by Scott, Kylie
“Isn’t she?” Leif is all aglow.
Ah, young love/lust. I wonder if that’s what I look like when I’m ogling Ed. All happy and silly and high on life. Probably. It’s a nice way to be.
“You know, Clem, I wouldn’t complain if you wanted to start making me breakfast like this every morning,” says Ed with a sly sort of grin.
Leif just snorts while Shannon laughs.
I nod, choosing my words with care. “Here’s the thing. I have a limited amount of energy in the a.m. to expend. So ask yourself, blow job or breakfast? What do you want more?”
At this, Leif cracks up laughing too. I didn’t think it was that funny, but whatever. Two spots of pink appear high on Shannon’s cheeks. Guess mentioning oral sex over the breakfast table is a no-no.
Ed, however, considers the question. “I get to choose every morning?”
“No. Somedays I might not feel like doing either.”
He leans over, giving me a maple syrup flavored kiss. Yummy. As responses go, it’s rather great. No words are needed. It’s enthralling, all of his different types of smiles. Often the variations are quite subtle and reflected more in his eyes than his mouth. This time, it’s the one that says I’m something to be cherished. A less observant or not so Ed-centric person might mistake this expression for amusement, but it’s not. It’s more.
Inside my chest is the now familiar sensation of warmth and overabundance. As if the amount of emotion he inspires inside of me is a dam bound to burst eventually. Every time a moment such as this takes place, I’m pushed closer to the edge. What will come out of my mouth the day this happens is a little frightening. Actually, it’s terrifying. What it might mean and how he might react. But I can admit to myself that I’m no longer a stranger to falling in love or being in love or however you want to put it. He is my love. I know this now. Just as he explained last night, I want our lives entwined forever and ever and there’s little I wouldn’t do to make him happy. Frances is sort of right about me not knowing him that long. Though maybe loving him is an automatic thing for me, for this body. The not fucking it up, however, will probably take more effort.
“Seconds, Ed?” asks Shannon. “Or can I clear your plate?”
“It was great, but I’m good. You cooked; let me clean up.”
Leif scoffs. “I was just about to offer to do the dishes. You’re trying to make me look bad in front of the ladies.”
“It doesn’t take much.”
His brother flips him the bird.
When you think about it, probably best not to declare my adoration for Ed, and all the rest, at the breakfast table in front of an audience. So instead, I finish up and take my plate over to the dishwasher where he’s loading.
“Everything okay?” he asks, studying my face.
Care of practicing taking selfies for my Instagram account the other day, my carefree happy smile is at the top of its game. “Yes.”
Ed, however, pauses. “What’s on your mind?”
“Just work and stuff,” I lie.
“Okay. We’ll head off in a few, yeah?”
“Sounds good.”
Shannon is holding out a fresh cup of coffee when I turn around. “Here you go, Clem.”
“Thanks.” More caffeine is always appreciated. “And thanks again for breakfast.”
“Not a problem.” Her teeth are so white. “Are you sure you’re okay, you look a little . . . I don’t know, off? How’s your head and everything? Do they think you’ll be back to normal soon?”
Normal is long gone. But I don’t want to tell her that. “Um, no. I’m fine and my head’s healing as best it can. But the chances I’ll get my memory back aren’t great.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault.” I look elsewhere and chug down some coffee. Coffee makes everything better.
“Yeah, but . . . not knowing who you are and losing your past like that.”
“I survived.”
“Clem’s not usually big on talking about it.” Ed’s hand rubs at my shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze. “Good to go?”
“Mm-hmm.”
I add my empty coffee cup to the dishwasher and give Shannon a smile before following him into the bedroom to grab my bag. Time to get the day started and getting back into routine is good. The glance he gives me over his shoulder is questioning. Good that he knows I’m not one to open up about the messy insides of my skull to most people. It’s confronting all of the medical stuff. While it’s important, and I can see why others always inquire about it, dwelling on it doesn’t feel like moving forward. I’d rather move forward. Ed grabs his wallet and sunglasses.
“Sure there’s not something on your mind?” he asks, wrapping me up in his arms. “You seem a bit distracted.”
“Do you prefer previous me or new me?”
“I like you both for different reasons, if that makes sense.” He rests his forehead against mine. Quite possibly my favorite move of his. “I’ll have a word with Shannon, make sure she doesn’t question you again. People need to understand that you don’t remember them the way they remember you. Relationships are different now. They need to respect your boundaries.”
“It really is fine. I’m not that delicate.”
“I know, but I have a vested interest in keeping you happy.”
“Do you?”
“Absolutely,” he says, a playful glint in his eye. “When you’re in a good mood I get wake-up blow jobs.”
“That’s true.”
“And I get your smile. The real one where your eyes get kind of lit up and it just . . . damn. Let’s say I like it a lot.”
“You’re my favorite person in the whole wide world, did you know that?”
“Am I now?”
“Yes.” I take a deep breath and I want to say something. I need to say something. “Ed, I don’t want this to end.”
Something flashes across his face, an expression there and gone so fast I can’t read it. Doubt, maybe? Or hesitancy? But then it’s nothing but a memory, and he says, “I know, baby. Me neither.”
I exhale. There’s reason to hope. “Okay, then. Good.”
Chapter Fourteen
My day goes well until Detective Chen walks into the shop. There’s nothing wrong with the man. He’s been great. Honestly, however, apart from our phone call the other day, I’d done my best to shelve him. Willfully blanked his existence out of my life. It seemed easier. He brings back memories of those first scary days, waking up in the hospital and being so profoundly lost. And he’s a walking reminder that someone, somewhere, might be out to get me.
But his being here also means something might have happened regarding my assault and robbery. Perhaps I should be elated, but I’m not. My stomach sinks through the floor.
“Miss Johns.” He nods, slipping off his sunglasses. “Your sister mentioned you were working here. Hope you don’t mind me stopping by.”
I nod and hold onto myself. “No, of course not.”
Fortunately, Iris is out having lunch with Antonio. Introducing the detective in charge of figuring out who tried to kill me would be a bit awkward. Despite the vandalism incident, the shop is a happy safe place for me. Maybe that’s compartmentalizing my life in some unhealthy way. But I’d like to keep it that way just the same.
“There’s been a development in the case,” he says. “A man has pleaded guilty to the first attack in the area near where you were assaulted.”
“Oh.” I blink. “Only the first attack?”
“That’s right.”
“But . . . how does that make sense?”
He clears his throat softly. “We have reason to believe that the attack on yourself was committed by someone else. Who, exactly, we don’t know yet.”
“A copycat?”
“Perhaps, yes. Although it is also possible that they are entirely unrelated.”
At first, I don’t know what to think. But then, I realize I was wrong. It makes perfect sense. “Shit.”
“The investigation is ongoing. Someone may still come forward with information relating to your case.” He really needs to practice his selfie face, because his smile isn’t soothing at all. “I just wanted to let you know.”
“So I was right: it is personal. The attack, then my car, and the window here . . .”
“Without any solid evidence it would be unwise to jump to conclusions. We don’t know anything for certain yet.”
And I give a look that can only be interpreted as “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Your work colleagues and friends at the time were questioned.”
“Few as they were.”
“If you can think of anyone else we might want to have a word with, please feel free to contact me.” His gaze is so sincere. Though Frances was so over all of that at the time. Tracking Ed on social media and God knows who else. “But, Miss Johns, it would be best to remain vigilant about your security. Don’t go places alone if it can be avoided, okay?”
I nod.
“Hopefully we’ll get a break in the case soon. I’ll let you get back to your work.”
“Thank you, Detective.” He’s half-turned away when my voice calls him back. “Actually. There is this one guy, maybe he’s just a creeper, but . . . his name is Tim and he lives in our building. It’s probably nothing . . .”
“I’ll look into him.”
“Thank you.” I try to smile. It doesn’t quite work.
* * *
Hope’s a funny thing. To a large degree, it depends upon your ability to shove the shit aside and focus on the happy. To tell yourself everything is going to be okay. To play make-believe. I try my hardest, but underneath, anxiety rules the day. It’s not so easy, knowing someone wants to kill you and has already tried once. The ferocity of hate involved in smashing a bottle against someone’s skull must be huge.
And it’s stupid because I basically knew this before. How the attack wasn’t random. After the detective’s visit, however, it’s harder to ignore the evidence and slap on a happy face. Over the next couple of days, I start finding that loud noises make me jumpy. Getting my mind to still so I can sleep is next to impossible. Despite spending our one mutual day off a week having a sleep-in before wandering around the Portland Museum of Art (very cool) and hitting up The Holy Donut, my inner peace is trashed. After almost a week of this behavior, Ed sends me back to the doctor. Now I have pills. Some to help me sleep and others to keep me chill. There was also a big lecture about trying various non-narcotic calming techniques or risk being sent to a shrink. Because spending more time with doctors and sitting around in waiting rooms would be awesome. Not.
I take my pills, try to act serene, and fill my Instagram account with happy things. Pictures of book covers, videos of Gordon doing his doggy smile and wagging his tail, and the golden hairs atop of Ed’s toes. God knows why his big ass feet amuse me so, but they do. My account now has two followers, Ed and Leif. They insisted, though, that my account stays locked against all others. It makes me a little self-conscious to know the Larsen brothers are watching, but whatever. I also don’t miss another self-defense class because survival instinct. Ed suggests we try yoga sometime, learn some meditation. While the thought of watching him bend, stretch, and breathe is a good one, I kind of like us having a few nights free for TV and sex. You know, spending quality time together.
Despite the doctor’s orders for tranquility, the movie watching stays true to the favorites of previous me. The Lost Boys and Robocop are my new favorites. Ed tries to calm things down a little with When Harry Met Sally and Beaches, but both left me in tears. Happy ever after tears for the first film and my heart has been torn out, stomped on, set aflame, and reduced to ash for the second. I swear, my eyes are still red the next morning. Though a good cry is kind of cathartic. Cleansing, almost. Ed, however, just yawned and generally looked pained. Leif fled the condo to go meet Shannon. So yeah, the movies stay mostly violent.
If I was occasionally chafing at the level of protection provided by Ed and Frances before, it’s nothing compared to life post Detective Chen’s update. I’m not even allowed to step foot out the shop door. Ed texts every hour or two to check I’m still both breathing and where he left me. Iris refuses to leave me alone. I can’t even cross the street to get coffee in case my hater has decided to take up vehicular manslaughter or something. Imagine how messy that would be. So unless Frances is hovering/visiting, we have to wait until my friend from the café has time to make a delivery, something Iris totally talked the poor boy into. Every day he not so subtly asks how things with me and Ed are going. Just on the off chance we’ve broken up overnight and I’m now free to go on that date with him. The day after Beaches, my bloodshot eyes gave him such hope. Disappointing him daily just so I can get my caffeine fix seems harsh. But such is life.
“Hey,” says a familiar voice late Saturday afternoon. “Get your bag.”
I get off my knees, having finished helping my tiny customer and her mom find books about elephants. (I tried selling her on my personal favorite, Curious George, but she was adamant in her choice of animal so Babar it was.) “Tessa. What are you doing here?”
Behind the counter, Iris is beaming. “Your friend is here to take you out. Isn’t that lovely?”
It would be rude to say no. Honest, but rude.
“We’re getting your hair fixed and buying you something decent to wear.” The expression on her face leaves no doubt as to her opinion regarding today’s jeans and T-shirt combo. It’s a Jane Eyre quote tee this time. My new favorite book. To be fair, though, the top pick changes at least weekly.
“Do I have any say in this?” I ask, curious. And yes, a little pissy.
Tessa sighs. “Don’t be difficult. Ed and Leif need to get some stuff done and I’m pretty much only here as a favor to them. But let’s face facts, your hair does need fixing. It was kind of cute, but now it’s grown out a bit and it’s not working at all.”
“It has looked better,” says Iris, tipping her head this way and that. “That’s true.”
My hand goes to my head in protest, but I don’t bother to refute them. Beyond a certain point, not even some styling product can fix things.
“I promised I’d be nice.” Tessa crosses her arms. “Who knows, this might even wind up being fun.”
“All right.”
And I didn’t even bother checking with Iris because this has all obviously been planned behind my back. I’m almost used to my life being organized by other people. It’s crazy. The tension of living this way, of waiting for the next attack, is doing what remains of my head in. But I prefer to avoid the weird emotional distance the pills provide unless it’s absolutely necessary.
Out on the street, Tessa doesn’t stride ahead. This time, she sticks to my side, keeping an eye on our surroundings. Like something could happen at any moment. She’s been well coached by the love of my life. Maybe I should be more appreciative of all the care they’re taking. It means I’m loved or at least wanted. People care about me. But the burden of it, the lack of freedom involved, gets me down.
Still, I try to relax. No way anyone would dare attack me when I’m out with Tessa. She wears her elegance like a superpower.
The salon is only a few blocks away. My stylist is a gorgeous Latino lady named Margarita. Like Ed, she has magical fingers. My crappy mood and reservations last about two seconds beneath the scalp massage she delivers during the shampooing and conditioning process. The woman can do with me what she will. I am mush.
In the fancy black chair positioned in front of the mirror, she pats my shoulders. Her eyes go to my fringe. “Clementine, can I just fix this? Will you trust me to do that?”
“I need to be able to cover the scar.”
“Not a problem.”
“Then yes. Please.”
“Thank God for that.” Tessa sighs, slumped in the chair next to me. She makes even that position appear somehow glamorous and elegant. Today she’s in a green floral halter neck dress. Silk,
maybe. Even with my concerns regarding patterns, I can see its beauty. Chunky wooden bangles jangle on her arm. Guess she either didn’t work today or got changed before she came and got me. The tattoo parlor seems to be more of a jeans atmosphere.
Funny how people’s tastes change. How Ed went from dating her to me. Though I guess I used to be more like Tessa. More put together.
“What?” she asks, having caught me watching.
“Nothing. Just thinking.”
For a moment she says nothing. “Ed says you need information, that you like asking questions . . . so ask.”
“Really?”
“Sure. Go for it.”
Margarita works on my hair without further comment. The click of her scissors and upbeat background music filling the air.
Huh.
“What now?” she says, meeting my eyes on the mirror with less patience this time.
“Nothing. I guess I just expected another lecture about staying away from Ed.”
“Would it do any good?”
“No.”
“Well then, I won’t bother. Ask away . . .”
“Thank you. Did we used to do things like this together?”
“More like we’d have salon days, go get manicures and things. It was fun.” Her smile is faint, but there. “We’d do a little shopping and have lunch somewhere nice in the city, have a few beers and talk smack about the boys. Sometimes all four of us would go see bands or just have a meal out. Often others from work would come too, guest artists passing through and so on. Ed used to be big on his team building, back when he had more time.”
“Before getting caught up in my mess.”
“As I understand it, you’re in no way responsible for this current situation. Don’t take on shit that isn’t yours, Clem. That doesn’t help anyone.”
“Hmm...... Will you tell me a bit more about your background?”
“Like what?” she asks.
“Anything really . . . I’m just curious,” I say as Margarita moves my head this way and that, still cutting.
Legs crossed, Tessa relaxes back in the chair. It turns out she’s an only child and her parents are both lawyers. She rebelled by studying art and then moving into tattooing. While initially shocked, her folks are now fully supportive of what she does. Though they wouldn’t mind if she wanted to get a degree in accounting or something just to be safe. She doesn’t go anywhere near her romantic history with Ed and I don’t ask.
