The Life Lucy Knew

by Karma Brown

  It was hard to detail exactly what happened next, the evening hazy with alcohol and desire. But when they woke up the next morning, Lucy was lying beside Matt, gently snoring in a way he still found adorable, her gelled-hair still sticking out to the side—though it had wilted significantly—and naked aside from his boring black-and-gray tie, which she wore loosely around her neck.

  20

  The tie. It made sense now, why I had bought Matt that uninspired, black-and-gray tie for our anniversary.

  “That was it,” Matt said, and my thoughts snapped back to him. “The moment you put the gel in my hair, I realized I didn’t want to be only friends anymore. And it seemed you felt the same.”

  “It was the gel?” I asked, laughing a little. The story had been sweet and funny and romantic, but it felt like someone else’s story. Or like a great scene in a movie we’d watched. I was sad not to recall it, desperately wanted to remember things the way Matt described them.

  “I still use that gel sometimes,” he said, smiling. “Good memories.” His face was hopeful, and I realized he was waiting for me to agree. Maybe she’ll remember it now...maybe she’ll remember me now...

  I stared at my half-eaten pasta cooling on my plate, unsure what to say. I didn’t remember any of it and I felt terrible about that. So many times in these past weeks I longed to mourn what I’d lost, but was unable to because I was constantly confronted by what everyone else had lost, too. And even though it wasn’t my fault—I would have given anything for things to be different—it broke my heart, every time.

  “We didn’t officially start dating until a few months later, though,” Matt added.

  I looked up from my plate, surprised. “We didn’t? Why not?”

  He shrugged, then grinned. “I was an idiot.”

  I waited for him to elaborate.

  “We were such great friends and I didn’t want to screw that up,” he said. He looked sad again, likely thinking about how everything got screwed up anyway. “But I came to my senses right around Valentine’s Day, when Jake asked you out.”

  “Wait, Jake asked me out? Jake Jake?” I asked. “What did I say?” It was so bizarre to have no memory of any of this, yet to know it had all happened.

  “No, of course,” he replied. “You said you were waiting for me to come around.”

  The longing to remember such a happy time in my life ran deep. “Please tell me Valentine’s Day isn’t our anniversary,” I said, cocking one eyebrow.

  “Come on, do you think I’m that lame?” he asked. Then he laughed at the look on my face. “Right. I told you about the cereal killer costume. No, our anniversary is February 15. I figured twenty-four hours was enough of a buffer.”

  I laughed, too, and then had an idea of something I could do for Matt. Something small but, I hoped, significant.

  “So, I know it’s still over a week away, but where should we do lunch your first day back?” Matt asked, trying to keep the mood light. Trying to make things easier for both of us. “Are you done?” He was half standing, his fingers on the edge of my plate. I nodded and he took it and stacked it on top of his plate. “Maybe sushi? Burritos?”

  “No,” I said. He paused, hands full of our dirty dishes.

  “Okay, no to burritos and sushi. What about that falafel place—”

  “No, I’m not done.”

  Matt looked confused, glanced at my plate in his hands. “With your pasta?”

  I held up a finger—a “give me a minute” request—and got up from the table and headed for the bedroom. If he said anything else, I didn’t hear him, because I was already rummaging around in the closet.

  Matt was soon at the bedroom door, the dishes gone from his hands, a curious look on his face. “What are you doing, Lucy?”

  “Looking for something.”

  He paused, his voice measured as he asked, “Anything I can help with?”

  “Don’t worry, this isn’t a memory lapse thing.” I stuck my head farther into the depths of the closet, reached toward the back and, moving a few items aside, pulled out a shoebox. I set the box on the bed and opened the lid, lifting out the gold-hued plastic bag. “I’m sorry it isn’t wrapped,” I said, handing it to Matt.

  He took the bag from me but didn’t open it. He seemed nervous, unsure what to do. “What’s this?”

  “It was your anniversary present,” I replied, sitting down on the bed. I kept my voice even, a swirl of emotions moving through me. I could only imagine how it felt for Matt to hear me refer to our anniversary. I pushed past the lump in my throat. “I bought it when I was shopping with Jenny. The day I slipped, and, well...you know the rest. So, here.”

  He pressed his lips together, his face solemn. Then he opened and looked inside the bag. At first I thought he was going to cry and I steeled myself for it. But then his face broke into a grin and he pulled the tie out of the bag. Black-and-gray stripes, decidedly boring.

  Exactly like the one I’d ruined for his Halloween costume.

  “I didn’t remember, about the tie,” I said quickly, because I didn’t want him to get his hopes up. “When Jenny gave it to me, I couldn’t figure out what it meant. But now I know.”

  “It’s perfect. Exactly the right gift,” Matt said, grinning as he tied it around his neck. “How does it look?”

  He was dressed in a long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans, and so he looked ridiculous with the tie on, but I smiled. “It classes things up for sure.” Matt laughed and sat beside me on the bed, putting an arm around my shoulders. He kissed my temple as I leaned into him.

  “We’re going to get through this, Lucy. You and me, together.”

  I took the long end of his tie and held it out to the side, the way he’d described the costume. “Was it like this?” I asked.

  “Pretty much,” he said. “And it was awesome.”

  He kissed me then, and it was nice. Warm, comforting and starting to feel more normal every time.

  21

  I convinced myself there was no need to tell Matt I was going to meet Daniel again. I had decided it would be the last time and so told myself mentioning the meet up would only assign it more importance than it deserved. Matt had enough to worry about these days and I didn’t want to pile on anything else. But the real reason I didn’t tell Matt was because I knew it would hurt him. How could it not?

  So, with all that swirling through my mind, I said nothing—again. Actually, worse, this time I flat-out lied. I told Matt I was meeting Jenny, because he asked if I wanted to go out for lunch and I needed an excuse. I felt rotten about the lie all morning and waffled between calling Daniel to cancel and telling Matt plans had changed and I could meet him for lunch, after all.

  But as time ticked on I didn’t cancel on Daniel or admit the truth to Matt. Instead, I dressed carefully, straightened my hair and even spritzed on some perfume. And as I was getting my coat out of the front hall closet I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and immediately went back to the bedroom, put my hair in a ponytail and wet a washcloth to rub off the perfume. This was not some sort of romantic reunion, where I put my best face forward and hoped Daniel was intrigued enough to want to see me again. He was married, and not to me. It couldn’t be simpler than that.

  * * *

  Moonbean Coffee was busy when I arrived, but I managed to snag the same table as last time, near the window. I ordered a latte and tried to unwind the tangle of nerves in my stomach. I hadn’t realized how anxious I was to see Daniel again—maybe because I knew there was a chance I’d end up telling him everything, and I wasn’t sure where that would lead. Or where I hoped it might lead. Which instantly revved up my guilt, wrapped the anxiety ribbons tighter around my chest, because I couldn’t think about Daniel without also thinking of Matt.

  I was also edgy about going back to work. I probably wasn’t ready—Matt was right—but I was impatient
for things to normalize, and going to the office felt like a normal thing to do. So I would fumble my way through it and hope for the best. And anything seemed better than spending another week in our apartment, restless as I waited for something to happen, to change.

  Five minutes passed, then fifteen. I checked my phone repeatedly, ordered another latte and a muffin. Waited some more. An hour later my coffee was half-drunk and cold, the muffin partially eaten, and Daniel still wasn’t there. And with a cold wave of humiliation I realized what had happened—Daniel wasn’t coming. He had forgotten all about me.

  Now I understood when he said, “Same time next week?” he was merely being polite, and I had been a fool to assume it was a firm date. Maybe he had every intention to have coffee with me again, but as the week went on he forgot about it as the pressures and responsibilities of his own life flooded in. I thought back to our conversation at this very table, one week earlier. Had we agreed to this? Yes, I was sure we had.

  But then a terrifying thought: What if my brain made up the whole thing? What if I had gone to sleep one night and my mind crafted this memory, like it had all the other ones of Daniel while I was in the coma? With shaking hands I tapped my phone on and went back through my calls.

  Daniel London. Last Monday, and we’d talked according to my phone’s log for five minutes and forty-five seconds. I resisted the urge to ask the barista if she recognized me, and could only hope the coffee date with Daniel had in fact happened the way I remembered.

  With a sigh and a few belly breaths, the shaking in my body subsided slightly. I felt confident the memories of running into Daniel at the bar and having coffee last week were real, but as for today’s meeting, who knew what the truth was. The flare of anger was swift, and I jammed my phone into my purse before standing up and hastily pulling on my coat. I hated this, all of it. I wished I could start over somewhere else, like someone in the witness protection program. I could create an entirely new identity, not dependent on anyone or anything that came before. Change my name, tell believable stories of a past I didn’t need to be corrected on. Because I wasn’t the same person I used to be, and it scared me to realize I didn’t know myself anymore.

  * * *

  While I waited for my appointment with Dr. Kay, I pulled out my notebook, opened it to a blank page and wrote the date, taking a few moments to capture my morning routine (laundry for work, review of my questions and answers for my appointment with Dr. Kay, meeting Daniel at Moonbean—he didn’t show). I had decided on my brisk walk to her office I would do this every day, morning and evening, to make it easier to track my memory and make sure I wasn’t forgetting anything critical. The fresh air had also done me good. I wasn’t as agitated as I had been in the coffee shop—agitation, I knew, could be a side effect from my head injury, but more likely it was a symptom of how out of control I felt about my life.

  * * *

  Dr. Kay’s office smelled like cinnamon and clementines and then I noticed the candle burning on the edge of her desk. Some sort of seasonal Bath & Body Works candle, probably a gift from a client over the holidays. The scent reminded me of Christmas Eve from when I was a kid, when my mom would make mulled wine to take in large flasks for our traditional caroling through our north Toronto neighborhood. I took a deep breath through my nose and settled into one of two chairs by the window.

  “How are you, Lucy?” Dr. Kay asked, shutting the door behind her and setting the timer before joining me by the window.

  “Good. I’m fine.” It came out automatically, because that’s what you say when people ask you how you are. But then I reminded myself Dr. Kay did want to know how I was, especially if I wasn’t fine. “Actually, scratch that. I’m okay but not great.”

  She nodded, crossed one leg over her other knee, causing her dress pants to rise up slightly at the ankles. She was wearing pink socks with snowmen on them, which made me smile. I gestured to her socks. “I see you’re hanging on to the holiday spirit. Christmas-scented candles and snowmen socks in April. Nice.”

  “It’s more about what’s clean in my drawer in the morning,” she said, laughing. “I get a lot of holiday-themed gifts, as you can imagine. But I’m fairly partial to that candle. And these socks.” She leaned forward, looked at her ankles. “They’re cozy and happy, don’t you think?”

  “I do,” I said, shifting my coat on the arm of the chair so it wasn’t hanging over my lap.

  “You could hang that up,” Dr. Kay said.

  “It’s fine here.”

  “Fine. There’s that word again,” she said, smiling gently at me. “So, tell me. What’s going on?”

  “I saw Daniel. We talked.” If she was surprised by my confession, she didn’t show it. “I mean, it wasn’t planned or anything. I ran into him outside a bar after a birthday party.”

  She nodded. “And how was it, seeing him?”

  I let out another long breath, through my nose. “Weird. Confusing. But also nice.” I went to twist my wedding band, my stomach dropping at the sight of my bare ring finger. When would this sink in?

  “Tell me about the ‘nice’ part.”

  It seemed an odd question because the answer should have been obvious. It was nice to see him because I missed him. But then I reminded myself part of accepting what was happening to me meant saying stuff out loud, to give it a different perspective. “Clarity leads to clarity,” Dr. Kay was fond of saying, and even though it seemed nonsensical, it resonated.

  “I still feel things for him I know I shouldn’t, but it was nice because seeing him made me feel relaxed. Like I wouldn’t have to explain myself to him, and that was a relief.”

  “Because you feel like he knows you so well?”

  I nodded. “Exactly. It sounds ridiculous, because in reality we don’t know each other at all anymore. We haven’t talked in years. But still. It was comforting to run into him.” I paused for a moment. “Especially because things had blown up with Matt at the party.”

  “What happened with Matt?”

  I had been all set to talk more about Daniel. To tell her about meeting him for coffee, and how I’d confided in him about what was going on—or at least about most of it—and he’d suggested we meet again the next week. I wanted to discuss it more, get her opinion and feedback. Hoped she might say yes, I should see Daniel as often as I wanted to because it could only help my brain as it tried to fill in the blanks and reshape the out-of-place bits. So when she asked about Matt, I was momentarily quieted, as I tried to come up with a segue back to Daniel.

  “Lucy? Is it okay if we talk about Matt?”

  “Yeah, sure. I...I was going to... Absolutely,” I stammered. “What was the question?”

  “What did you two fight about?”

  “Oh, that. He told someone at work what was going on. With my memory,” I replied. “We had agreed to keep it between us.”

  “I see,” Dr. Kay said. “How did you feel learning that?”

  “Well, based on the fact I walked out on him, not great,” I said with a small chuckle. “Sometimes my emotions are like giant tidal waves, totally out of control. I didn’t handle things as well as I could have.” I cleared my throat, picked a piece of lint off my sweater. “I know it’s hard for him, too.”

  “That’s pretty understanding,” she said. “You know, Lucy, it’s okay to be angry with Matt. He broke your trust, and right now trust is pretty critical for you.”

  I considered what she said. She was right—I needed to be able to trust people in my life, now more than ever. But I also had to find ways to keep moving forward. “Being angry is exhausting,” I said. “And I’m already so worn down—trying to remember what’s true and what I’ve made up—I need things to be okay with Matt.”

  “And are things ‘okay’ with Matt?”

  I paused, opened my mouth to answer, then closed it again. I thought about Jake’s party, our spontaneous �
�date” in High Park, the Halloween story Matt recounted, the anniversary gift tie, which had led to a very satisfying evening. “Better? I don’t know how to explain it.” I shook my head. “We’ve been... Well, we’re sort of back to the way things were before. In the, uh, bedroom.” I blushed, embarrassed more by my inability to come right out and say we were sleeping in the same room, doing things couples do.

  “I still don’t remember any part of our life before my accident. Sometimes I even forget he’s not only my friend,” I said. “But I’m having these...feelings for Matt. Feelings you don’t have about your friends.”

  “What do you think those feelings mean?” Dr. Kay asked.

  “I’m not sure,” I replied without having to think about it. “Not yet, anyway.”

  Dr. Kay shifted in her seat and watched me closely. “Lucy, as we’ve discussed, you know there’s a chance these changes in your memory will be permanent. And if that’s the case, you will be a different person going forward than you used to be. Which is okay! This is a transition, perhaps even more so for those around you because they remember past-Lucy.”

  I could tell whatever she had to say next was important by the way she leaned forward, clasping her hands and settling them on her bent knees as she observed me. “You have the right to change your present if it doesn’t fit with the future you envision. We know it doesn’t line up with the past you remember, and the future is a big question mark at this point, isn’t it?”

  I nodded, bit my lip because I was trying to keep the tears at bay. I understood what she was saying and it made perfect sense. Sometimes, as I lay in the dark with Matt sleeping soundly beside me, I fretted about never finding my way back to him. To us. And then shame would worm through me because I knew I would be able to move on; I would be okay without Matt. Though I was beginning to understand it wasn’t as easy as one might think to leave behind a past you didn’t remember.