“How’s your job, Reese?” Grandma took a breather from her winded explanation of ailments and their corresponding medications to finally show a little interest in her granddaughter.
“It’s the best job. I love the midwives I work with. I’m so excited to start my master’s program next year.”
“She does love it. We get to see her come home with no sleep after a long birth but boundless energy because she loves it so much.” Rory, for what felt like the first time in nearly two weeks, shared a genuine smile.
“That’s amazing, dear. We’re so proud of you. Is everything else good? Do you have a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend?”
I loved the way they accepted my mom for who she was. The way they loved Rose. If only my dad’s parents could have been so loving. Like God. I believed God loved everyone. It was just what felt right to me … when I started thinking for myself.
Thanks to Fisher.
“I have a boyfriend.”
/>
Rory and Rose visibly stiffened.
“And where is he today?” Grandpa asked.
“Having Thanksgiving dinner with his family.”
And his fiancée.
“Will we get to meet him before we go home?” Grandma asked as she wiped her red painted lips with her napkin.
“I’m not sure.” I used my fork to fiddle with the remaining food on my plate.
“What does he do?” Grandma kept coming with the questions.
“He works in construction.”
“Oh,” she replied quickly. “Rory, doesn’t your old landlord do that too? What’s his name?”
Rory grabbed another dinner roll and took a generous bite while nodding. “Fisher,” she mumbled over the roll.
“Does your boyfriend happen to know Fisher?”
I grinned. “He does, actually. They’re really close.”
Rose cleared her throat and fisted her hand at her mouth to hide her unavoidable laughter. Rory didn’t find it quite as funny.
“That’s nice, dear. Is it serious? Will I be attending my granddaughter’s wedding soon?”
“It’s serious, but no wedding. I’d like to finish school first.”
Rory …
The epitome of a mother waiting for her daughter to get her heart broken. And she wasn’t wrong. There had already been a lot of heartbreak with what felt like unavoidably more to come.
“Well, I do hope we get to meet him.”
“Me too.”
“Speaking of Fisher …” Grandpa spoke up, and for a second I’d forgotten that Fisher’s name was just mentioned. I thought my grandpa magically knew or figured out my secret. “How’s he been since the accident?”
“Yes,” Grandma jumped in. “Has he remembered his fiancée?”
“He’s doing well.” Rory plastered on a believable smile. “Getting back a few missing memories, but not enough to remember being engaged to Angie. So that’s been a little rough. And I’m not sure if they’ll stay together, to be honest.”
“Why is that?” Grandma questioned.
“There might be someone else in the picture.”
“What?” Grandma’s hand pressed to her chest on a gasp.
“It’s complicated at the moment, but we highly suspect he has found someone else.”
“Well, someone needs to talk some sense into that young man. He can’t just abandon his fiancée. And what kind of woman would even dream of swooping in and stealing another woman’s man after a horrific accident?”
Rose eyed me like an older sister who just realized her younger sister was about to get in trouble.
“Well, Mom, in all fairness to Fisher and this other woman, if there is another woman, he doesn’t remember Angie. She’s basically been this stranger claiming to be his lifelong friend and the love of his life. We can’t totally blame him for not feeling what he doesn’t know he’s supposed to feel and therefore finding it easy to … get distracted by someone else.”
“I’ll give Fisher a pass, maybe.” Grandma frowned. “But not the slut moving in on him.”
Rory’s mom was outspoken like my dad’s mom, just in a different way. However, they probably would have both agreed that I was a slut.
Rory flinched and so did Rose. Me? Nope. I didn’t flinch. I could see it from both sides. And because I could see it from both sides, I thought we all needed a little coming to Jesus moment.
“It’s me,” I said.
“Sorry. What, dear?” Grandma said, smiling at me … the slut.
“I’m the slut.”
“Reese,” Rory whispered, closing her eyes and shaking her head.
“Excuse me?” Grandma squinted.
After taking a sip of my water, I calmly set it on the table and grinned. “Fisher is my boyfriend. And we fell in love over five years ago. And as wrong as that probably seems to everyone else, the only thing that was wrong was the timing. But we have an unexpected second chance. And we’ve fallen in love again. Well, I’ve never stopped loving him, but he … he’s fallen in love with me again. And he doesn’t remember what we were before now. And that’s heartbreaking and frustrating. But it’s also beautiful and maybe even perfect. And I realize this is a really hard pill for everyone else to swallow, but our love has nothing to do with Angie. I don’t think her ties to the man who doesn’t remember her makes what we have wrong. So let’s all take a timeout here and not call people sluts when we haven’t walked in their shoes. I realize it’s often the Christian way, but I think I can love God and love every single one of his children without judging anyone. And the last I checked, you’re also sitting at the same table as my lesbian mother and her partner, whom we love so very much. And it’s hard to imagine anything about their love is wrong. Wouldn’t we all agree?”
Rose wiped a tear from her face, and Rory’s emotions shined in her eyes too.
My grandparents held an even mix of shock and embarrassment in their expressions.
I stood, tossing my napkin onto the table. “I’m going to take a few minutes to myself. Call me when pie is served.”
Nobody said a word. And I was grateful. I didn’t want apologies or awkward attempts to explain away the previous conversation where I was labeled a slut. Had I not been the slut, it could have been somebody else’s daughter or granddaughter.
Everyone means the world to someone. Or at least they should.
When I collapsed onto my bed, I called Fisher. After multiple rings, it went to voicemail. So I called again … and again.
On the fourth call, he answered. “Hi,” he said in a neutral tone. “I’m eating dinner. What’s up?” He was eating dinner with his family. His whole family and Angie.
“I love you today,” I said.
Silence.
More silence.
“Say it. Say it back to me, Fisher. Like you mean it. Like it matters.”
“Can we chat about this later?”
“I said it. In front of my grandparents … after they unknowingly called me a slut. I said it. I’m tired of not saying it. I’m tired of feeling guilty. Just … say it and let everyone else fucking deal with it.”
He cleared his throat. “So you clogged the garbage disposal?”
I pressed End.
Throwing my arm over my face, I grumbled and growled, just like the old Fisher. I was angry with him and the rest of the world. And I know it wasn’t fair for me to ambush him like that—after all, he stood up to Rory and unapologetically told her that he loved me.
But I wanted him to make the gesture without getting caught first. Was that too much to ask?
Maybe.
“Stupid …” I whispered to myself. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.” Just minutes earlier, I had given my family a long speech on being kind and not judging others. I just left the kitchen with the words everybody means the world to somebody in my head.
Was Angie someone’s world since her parents died and Fisher lost his memories of her? It was such a kind thing of me to ask Fisher to destroy her in front of his entire family on Thanksgiving. I was ashamed of myself.
And tired.
Getting a call that a baby was ready to come into the world was exactly what I needed. But that call never came.
“Hey.” Rory smiled at me when she opened my door a crack. “Pie is being served.”
“Okay,” I said, staring at the ceiling.
The door clicked shut, but it did so with Rory on my side of it. Then the bed dipped. She laid herself next to me, also staring at the ceiling, as she reached for my hand.
“I know he loves you,” she said. “I just want you to have it easier than I had it. I don’t want love to be this complicated and messy for you.”
“Messy …” I laughed a little. “That’s how we know it’s real.”
“I adore Fisher … or I did. And honestly, it’s just all been a lot. I was hit pretty hard, completely out of the blue. It would have been a lot to handle five years ago, but add in the accident, his memory loss, and Angie … w
ell … it’s more than my heart and brain can reconcile at the moment. And I know … I know I have no right to say this, but I’m going to say it anyway. Seeing you and Fisher that day in that situation was not what any mom wants to see.”
I laughed and laughed some more. Rory started to giggle too. She definitely had no right to say anything to me. She saw Fisher enjoying my breasts. I saw Rose doing so much more to her.
Rolling toward her, I tucked my hands under my cheek. “I know it’s not the way you imagined … it’s not the way I imagined … but your little girl is in love. And it’s big. And all-consuming. It’s scary. It’s exhilarating. And real. So if you want to be the mom you didn’t get to be when I was going through my teenaged years, then I’m going to need a hand to hold and a shoulder to cry on as I fight like hell to get my prince.”
“Your prince …” She gave me a sad smile and rested her hand on my cheek.
“I need you to want my happiness more than Angie’s. And I know that’s hard because Angie is a good person. And her love story with Fisher is pretty amazing. But it’s not forever. I just … I know it.”
Rory nodded slowly. “I’ve got you.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
After pie.
After an apology from my grandparents.
After playing six games of Hearts.
Fisher called me.
“I’m calling it a night.” I excused myself from the game when I saw his number on my phone’s screen. It was close to ten-thirty at night. “Hi,” I answered in a meek voice just as I reached my bedroom.
“I’m in your driveway.”
My heart sucked at staying in chill mode or staying mad at him very long.
“Want to go for a drive?”
“I suppose.” That was my version of chill, even though I was already grabbing a hoodie to wear over my leggings and heading down the hallway.
“Take your time.”
“Okay.” I ended the call while I pulled on my wool-lined boots.
“Going somewhere?” Rory asked as they picked up the cards and glasses from the table.
“I am.” I grinned.
“Okay. See you in the morning.”
