Forget Me (Hampton Harbor)

by Jess Petosa

  I know that my mom has been calling Jason non-stop. He got me a new phone to replace the one that fell into the ocean, and if she knew phone was active again, I'm sure she would be calling me as well. Jason has given her one more day before he thinks she'll come knocking down the door.

  The best part of my four days in Clinton Hills was having the chance to call Marie. I called her on Monday, when I knew she would be home in the morning. I close my eyes and think about our conversation.

  “Are you happy there, Melissa?” she asked me.

  “I’m not sure,” I told her honestly.

  The line was silent for several uncomfortable minutes.

  “Are you upset with us?” she asked.

  I took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’m just really confused.”

  I heard a sniffle on the other end and knew that Marie was crying. I pictured her dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

  “We never wanted to hurt you,” she told me. “We wanted you to have the chance you were looking for. We were so excited for you to visit and then you had the accident. We weren’t sure why you woke up so confused, but once Charles decided you were most likely suffering from amnesia, we decided it was best to let the situation carry out. Like I told you a few days ago, you told us that you didn’t want to contact anyone from your family just yet.”

  “Did you know where I lived? Did you know about Jason? My pregnancies?”

  “We knew where you were living. Your mother couldn’t hide where she settled with you and Robbie all those years ago, but she made it quite clear we were not welcome to visit. You have to realize, when she walked in the door to get you on Friday, it was the first time I’d seen her in almost twenty years.”

  She paused to blow her nose and then continued.

  “I had no idea you’d gotten married, or had a baby. Any of that. I tried to contact your mother at least once a year, but she always shut me out. She shut out the rest of our family as well. So, do you really have a child?”

  It was hard, explaining to her what was so fresh for me as well. It was like we were both learning it in a similar time frame. She cried with me and offered words of comfort. I almost asked about Will but I couldn’t bring myself to mention his name out loud.

  She’d made me promise to call once a week before she would hang up the phone.

  I set down the book I'm reading, one from my personal collection, and glance at the clock.

  Four o'clock.

  Jason will be home soon, and I'll disappear into the kitchen to throw myself into busy work. I've taken to cooking elaborate dinners, since they keep me from thinking. It's the same reason I read, watch TV, and get myself caught in lengthy conversations with the shop owners in town. My mind still isn't my own.

  It’s a vicious mix of both Melissa and Jane. Of both Jason and Will. Of both Hampton Harbor and Clinton Hills.

  The front door creaks open and I hear footsteps in the foyer. I turn and watch Jason set his duffle bag on a bench along the front wall.

  “Hey,” he looks at me under the brim of his hat and my heart flutters. It’s an old reaction, one I’m used to from my past memories. Now I can’t seem to relate to the feeling, even though I’m trying.

  Slowly, he has helped me bring back memory after memory. The first two years of our marriage is clearer to me now, but I can't seem to get anything out of him about the last year. Normally when I ask him questions about our past he gives me as many details as he can remember but when I bring up the past year, he skirts around the answers and tells me he doesn't want to overload me. He is being so kind to me though, and I’ve been so withdrawn.

  “I’m going to shower, and then I’ll be back down,” he tells me.

  I nod and head into the kitchen to delve into the cookbook I've left open. There is a very lengthy recipe for stuffed rosemary pork chops and sour cream and chive mashed potatoes. I start pulling ingredients from the fridge and pantry, and pull out knives, and bowls, and cutting boards. I'm fifteen minutes in, dicing through onion, when Jason finally reappears.

  He is showered and fresh water droplets sit on the tips of his blond hair. He is wearing jeans and a tight, black t-shirt and I decide he looks good. For a split second I feel bad for finding him attractive, but then I realize that I have every right to. We’re married. Then I'm thinking about Will, and the way water dripped down his long hair and onto his face and shoulders.

  I turn away and go back to the cutting board, wondering if the sudden sting of tears is from the onion or the fact that I miss Will.

  "You know, as much as I love these gourmet meals, I feel the need to tell you that you did not cook like this before," Jason tells me.

  Before.

  That’s what we've come to call my life prior to the accident. The Melissa moments I'm starting to recall.

  "It keeps me busy," I say honestly.

  Jason clears his throat and shifts his weight back and forth nervously. I can tell he wants to say something, but the words seem to be stuck in his throat. I've felt the same way many times since waking up in Charles and Marie's home. For that reason alone, I don't push him.

  Jason is saved by his phone. He frowns at the number on the screen and puts it to his ear.

  "Grace,” he says calmly. "I don't think that's... no. No. I'll tell her."

  He puts the phone back in his pocket, and he now has my full attention. I set the paring knife down and look at him.

  "Your mom is coming over. Now."

  I scoop the onions into a small mixing bowl and reach for the salt.

  "I was wondering what took her so long." I find it easier to speak as though I know her fully, since most of my memories are filled with her. My anger and bitterness, and the small pieces of happiness, which I have with her, are the most vivid.

  I'm sautéing the onions in butter when my mom storms into the house. She stands by the kitchen table, her arms crossed over her chest, and her long painted nails tapping her arms. Her lips are a thin, straight line colored by plum lipstick.

  "Enough is enough, Melissa." Her voice is high and squeaks slightly when she says my name. "It's time to stop ignoring your family and start making an effort to get better. Robbie and Sarah drove all the way from Chicago the other night to have dinner with you, and you decided to be a no show. I had to reschedule all of your appointments in Chicago. You're acting like a child."

  "Am I?" I say as I pull the pan off the stove and scoop the onions back into the bowl. "Or are you? You walk in my house and start demanding that I listen to you. I’m an adult. You no longer get a say in what I do."

  I can practically see the steam rolling off my mom. She taps her foot now, and the rhythm matches her fingers.

  "I see someone is sleeping on the couch. Is that you or Jason?"

  "That’s none of your business." I say.

  She sighs. "What matters is that you aren't even sharing a bed with your husband. Imagine what the girls would think."

  I picture of a bunch of older women, sitting in my mom's living room and sipping tea.

  "I guess you'll have to come up with some story to tell them. Although I doubt any of the girls are spending time in my living room." I raise an eyebrow at her.

  Jason is leaning against the refrigerator, looking more unnerved by the minute.

  "He's your husband, Melissa!"

  I slam the bowl on the counter. "I'm trying. I'm trying really hard." I'm nearly shouting now. "And Jason has been helping me. Beth too."

  My mom sneers at the mention of Beth.

  "I'm taking it at a pace I can handle," I say more quietly.

  "Maybe you need to push yourself, make yourself do some uncomfortable things to recover quicker," my mom says. "Spend a night with your husband..."

  I open my mouth to tell her off but Jason speaks first.

  "Grace..." his voice is a growl. A warning.

  "I think you should go," I say.

  "I..." she starts.

  "Let me rephrase that," I
say to her. "You need to go."

  My mom looks at me, her eyes narrowing.

  "Fine, I'll go," I say.

  I wipe my hands on a towel and leave the unfinished dinner ingredients all over the counter. I walk past my mom and out the back door, using the side path to reach the front yard. I follow the sidewalk to town, and walk straight through town, slightly aware that I have flour on my clothes and most likely my face as well. I pass through town and come to a small park nestled between a set of old homes. The trees are tall and thick, sheltering the swings, slide, and paths from the sun. I almost stop but then decide to keep walking, not really sure where I'm going.

  I walk past the town limits and by several corn and soy fields. Eventually I come to a bridge, and my feet carry me off the road and down an old dirt path. There is a concrete shelf under the bridge, and the river water is quiet as it travels past.

  I sit down and pull my flip-flops off, resting my feet on top of the cool water. I close my eyes and try to imagine that I'm sitting at the end of a dock and that my feet are skimming the ocean water, not this brown river water. I'm not sure how long I sit there. I keep my eyes closed and eventually, I lean back against a steel support beam. Cars drive over every now and then, causing the wall behind me to vibrate. Eventually a car slows and I hear a door slam. Someone is coming down the dirt path.

  "I thought I might find you here."

  Jason.

  I open my eyes and I'm surprised to see how much the light has changed since I arrived. It is no longer bright and offensive, but rather soft and golden. The sky is streaked with purple and red.

  "How long have I been gone?" I watch as Jason sits down beside me, holding his legs off to the side.

  "Three hours," he says. "I imagine it took you almost an hour to walk out here. It's five miles."

  I blink at him. "I didn't plan to. I just hit the sidewalk and kept walking. Somehow I ended up here."

  "Do you remember this place?"

  I shake my head, and Jason smiles sadly.

  "You used to come here to hide from your mom. You said it was far enough from town that she couldn't sense your happiness and try to ruin it. Plus, you knew she would never traipse through the dirt and brush to find you down here."

  I stifle a laugh. "I shouldn't laugh," I say. "I shouldn't find anything funny about the situation with my mom. How did it get so bad?"

  "I don't know." His answer sounds truthful.

  "I guess dinner is ruined," I say.

  Jason bumps my shoulder. "Actually, I finished making it, but I doubt I did as good of a job as you would have done."

  "It all tastes the same." I turn my head and I’m suddenly aware of how close Jason is. His shoulder is pressed against mine and he is leaning slightly toward me, his face close to mine.

  Before I have time to think about it, his lips are on mine. Pictures, both moving and still, rush at me quickly. Kissing Jason in cars, behind the school, at prom, in my bedroom, in his bedroom, and so on. I gasp and push him away, scrambling to a standing position.

  Jason jumps up. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

  I shake my head. "No, it's okay. I think. You shouldn't have to apologize for kissing your wife." I bring my fingers to my lips. "It made me remember things."

  "We should go," Jason is looking at the water now, and the shadows make it impossible for me to see his expression.

  "Okay," is all I can sputter out.

  We climb up the dirt path and back to Jason's car, which is parked on the side of the road. The drive back into town is quiet.

  "Is my mom gone?" I think to ask when we are getting close. "She isn't camped out on the couch, is she?"

  Jason laughs. "She stormed out soon after you left."

  "You would think that after all these years, she would finally learn that she can't control me."

  "Well," Jason starts. "Actually, since we got married you have kind of let her control you."

  "Really?" I ask with genuine surprise.

  He just nods and then we are pulling into the driveway. When we step into the house the scent of the pork chops hits my nose.

  "I'm not sure I even want to eat them now," I say softly.

  "I boxed them up and put them in the fridge," Jason says as he steps past me. "Pizza?"

  "Pizza," I say in agreement.

  For the first time since coming home, Jason and I don't talk with the purpose of helping me remember. We just talk. He asks me about my time in Hampton Harbor and I tell him everything except the parts that include Will. I shouldn't feel guilty, since I had no memories of Jason at the time, but it doesn't seem worth the hurt I may bring him.

  We don't leave the kitchen until nine and I head upstairs to take a shower, feeling grimy from sitting under the bridge. When I step out of the shower I stare at myself in the mirror. This has become a daily ritual. I’m trying to place the girl I see with Melissa. I’m trying to make her stick. My hair is much shorter now, and the bags under my eyes are gone. I've been getting more rest, I haven't been worrying as much, and I’m remembering more. I bring my fingers to my lips again, remembering how Jason's felt on mine. How Will's used to feel on mine.

  I put on my pajamas and slip into the bedroom, where Jason is rummaging through the dresser in just boxer briefs. I think about slinking back into the bathroom but stop myself. As much as I don't want to admit it, my mom had a point in the kitchen, no matter how inappropriate it was for her to suggest.

  "I want to sleep in the bed tonight." I try to sound sure of myself but my voice tilts at the end.

  Jason pulls a pair of shorts from his drawer and looks at me. He definitely isn't embarrassed to be almost naked in front of me. I'm trying to ignore his broad chest and muscular arms. His tan, tattooed skin...

  Focus!

  "I think it will help, with my memories," I say.

  Jason nods and steps into his shorts. "That's fine. I've been telling you all week that I'll sleep on the couch."

  He doesn't get it.

  Now I feel slightly embarrassed, like a teenage girls hinting to a guy that she likes him. Wants him to kiss her. Wants him to ask her to the dance.

  "No Jason," I say firmly. "I want to sleep in the bed with you."

  I hold eye contact, nice and steady. Jason is regarding me with careful eyes, his whole upper body stiff.

  "I'm not saying sleep with me, I'm saying sleep in the bed with me." I step toward him. "I think it will help me. The more I act like Melissa, the more I remember her."

  "Why do you keep talking about yourself in the past tense?" Jason asks from his spot by the dresser. I've moved closer to him but he is made of stone.

  "Because I don't know who I am any more. I don't know if I can ever be Melissa again, or if I can ever give Jane up. I feel like I need to reconstruct myself." My voice sounds desperate now.

  "The haircut," he responds knowingly.

  I just nod. "Please," I beg him now.

  Jason sighs. "Alright."

  I smile and head back to the bathroom to dry my hair. When I’m finished and ready for bed, I find that Jason has already crawled under the covers. He is still shirtless, but I at least know he has bottoms on. He has his phone in his hand and I can tell he is concentrating on whatever he is reading. I straighten my posture and walk toward the bed with purpose, as though I belong there. I climb in and pull the covers up, observing the room from this angle.

  I can feel Jason staring at me now but I don't look in his direction. I focus on the blue walls and the modern decorations. I think about how different this room is than my room back at Charles and Marie's house. That room is painted a sunny yellow, and the furniture is a miss-match of antiques. There are lace doilies and old frames and a painting of a sailboat.

  I finally look at Jason, who is now pretending to be interested in his phone. I can tell by the way his fingers are pulling at the comforter, and how his eyes tick back and forth, that he is no longer focused.

  "Do you remember anything?" he
finally asks.

  I think about his question, wondering what it implies. Maybe he is expecting me to remember every night we've spent in this room. Intimate moments and all. And if I am honest with myself, I’m expecting the same thing. It might be easier to get over Will if he isn't the only man I remember spending the night with. I don't tell Jason any of this though.

  "Not yet, maybe you should kiss me again." I say.

  His head snaps toward me and he actually leans away.

  "I don't think that’s such a good idea," he says quickly.

  "Why not? It helped me remember under the bridge."

  Jason sets his phone on the nightstand and grips the comforter.

  "I'm not going to lie, this all feels really awkward."

  I laugh. "You feel awkward?"

  "I guess I never thought I would have you beg me to get in bed with you, and then I wouldn't even be able to touch you."

  I’m pretty sure my cheeks turn pink at his words, but I compose myself.

  "Well I'm asking you to touch me," I say. "To kiss me." I add when his eyes widen.

  I don't wait for him to move. Instead I lean toward him and grab the back of his neck, pulling him toward me. Our lips meet roughly in the middle, and at first Jason is hesitant, but finally his lips soften against mine. I use my tongue to part his lips, deepening the kiss. Already we've moved way past the point we had under the bridge.

  More images fly through my mind and I pull back.

  "It's working," I say excitedly.

  Jason's green eyes are dark and now his hands are reaching up to cup my face. This time he initiates the kiss and his tongue parts my lips. My hands slide over his shoulders and one of his slides to the back of my neck while the other falls to my thigh.

  The images are different now.

  Making out in the back of Jason's car in high school, and knowing that I am about to lose my virginity.

  Spending nights out by the lake, falling asleep under the stars.

  Jason coming to visit me in college and staying in my dorm room. Me doing the same for him.