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TANA
“This is delicious.” I savor the piece of cheesecake on my tongue, my eyes slipping closed.
“Yum,” Gemma says. “Can I have another piece?” My eyes open to find Gemma winking owlishly at her father.
He laughs and gestures toward the cheesecake. “Fine, one more piece, but that’s it. And I don’t want any arguing about shower and bedtime.”
Nodding enthusiastically, Gemma practically bounces in her seat as Alec serves her another piece.
“Me too?” Paisley asks.
Alec adds another piece to her plate, too. He turns to me almost out of reflex and gestures with the fork toward the cheesecake. “You want some more?”
I nod. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I don’t want any arguing about bedtime from you either.”
I laugh, saying, “You won’t get any arguments from me. I didn’t sleep very well in the hospital, and I’m really looking forward to having my own room. Thank you again for letting me have the space.”
“It’s no trouble. It was yours anyway.” Alec doesn’t take a piece for himself and thank God because I already imagine his body in all sorts of different ways. I don’t need to add chocolate to the mix.
I refocus back on his words. “What do you mean it was mine?”
“The room used to be your office and craft room. It’s where you spent a good chunk of your time. You should be comfortable there.”
This must be where I ran the business he told me about. I checked out the social media platforms once on the phone I was given while I was at the hospital, but it was immediately overwhelming. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t the hundreds of thousands of followers across YouTube, TikTok, and Instagram. The sheer number of comments from people wondering where I was, speculating about what happened, and other wild things sent me spiraling. I can barely hold a conversation, how am I supposed to take up the mantel of super-influencer?
When I don’t answer, he keeps rambling. “When the girls were little, you used to do things for fun. You’d make their outfits or their costumes or whatever. But when they got older and started going to school, you started making things for all of their friends and then the other kids in school. Eventually, you opened a shop online and started your own business.”
I mull that around in my head as I finish the last few bites of cheesecake. Turns out I love spaghetti, and I would die for cheesecake. I can’t imagine myself as a businesswoman. A person like that has to be highly motivated, organized, and driven. Is that me? I guess I’ll have to find out.
“Bath time,” Alec says firmly once the girls are finished.
As promised, they don’t argue and go up to get their pajamas and take turns in the bath.
“I’ll help you with that.” I get up from my seat and start clearing the table. Alec is at the sink rinsing off the dishes and loading the dishwasher.
“I’ve got it.”
“I thought you said you were going to help me with my memories. I’m pretty sure I’ve washed a dish or two in my lifetime. This could be helpful.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Well, I’m not going to argue with you about it.”
“Thank you.”
We work together in a surprisingly comfortable silence. He puts away food and puts the dishes next to me on the counter. I rinse them off and load them all over to the dishwasher. He doesn’t pester me with questions or inane chatter. And I’m grateful for the time to process the afternoon.
Shopping with Alec and the girls was an experience. The girls are lively, vivacious, and adorable. Gemma, with her boundless energy, practically bounced off the walls, and Paisley seemed to study everything with eyes much too mature for her age. They helped me pick out a new toothbrush, shampoo and conditioner, body wash, deodorant, and everything else I could need. I tried to protest, but Alec insisted, and I was tired of arguing with him. The overabundance of choice was overwhelming, to say the least. After a time, I let them pick out everything. How does one even choose a favorite scent? There are so many to pick from. I make a mental note to get something new every time I go to the store until I find something I like.
Then, we got the ingredients for spaghetti and meatballs. Alec insisted on cheesecake, and once he mentioned dessert, the girls wouldn’t be swayed. I spent most of the time with my eyes darting back and forth, taking everything in.
Even though the girls are young, they knew almost everything about making spaghetti. I almost thought ten-year-old Paisley could’ve done it on her own if I wasn’t there. Under Alec’s watchful eye, they helped me step by step, and by the end, I was surprised I didn’t burn anything. The kitchen surely helped. It had everything from a little pasta water faucet to a gorgeous tub-like sink. It occurred to me as I was washing the dishes that I had probably picked everything in here out. It felt strange, like being in someone else’s skin in someone else’s house.
Alec works around me, wiping down the table, pre-packing the girls’ lunches for school the next day, and sipping from a bottle of beer. I appreciate him going through the motions of a normal day and allowing me to be somewhat of an observer. It keeps the pressure off me. Even the girls were good about giving me space.
I have to wonder how long their patience with me will last. My thoughts begin to wander as I lose myself in my task. They can’t always indulge my discomfort and can’t always give me the space I’ll need. Alec can’t wait forever for his wife to come back, if she ever does…
But I also have nowhere to go. No idea what to do.
And his suggestion to bring back my memories seems as good a start as any. In the best-case scenario, the refresher works, and we go back to a relative normal. Worst-case scenario, I never get my memories back, and nothing has changed. In the meantime, it’ll give me a chance to acclimate, heal, and figure out my next moves.
That doesn’t mean I’m going to trust him right away. I’ll let him try to bring my memories back—maybe I feel like I owe him that much—but I won’t let myself trust him too much. If I do and shit goes sideways, I’m not sure I’ll survive it.
