“If I tell you I won’t off myself tonight, will you take me out of this parking lot to a pub, where we can actually talk?”
Conor smiled. Then, he cried. Thick tears that made Landon feel uncomfortable, overwhelmed by the fact that someone cared for him so much. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, that works.”
Landon did not feel unbridled optimism for the future. But he didn’t feel alone, either.
Chapter Thirty-Four
She fluttered her eyes open. She was groggy, and her head was pounding. She reached back for a memory to help explain the feeling and found nothing. There was nothing.
Where was she? The room was unremarkable. Simple and white, with one king bed in the center, the covers rumpled. A small black suitcase lay open in the corner. Her suitcase? She did not recognize it. She did not recognize anything. There was something in her hand. A piece of paper. She held it up to her face and read:
Dear Rose,
You are safe. You are in a hotel room in Boston. The credit cards on the table are all under your name. The clothes in the suitcase all fit, though I’m hopeful they won’t be to your liking. I want you to know that I chose to take the forgetting pill for a reason. I could not bear this life a moment longer. My only wish for you is happiness. You can do anything. Start wherever you want and go wherever you want. Poppy will help you. She is the best friend in the cosmos. Whatever you do, please do not try to remember. There is nothing there for you.
With hope,
Rose
Rose. Her name was Rose. She loved it instantly. It was beautiful, and melodic, and something about it just fit. Rose walked over to the table and picked up one of three cards. “Rose Martin,” they read. A first and last name. Now she was complete.
Rose breathed in deeply and placed a hand on her chest, searching for words to describe the strange lightness where there must once have been heaviness. It was as though there had been a gaping void and hope had rushed in, like a river to the sea. And God, did she feel hopeful. And joyful. She could do anything.
As the fog cleared, she felt something unpleasant. Her stomach thrashed. When was the last time other Rose had eaten? She walked to the bathroom and flipped on the light. Her eyes were sunken in the mirror. Her whole face looked a bit sunken. She lifted her shirt. Her stomach was more concave than she would have liked. She could solve that. Credit card still in her hand, she stepped into the hallway.
Outside, the city shimmered with possibility. Every corner held a new marvel: the blinking traffic lights; the sooty, sweet smell of exhaust; the frazzled dog walker trying and failing to maintain order. A silver diner materialized like an oasis in a desert, neon sign flashing. When Rose walked in, a bell chimed. She clapped her hands and laughed. It was so beautiful, that bell. A waitress caught her eye and nodded. “Sit anywhere you like, hon,” she said.Anywhere?Rose thought. What a generous offer.
Rose slid into a booth by the window and picked up a menu sticky with sugar. Everything sounded good. “Can I get pancakes?” Rose asked the waitress. “And eggs? Scrambled. Two orders of eggs, actually. One scrambled, one fried. And bacon, and toast. And orange juice. And a coffee, I think. Yes, a coffee, with cream and sugar.”
The waitress blinked but nodded. “Sure thing.”
When the food came, Rose knew it would not just be a meal, but an experience. First the bacon—salty, crunchy, and perfect. She should have ordered more bacon. Then, the eggs, warm and soft on one side, oozy and rich on the other. The pancakes so fluffy she would have rested her head on them if she’d felt even a twinge of exhaustion. She ate until she forgot she was eating. By the end of the meal, she wasn’t just full: She was alive.
The bells trilled behind her, marking her exit, and she clapped her hands with delight once more. Where would she go next? The possibilities were infinite. She could go dancing, eat salty oysters and drink champagne, shop for clothes to match her mood, wander museums soaking up layers and layers of meaning. Rose pulled the note from her pocket, already crumpled and now stained with grease from hands she hadn’t bothered wiping.
Whatever you do, please do not try to remember. There is nothing there for you.
Other Rose had not wanted to be here. With no additional context, it only confused her. How could she have not wanted to behere? She held her face up to the sky and felt the warmth of the sun on her cheeks. Life was beautiful. It was extraordinary. What had happened to the woman whose body she shared to make her give it all up?
Rose would spend the day here, in the city. And tomorrow she would make plans to give other Rose what she had asked of her: a fresh start. She would go somewhere beautiful. Magical. Somewhere she couldcreate. Somewhere old and romantic, with a skyline of steeples and spires. Somewhere she could be truly, blissfully, happy.
It was the least she could do.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Time is a funny thing. For a long time, Landon had been suspended in thick stasis while everyone around him moved forward. Then, for a short time, he’d vacationed somewhere strange, in a land that was neither past, present, nor future. Once he pressed play on his life, he positively hurtled.
He stayed in Edinburgh only long enough to tie up loose ends. He put Conor on a plane. He made sure Dave had really internalized the rules of Texas hold’em. He even patched things up with Graham, who had been so ashamed of his actions he ended up doing the bulk of the apologizing. Landon was surprised by how quickly and painlessly Graham had moved on from Rose’s decision. “It’s her life,” he said with a shrug. “Things will fall into place. They always do.”Was that optimism or detachment?Landon wondered. It seemed to be an effect of the pill that no one talked about, but one that Landon found just as signature to the experience as the hope everyone touted. Once you’ve started over once, you know that you can start over again. People become expendable—replaceable. It was a sobering thought.
In the taxi to the airport, Christmas music blared from the patchy radio. Landon thought of the last Christmas he and Rosehad shared, when she was still so newly pregnant that they had only told their family and closest friends. They’d sipped hot cider on the floor beside the Christmas tree and she’d read aloud from Dickens’sA Christmas Carol, which Landon had gamely pretended to enjoy. It was a memory that should have had him begging the driver to change the station, or even pull the car over so he could walk the final miles. Today, it wasn’t. Today, it warmed him to think of Rose in the first months of pregnancy, her stomach barely round, her cheekbones accentuated by the colorful twinkle lights. He placed a hand on his heart and felt, for the first time, that he might actually be able to keep those memories.
He’d lingered too long over breakfast at the hostel and knew he would be cutting it close, especially if the screening lines were anything longer than standard. The thought of running through the airport felt almost as dramatic as running through a hospital, but he didn’t want to miss his flight. Not this close to a major holiday, and not when he had this kind of momentum. He had just paid the cab driver and slung his backpack over his shoulder when he saw the sign, bearing his name in capital letters:
LANDONCALLOWAY.
“You hopeless idiot,” Poppy said, then let the sign fall.
Landon shifted uncomfortably. That was one loose end he’d meant to tie up—he really had. But every time he’d gone to call her number, his hand froze. Eventually, he’d convinced himself it was cleaner to let the chips fall. Poppy was Rose’s, and Rose was Poppy’s. Poppy would keep caring for Rose when he couldn’t. “I should have called,” he conceded.
