“And they won’t have a reason if we don’t give them one, which is why we need to keep working on your memory,” she says.
“Okay, wait, speaking of memory,” I say, remembering my earlier question. “Did I go to college?”
“College? No. You and Crash had so many regular clients by the time you graduated high school, you already had a thriving business. Neither of you particularly wanted to go, so it didn’t make any sense. Why?”
“You said something today about cramming for a test like college. I had a thought that I hadn’t gone to college, but didn’t know if it was an actual memory, or my brain just connecting the dots.
“Oh!” she says, eyes going wide. “I don’t know if there’s a way to know the answer, but either way it’s a step in the right direction. Let’s say you did just connect the dots, that kind of cognitive function requires several interconnected regions of the brain to work together. That’s the work of a very active brain.”
“Really?”
“Really. Your body still needs rest, but I think getting out today did you some good. Annie’s going to flip when she hears this.”
Thrilled, I reach for her hand next to my hip and carefully strokeher fingers. My pulse hasn’t fully stabilized since I watched the police cruiser pull into the driveway. Anything could happen to one of us at any time; I’m proof enough of that.
We have so much to figure out, but fear has a way of making some things clear. I saw that police car and I knew… I want to love Emery again. Whatever mistakes she made, life’s too short to hold on to them.
Exhaling, she leans her head back against the sofa. “I think the adrenaline from seeing the police on the porch is finally leaving me.”
“Em,” I begin, wanting to tell her all of this. She gazes up at me, brown eyes turned down at the corners, dark circles lining beneath. “You need to get some rest,” I say instead. “We’re both in for the night. You should go to bed.”
“Not yet,” she argues. “I want to hang out with you some more.”
“Aren’t you exhausted?”
She shakes her head but then nods, murmuring a resigned “Fine. Let me get my pillow.”
I want to protest, to tell her to come with me into the bedroom, but everything is so perfect, I don’t want to rush it. Rushing is what we did before.
So I muster all of the restraint I can find and lean forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Good night, Em.”
She smiles at me, her eyes shining. “Good night, Lukey.”
28LUCA
My leg feels mostly back to normal, so I insist on running errands with Em the next day. Groceries, car wash, bank—a series of normally banal stops that suddenly feel like miracles.
I’m registering more and more that I nearly lost this. That Idied. That each of these tiny, insignificant moments is a gift.
After we’re done, groceries unloaded, Honey walked, house clean, neither of us feels like sitting around. Restless, we hop back in the car and drive a short way inland for a night out together.
I’m pretty sure that my memory of scents is coming back, because the second we step foot in Bluefoot Bar and Lounge, I’m positive I’ve been here before.
“Yeah,” Emery confirms when I ask. “You and Crash used to come here a lot in your early twenties. You shared a tiny apartment nearby, with four other guys.”
I look around. It’s not a big place, and on this random afternoon, it’s perhaps predictably not very crowded, but I can imagine on a weekend or game night, it would be packed. The well-stocked bar lines one long wall, while the wall opposite has two wide doors that open to a patio facing Thirtieth Street. In between are two blue-topped pool tables. A door at the end of the bar leads to another room with high-top tables, booths, and a DJ stand in the corner.
Emery makes her way to the bar and looks over her shoulder at me after ordering herself a gin and tonic. “I’m not gonna order for you. Maybe this new Luca drinks differently.”
“What did I drink before?”
“Not telling.”
Laughing, I consider a cocktail, too, but find my attention moving to the beer menu overhead. My mouth waters at the idea of a pint of lager on this hot day. “I’ll have… the Eppig, I think?” I tell the bartender, and beside me, Emery claps. “Did I do well?” I ask her.
She nods. “You love Eppig. It’s a local brewery.”
“Cool.”
