by Sosie Frost
A flicker of hope twisted in me. Unfortunately, that optimism layered itself in a girlish hope, something silly and crushing and ultimately dangerous.
I practically squirmed under Shepard’s gaze—and not because I had an herb garden tendriling in the wrong orchard. He was handsome. He was chivalrous. He was offering to help.
And it was far too easy for me to return his smile.
I shook my head. “Shepard, I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think…I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“You weren’t assigned to my case to find my favorite restaurant.”
“I was put on your case because I’m the one who can solve it.”
Clue fussed in his arms, and it was only a matter of time before all hell broke loose. I took her back and cradled her close.
“I’ll be fine,” I said. “And so will she. My family is looking for me. And I can’t impose on your kindness any more than what your badge entails.”
“It’s not a job,” he said. “This is what I believe in, Evie. Helping people. Protecting them.”
“I don’t need protecting.”
“You always say that.”
“I do?”
“Everyone says that. They don’t want to be a burden. They don’t want to impose.” Shepard’s gaze warmed me, a blue-laced comfort I wasn’t sure I could accept. “I don’t see it that way. If someone needs help, I’m going to help them.”
I swallowed. “And if next week I get my memories back and I’m reunited with my family? I’ll have wasted your time.”
“It’s not a waste.” His smile was thin, a hint of amusement. “Don’t you think your family would be relieved to know someone was looking out for you?” He gently stroked Clue’s arm, holding her little hand for a moment. “You have my number. Use it.”
I followed him to the door, feet as heavy as my heart. I said nothing, only thanking him once more for the gift. No sense saying something I’d regret.
No sense letting him close.
No sense letting myself weaken as he held the baby.
Shepard was too attractive, too attentive, too…everything.
And I recognized that feeling—that wonderful, warm, desperate feeling of wanting someone I couldn’t want while I held the door open for him to leave.
To push him from my life.
Far, far away, before I tangled any of us in something beyond him.
I had someone waiting for me. Looking for me. Wanting me.
But suddenly, I had something worse.
Déjà vu.
This wasn’t the first time I’d pushed someone from my life.
And I hoped I hadn’t ruined it.
4
Accessorizing as a mother meant carrying diapers, wipes, and apparently knotting myself up in a Mobi wrap that turned me from mommy to mummy.
According to the instructions, the wrap was designed to let me go hands-free about my day while still nursing, cleaning, and walking around in public with a child bound to my chest.
Fair enough. It seemed like a good invention. And I wasn’t above cirque du soleil style aerial silking my way through the grocery store.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t follow the printed instructions without origami’ing Clue around my waist. Too tight and I’d cut off circulation. Too loose, and at least the wrap could double as bandages.
The YouTube Vlogs made it seem so easy. All those happy, smiling new mommas who had already lost twenty pounds and found the time to not only shower but also style their hair and put on makeup.
I was not that mother.
Was anyone that mother?
I wasn’t setting the bar too high. The damned wrap confused me enough. How was I supposed to keep the two sections flat around these bazingas? The manufactures had lost their damn minds. Unless I planned to bungee strap Clue to me, my mommy-webbing wasn’t holding a fruit fly, let alone my squirming little caterpillar.
Clue watched with heavy eyes from her swing. Her tummy was full, but my chest didn’t get the memo. I had a choice—go grocery shopping while she napped…or wait until she graced me with an hour of alertness before ducking into the store.
My stomach growled. Unless I wanted to churn my own butter, I needed something to spread on my toast. And no way was I wasting my precious spare ounces of pumped milk in my own cereal, no matter how daunting it seemed to shop.
The mobi wrapped around my back. So far so good. It clutched my shoulders a bit too tight, but standing up straight was overrated anyway. I avoided squeezing it around my neck, found a little pocket, and tightened a knot.
Moment of truth.
Clue rested in her glider. She was probably too fragile for this. Best to test the wrap with something less breakable.
Teddy Von Fuzzybritches had a recently patched arm. He could earn his disability and hazard pay in one go. I pried open a flap of the material and smooshed him inside.
It held.
Maybe.
I took one step before the wrapping curled up on itself. It bound like a pair of wet pantyhose before detangling itself from my shoulders. The fold weakened, and Teddy once more catapulted across the living room.
It was the most realistic pantomime of birth since the movie Alien.
“Okay.” I tucked test crash Teddy on the couch. “You’ve served this family well.”
Clue babbled from the glider. I doubted she’d asked for her ride on the slingshot. More than likely, those were the sounds of chiding disapproval.
At least I tried.
“This is why they make baby carriers.” I scooped her into my arms. “At least it comes with a seat belt.”
Clue promptly spit up.
So it’d be that sort of day.
But I had to get out into the world. I’d hid inside my apartment for twelve days, skipping out only for doctors’ appointments and to ride an elevator in the hopes of putting Clue to sleep.
I couldn’t just sit and wait for my memory to return. Life went on. Bodies healed. Diapers changed. Kitchens emptied of food.
Handsome detectives offered their help.
Stubborn amnesiacs refused their assistance.
If my memory wanted to come back, I’d meet it in the bread aisle.
The baby couldn’t talk yet, so she couldn’t complain about me dressing her in the most adorable and frilliest princess dress we had. One day, she’d be upset I dolled her up in a tutu…but that day wasn’t today. Especially since she rocked the puffed sleeves, matching bow, and perfectly polished pair of white ballet slippers.
She was dressed. I had showered. It shouldn’t have felt like a monumental achievement, but I had to boost my self-esteem any way I could get.
“Got a spare diaper…” I shook the container of wipes. “Eh, that’s probably enough, right, Clue? We’ll only be gone a couple minutes.”
Clue agreed with a warning fuss. I popped a pacifier in her mouth, and she was good to go.
Besides. This was just the grocery store. It’d take a half hour, tops. Wasn’t like I needed to pack an overnight bag with sun screen and tushie creams and blankets in case we got trapped out in the elements. The only inclement weather would be near the frozen veggies.
We headed out the door.
And my hubris punted my ass to the grocery store.
It was my fault for thinking I could carry her in the carrier instead of taking the stroller.
Mistake.
Neither of us were born yesterday, but I should have known better. Her carrier was bulky, heavy, and the worst workout I could have asked for. I had just given birth. The last thing I needed was a hernia.
I sweated by the time I reached the store—puffing, panting, and burning off a good deal of the baby weight. I lowered her carrier into the cart and stopped for a breather.
Oh, this wasn’t going to work. The baby’s seat took up all the room in the buggy.
“You’ve got to start pulling your own weight, kiddo.” I booped her nose. “Hopefully you can carry some stu
ff for me.”
Or I’d have to get a second cart.
Would that look weird? Then again, how strange would it look if I attempted to stack groceries Tetris style on top of the baby?
Only one way to find out. I rounded an aisle and grabbed a package of tortillas. Gently, I rested them over her legs.
Clue immediately seized a corner of the plastic, and her newborn fists clutched tight. I retrieved the packaging before her tiny fingers crinkled the tortilla and ruined a family’s future taco night.
“Okay, we’ll get two carts then, Clue. Want to be the engineer or caboose?”
The little snarl curl of her lip signified she was already managing her own caboose-related disasters.
That wasn’t a good sign. I’d have to hurry.
Really hurry.
But shopping would have been easier if I remembered what I liked to eat. I stared at the shelves for any sort of memory to flicker to light. Nothing came. I had to hope for the best.
Bread was a given, but I couldn’t decide on ham or turkey, so I opted for peanut butter and jelly instead. Milk made sense, but it was heavy, and I hauled enough of it around 24/7. Pasta was smart, but the thick, well-marbled rib-eye steak seemed too expensive.
Even though it was familiar…
Blackened. Ruined. A fifty-dollar steak torched to a shade lighter than my skin.
Maybe the inside could be salvaged…
The knife didn’t slice through the outside—it punctured. Charred ash flaked from the cut. The greyish, stringy interior was not what a celebratory dinner looked like.
Screw it. This was one first date I wouldn’t let turn into a disaster.
I had a stove, a pot, and some macaroni and cheese. It wasn’t classy, but it was ours.
It didn’t matter what we ate…
Just that we could finally eat it together.
I gripped the cart.
The images remained.
A tiny kitchen. An even smaller table. The scorched dinner. The boiling macaroni.
It faded, but I relived that moment of time, when a simple dinner filled me with hope, fear, excitement. I had tried my damnedest to cook a dinner for…
Him.
The memory didn’t give me a name or a face. I had no other indication of who he was, but I felt it.
I’d loved him then.
…So where was he now?
My stomach trembled as much as my hands, but I couldn’t freak out in the middle of the meat counter surrounded by roaster chickens, no matter the BOGO deal.
This was good. Another memory meant I made progress. It meant I had someone.
It meant we had someone.
I smiled at Clue, though my grin faded.
The adorable baby had her own epiphany too. One that Eureka’ed right out of her diaper.
And onto her seat. And her clothes.
And just…everywhere.
“You’ve got to be kidding me…” I tempted fate and lifted her skirt. Ew. Clean up on aisle four. “This is what happens when we try to be fashionable.”
Clue gurgled.
More?
Oh no. The kid practically vibrated. And that sound!
Since when did cute little teeny tiny babies echo like a fog horn? People stared.
I pointed at the baby.
“Wasn’t me.”
And now I got the evil looks. I’d have defended myself, but Clue’s diaper absolutely peaced out. Like it saw what came down the pike and gave it a good-old side step to avoid the impending disaster.
“Holy…” I bit my tongue, but the word was apt. “You had to do this here?”
Clue answered with a fussy whine. My kid tended to get particular with her bottom when we were at normal alert levels. Now we staged a war at DEFCON One, and if I didn’t get her cleaned up soon, we’d have the mother—baby?—of all meltdowns.
Time to roll.
I scooted through the store, training both carts through the aisles, snaking around displays of cookies and accidentally knocking over a pyramid of paper towels. Clue’s unhappy cry acted as a siren, clearing the path to the bathrooms.
I reached for the baby.
Ew. On second thought, I took the whole carrier in with me.
But the bathroom was a disaster. It once had a changing table. Unfortunately, an acrobatic teenage vandal had turned it into a spring board. They’d wrecked the table, leaving it hanging limp against the wall.
Obviously, the perpetrators weren’t in diapers, but if I ever found them I’d cram my foot so far up their ass they’d depend on one for the rest of their life.
Damn it.
I was not changing a baby on a dirty bathroom floor, and I didn’t possess the athletic skills to attempt it on my lap while sitting on the toilet.
New plan.
I wheeled everything once more to the front of the store, leaving the cart with the food and pushing Clue outside to the benches.
Taken.
A swarm of elderly men and women hovered on and around every available bench, waiting for the public access bus to return them to their retirement community.
Most shuffled towards a trio of Girl Scouts, stacking boxes of cookies for sale on a card table. Two of the girls—cute little blonde things—rubbed their red cheeks after a series of ravenous, grandmotherly pinchings.
“Cookies!” The bravest of the girls called out. “Would you like to buy—”
The elderly had but one tooth that hadn’t been replaced by dentures. Their sweet tooth.
The mob turned rowdy. Coin purses opened. Walkers clattered against canes. Joints flexed quicker than they had in years.
Brave, brave girls.
I turned to the benches. I couldn’t ask an old man with one leg or a stooped-over old lady to move their two, ten pound bags of birdseed. Besides, some of these people were probably war vets—they’d seen enough in their life without being exposed to the PTSD loaded in Clue’s diaper.
I wheeled my car to the side, parking it next to a curb. A half-retaining wall separated the flowering landscaping from the sidewalk—good enough for a makeshift changing table. I whipped a spare blanket from the diaper bag and laid Clue on the wall.
I forgot to brace for impact.
The scene wasn’t pretty. The disaster had happened quick, but it hadn’t offered much warning. As for survivors? We’d rebuild, but the aftermath of this tragedy would live on. It wasn’t a memory I wanted to keep, but it’d build resilience and character.
And help with the gag reflex.
Clue hated the cold wipe against her behind, but she sure as hell would hate the hammer and chisel I’d need to properly clean the child. She wailed—the only sound most of the elderly could hear. The clanking of a walker echoed behind me.
“Oh, Lord have mercy, look at the little angel!”
The old woman’s voice croaked out the compliment. She probably regretted it the instant she said it.
Angelic? The destroyed diaper did not look holy to me.
I looked away while cleaning what I could, grimacing as something warm touched my hand. Gross. I forced myself to think of anything else.
Kittens. Puppy. Ice cream.
The faint tinkling of ice cream truck music—Turkey in the Straw?—echoed in my head.
Wow, the diaper change went so badly I relived the accident. Damn.
“She sure is crying!” The old lady laughed.
“Yeah…”
I reached for another wipe. My fingers grazed only the cold plastic of the container.
Oh. No. This wasn’t happening.
I thought I had plenty of wipes with me!
Why didn’t I grab a second container?
I could fix this. I’d just…
Toss a new diaper onto Clue, redress her, and run inside the store for more wipes. Yeah. That made sense. Sacrifice a diaper and finish the job.
But what about her dress? I peeled it off the baby and held it up. My beautiful princess dress turned…drippy.
&nbs
p; And the elderly woman shuffling at my side stepped right into a slick spot. Her cane flipped, clattering over the half-wall. She shouted and flailed backwards. I dove for her before she did the osteoporosis jig into the sidewalk.
“Easy there!” I steadied her. “Are you okay?”
“Look at those cheeks!”
Apparently, she was fine. The lady reached for Clue. Not sure which cheeks she referred to, but I blocked her hand before she pinched any part of the kid.
“She’s still very little.” I didn’t know if it served as an apology or not, but the baby was fussy enough—literally pissed off and on. She wasn’t dressed, wiggled all dirty, and she wouldn’t appreciate anyone poking at her during one of the worst moments in her life. “Thank you though.”
“What’s her name?”
I thought today I’d try out Shayla—but that was only after I ran though Kylie, Melody, and Alana.
“Clue,” I said.
“She’s so tiny.” The old lady coo’ed at her. “She must not be a good eater yet.”
What? I stilled.
Was she still too little?
Her belly seemed pretty damn chunky. And she certainly hadn’t skipped a meal yet. Clue would probably learn to walk just to raid the tap whenever she could.
“Um…” I swallowed. “The doctors said she was normal.”
“And you. It’s refreshing to see such a natural mother.”
Ha. Natural? “Thanks.”
“All these new parents these days. More concerned with their makeup and clothing than what their baby needs.”
Goddamn it.
I ran a hand through my ponytail. I’d found a scrunchie. That made the day a win.
“Bless her.” The old lady smiled. “Look at this little dear. Just crying it out.”
I didn’t have to look. Everyone with a hearing aid could hear her.
“Good for you,” she said. “So many new mothers coddle their children.”
My self-esteem couldn’t hit a lower low. If the lady wanted to bring me to my knees, all she needed to do was whack me with her cane.
I struggled with the diaper, bundling it a little too tight over her waist. Her umbilical cord had hardened, blackened, and was generally disruptive to anything I tried to do with her. The diaper brushed it a bit too hard.
