Drop Everything Now

by Thomas, Alessandra

  Mike turned his head to the side and coughed lightly. We all knew what he was doing—trying to quell the tears that came when Mom said what we all already knew was true.

  She’d met Mike about two-and-a-half years ago, fallen head-over-heels for him, and gotten married to him within a year. I wasn’t his biggest fan, but I never doubted that she thought he was the best thing since flats came back into style.

  “Well, Maria,” Dr. Ernest said, placing his hand on the bed’s sidebar, “it looks to me like you have a classic case of retrograde amnesia caused by traumatic brain injury. Now, classic is a bit of a misnomer since we usually see this sort of thing when someone has continued seizures, not a bump on the head.”

  “She didn’t know Carol this morning,” I said. “And then when you came in she remembered something about her.”

  “We don’t really know how much she remembers yet,” Dr. Ernest continued. “It’s possible, Maria, that you recognize aspects of Carol’s face without knowing anything else about her but instead remembered that you were a nurse in the ICU. Still, the fact that you remembered that is very encouraging.

  “We’ll do some tests, of course, but it’s my guess that there was some loss of blood flow to your right temporal lobe. It looks like your memory loss is episodic, which means that you’re not remembering some events that have happened but still remember things like your name, and some earlier events. Thankfully, the brain has something we call ‘plasticity.’ It’s like a computer—it can actually rewire itself and find different neural pathways to the information it needs.”

  Dr. Ernest cocked his head toward the door. “Can I speak with the two of you outside?” Mom’s eyebrows creased like they did when she was freaked out about something, but then her head and shoulders fell back into her pillows. She was clearly exhausted already.

  Out in the hall with the doctor, I asked the first question.

  “Why does she remember some things? Why does she remember…me?”

  “The brain is an amazing thing, Andi. It files away our older memories over time and in various structures of the brain, making retrieval through alternate pathways possible. It automatically finds the memories that it absolutely needs at that moment—but it seems your identity, Mr. Hughes, isn’t one of them. I’m so sorry.”

  “So… she might be able to remember? I mean, she could get those memories back, right? Her life back?”

  “There’s a lot we don’t know about her particular case, but in theory, yes. We’ve seen it happen. I would just caution you two—especially you, Mr. Hughes—to take it slowly. Put yourself in her place. Learning that you’ve lost years of memory is already stressful without the people in your life pushing you to re-remember them. So, Andi, maybe just your age for now. When she seems to have adjusted to that, then work up to the fact that you’re in college across the country. Mr. Hughes, I’d focus on her just being comfortable with you for short periods of every day. Like you’re trying to become friends with her all over again. Can you do that?”

  Mike nodded slowly. “We did it once,” he said. “We can do it again.” He stared off down the hall, clenching his jaw.

  “How long?” I asked, thoughts of my classes and professors and almost-degree back in Philly flitting through my brain for the first time since I’d called Dr. Sullivan.

  “We really have no way of knowing. Weeks for some things—maybe some faces and events. A couple months for most of her lost memories if we’re lucky. About as long as I expect her to be in recovery from the surgery.”

  The room spun around me. In a couple months, I was supposed to be walking across the stage to receive my diploma, but I could only get that diploma if I’d completed the classes to earn it. I could only do that if I was back in Philly.

  And I couldn’t go back to Philly with Mom like this.

  We filed back into Mom’s room, where I settled back into my seat and Mike wheeled himself to the middle of the floor.

  He finally spoke, his voice a choked whisper. “I…uh…I have an appointment with my doctor. I’ll come back and check in later,” he said to me and Carol. When he looked Mom’s way, she just stared at the floor.

  Dr. Ernest picked up Mom’s charts and made some notes. “The techs will be here to take you for testing sometime this afternoon.”

  Mom closed her eyes and nodded as she leaned back into her bed.

  “Thank you, Dr. Ernest,” I said as he walked out.

  Mom and I sat there for a long time in silence. I ran my hand over her head, just like she used to do for me when I was sick or crying over a boy.

  Her eyes finally opened, focusing on mine. “You’re not sixteen, are you?”

  Tears formed at the corners of my eyes, but I forced myself to take a long, deep breath and blink them away. “No, Mamá,” I said, reverting back to what I used to call her when I was a kid. “I just turned 22. You were there, at my birthday. We went out for sushi.”

  “I don’t remember,” she whispered, her lip quivering.

  “I know,” I said, stroking my palm down her arm and squeezing her hand again. “But I do. And that’s what I’m here for.” I didn’t mention that I was in school all the way across the country, that I had no job and no place to stay here. That would only make things worse. Besides, I owed this to her.

  Mom closed her eyes again and drifted off to sleep while my brain whirred a mile a minute, remembering.

  When my dad left us when I was a baby and Mom worked two, sometimes three jobs to keep a roof over our heads… When she stayed up late to go to nursing school after her day job… When she took extra shifts to pay for the expensive prom dress I’d begged for—Mom had been there for me. There was no way in hell I was leaving her now.

  But if I was going to stay in town for longer than a week, I would need a different place to stay and a way to make some cash—STAT. I scribbled a note to Mom explaining that I’d be back later on, that I knew the nurses well, and that she should trust them to take good care of her.

  Chapter 5

  The best place to start, I figured, would be the hotel. At the very least, I had to go back to get my stuff, and maybe I could figure out how to connect to their Internet and do some job and apartment hunting. I hopped a cab and watched the Vegas scenery, with its strange combination of red desert, green palms, and worn white buildings whiz by.

  As my brain kept working—listing things I’d need to figure out, accommodations I’d need to find, stuff I’d need to pay for—my throat tightened and the corners of my eyes burned all over again. I’d only saved about $2,000 during the past three-and-a-half years of college—thank God for the scholarship that had paid my tuition. After that last-minute plane ticket, I only had about $800 left to my name, and with that, I’d have to pay for an apartment for who knew how long, plus my rent back in Philly. I could try to sublease my Philly place, but not being there to interview tenants or manage their issues would probably be more trouble than it was worth—not to mention I didn’t know when I would need my place back.

  By the time the cab pulled back up to the hotel, I had tears spilling out of my eyes and an ache in my head. It was only then that it hit me: It was almost noon, and I hadn’t had a single goddamn cup of coffee yet. When I went into the hotel, holding my breath upon entry to block out the cigarette smoke, I spotted a bare, muscled back topped by a white collar heading toward the front desk.

  “Ryder!” I blurted out. But as soon as the guy turned around, I realized how dense I’d been. This guy had light hair where Ryder’s was chestnut brown, and he was only a couple inches taller than me. He gave me a strange look but turned and walked back toward me anyway.

  “I’m not Ryder, but I think I might be able to help.”

  I felt a blush swarm over my cheeks. He had the same glisten to his pecs that Ryder had, even though this guy’s were a weird orange color, almost glowing against his obviously
bleached teeth.

  “Uh, yeah,” I said, shifting my purse around on my shoulder. “I’m staying here, actually, but I’m wondering if there’s a way to get coffee in the middle of the day anywhere close to here.”

  “If we didn’t have our own coffee shop on the other side of the casino, I’d run down the street for some myself,” he said, walking toward the blinking, blaring slot machines and motioning for me to follow.

  “But…you do?” I asked, supremely embarrassed. I didn’t know if this guy was hitting on me or just doing his job. Or maybe I was just so unused to topless guys walking around that being in their presence made me think they were all flirting with me by default. The last guy I’d seen shirtless was one I dated for two-and-a-half months the first semester of junior year—and saying he had muscles would have been a serious exaggeration.

  “Yes, Miss…”

  “Herrera.” A vision of Ryder flashed into my mind. I’d told him to call me “Andi” without a second thought.

  “Follow this pathway until it ends. Make two lefts, and it’ll be right there. “

  A relieved breath whooshed out of me, and the pounding in my head practically begged for caffeine. “Thank you so much,” I breathed, giving Orange Man one last look of thanks.

  The coffee shop was more like a small bar with an espresso machine and a rack of syrups instead of shot glasses, vodka, and rum. Still, in that small space, the smell of coffee overtook everything, even most of the smoke from the casino floor. Plus, the promise of caffeine practically made me giddy. My major back at Drexel—Childhood Development and Family Services—wasn’t the most difficult, but working at the Children’s Hospital every afternoon meant my homework piled up until weekend mornings, so I still ran on artificial stimulants just like any other undergrad.

  When I got up to the counter, I ordered a medium coffee, black. Then my eye fell on a small rack of packaged cookies. I could hardly believe it, but there was a black-and-white the size of my face in there. I told myself I didn’t really need to be eating a cookie for my breakfast and lunch, but my stomach grumbled its protest. I had no idea where I would find a decent lunch in this part of town, even if I had the energy to go after it—which I definitely didn’t. Sighing, I picked up the crinkling plastic package and flipped it over. The expiration date wasn’t for another nine months, so I tossed it down on the counter and forked over an extra $3.50, cursing under my breath. I’d only been here a little over 24 hours and spent most of it either at the hospital or sleeping, but that didn’t stop me from noticing how everything here was so expensive—more expensive than Philly, even.

  I took my sustenance and collapsed in one of the rickety white chairs at a small diner-style table, complete with a white speckled top and chrome edging. On the wall, a geometric starving-artists-type painting teetered on a nail. The coffee was watery, but hell if the black-and-white cookie wasn’t heaven. Decently cakey with rich chocolate frosting and that dense shining white glaze I loved so much. Knowing it would probably be my whole lunch, I broke off small pieces and popped them in my mouth between long drinks of coffee while I tried to get my bearings. A place to stay and a job—that had to be my focus. Right after I finished this coffee. And rested for a little bit.

  People trickled by the café opening, and it took me a few minutes to realize that they were not the old-lady tourists I saw in the rest of the hotel; they were all employees. There were a couple middle-aged ladies in dark pants and full tuxedo shirts, heading somewhere and chattering about lunch. After that, a girl in a very short skirt, black heels, and a sleeveless tuxedo shirt. Then, sure enough, two more topless guys in nothing but black pants and that white collar and bow tie. As they got closer, I realized one of them was definitely Orange Man, and without even realizing what I was doing, I stared down at my coffee cup, then picked at my cuticles, trying to look busy enough so he wouldn’t stop to talk. The break room must have been right around the corner.

  I was so focused on looking at my nails that I didn’t even notice someone sliding into the seat opposite me. When his knee brushed mine, I yelped and jumped half a foot in the air, flipping my half-empty cup of lukewarm coffee straight down the front of my shirt. The guy wore a white t-shirt and jeans, and when I looked up into his eyes, their deep olive color made me forget my own name for a second, let alone the fact that my shirt and bra were sopping wet with coffee.

  “Ryder,” I breathed and immediately scolded myself for sounding like a goddamn high schooler with a crush.

  Even though that’s exactly what I felt like.

  “Jesus, Andi, I’m so sorry.” Ryder rushed over to the small table opposite the coffee bar that held the stirring sticks, sugar, and cream, and returned with a handful of cheap, mashed-up paper napkins. He stepped right in front of me and pressed half of them to my shirt—right under my boob. My breath caught in my throat, my mouth dropped open, and my eyes flashed up into his as a shiver ran over my entire body, starting at the place where his fingers pressed into me. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

  I let out a nervous laugh. “It’s fine. Really, I’m fine.” Well, it had been until he felt me up. Now all I could do was grumble internally about why he had to be wearing a shirt.

  He pressed another handful of napkins to the coffee-soaked fabric at my stomach, and this time, his little finger hooked under the edge of my shirt. I had no idea what in the hell was wrong with me, but at that moment, if you had asked me about my mom in the hospital, I wouldn’t have known what you were talking about. I was damn glad that my brain knew how to make my body breathe automatically because all that I could think about was Ryder’s hand under my shirt, his skin on my skin.

  “Ah...” he said, yanking the napkins away like he had just realized exactly which sensitive spots his fingers had touched. “I’m really sorry I scared you. I should know better than to just sit down at a girl’s coffee table.” He backed up, but only half a step. I could still feel the rhythm of his breaths, the energy vibrating off of my skin. I was thinking a whole lot about skin.

  “No,” I said, pulling my shirt away from my body and squeezing it, letting coffee drip onto the floor. “I just didn’t recognize you with clothes on.” Goddamn. Of all the completely ridiculous things to say. What in the hell was wrong with me?

  He gave one short laugh, reaching up and tugging at the collar of his shirt, like he was apologizing for having it on. I caught a glimpse of what was underneath—oh hell. Even his collarbones had muscles. I couldn’t believe I was thinking it, but it was possible that he was actually sexier with a shirt on. His eyes caught mine again, and I started laughing and he started along with me. “Okay, um, we should start over.”

  “Oh,” I laughed. “I think it’s much too late for that. I’m soaked, and I’ve already seen you half-naked.” My hand flew to my cheek, my fingers covering my eye. “I mean… Oh my God. You’re right. Maybe we should start over.”

  Now Ryder was cracking up. “I’m going to buy you another cup of coffee, at least.”

  Before I could say anything in protest, he ambled over to the coffee bar, where the girl working there flashed him a megawatt smile. By the time he brought two cups back to the table, I’d controlled my blush and wrung a little more coffee out of my poor shirt.

  “So,” he asked. “Are you staying with us at the Starr for another night?”

  “Hopefully just one,” I said with a sigh.

  “Oh, is your mom doing better? Heading home?” He sounded happy, but I could have sworn there was disappointment in his eyes.

  “Uh, no, actually,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat that was probably planning on taking up permanent residence there. “She’s doing…worse. Well, not worse. She’s awake but in a lot of pain, and the only person she remembers is me. She remembers her friend a little bit maybe. But she got married to my stepdad a couple years ago, and she doesn’t remember him at all. In fact, he’s freaking her out
.”

  “Like in the soap operas?” he asked.

  “I wouldn’t know—I don’t work with old ladies 24/7,” I said, playfully kicking him under the table.”

  He didn’t crack a smile though. Goddamn. This guy was actually seriously wondering how Mom was doing.

  “But, yeah,” I continued. “That means I’m going to have to stay in Vegas a while longer.”

  “Good,” he said, nudging his knee against mine for the briefest of moments. “I like seeing you at work every day.”

  I laughed, but then my face fell again. “Yeah, well, I can’t stay here. I know the Shooting Starr is a great Vegas value and everything, but there’s no way I can afford $sixty-nine dollars a night for much longer.”

  “Well,” he said. “I know the housing market around here a bit. I worked in real estate for a while before it tanked.”

  That made me sit up. “Really?” I asked. “So you know of some cheap apartments, maybe?”

  He leaned his chin in the palm of his hand, running his fingers up over his lips and breathing deeply, which only made me lose focus because…damn. Those lips. Full and soft and looking a lot like they belonged on mine.

  “That’s going to be a problem unless you can sign a long-term lease. Six months, three at least.”

  I jerked back out of my daydream. “Of course. I know that. I have an apartment back at school. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  The truth was, I wasn’t thinking. I’d been yanked from school and a program I loved for what I thought would be a couple days, and now I was finding out that it could be weeks or months. My emotions careened around my brain, so it was no wonder when tears pooled in my eyes for what felt like the tenth time that day.

  “Hey, hey,” Ryder said, reaching his hand out to touch my arm. “It’s okay. Just let me think for a second.” He pulled a phone out of his back pocket and tapped on it for a few minutes before setting it down. “What I’m thinking is that you don’t only need an apartment, you need furniture and household stuff.”