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Dad places his silverware back down on the table, glancing over at my mother before turning back to me, “Ah well… you liked to go shopping, and hang out with Shelby. You and Matt used to go out on dates, but once he went to France to run the French branch of his father’s company, you talked on the phone a lot.”
I stare at him, dumbfounded, “That… that sounds great. Anything else? Bike riding? Hiking? Did I like to do homework, or did I hate it? Was Shelby my only friend or were there others?” His face seems to grow tenser with each question, a vein in his forehead bulging under, the pressure.
Why is this so hard for them to talk about?
“That’s really it, you spent most of your time with Shelby or Matt after you graduated high school. Like we already told you, you wanted to take a year off before thinking about college,” he finally answers, seeming angry, but how would I know, maybe this is his normal behavior.
“Okay, maybe I can go shopping tomorrow morning before Matt comes over?” I ask because honestly, I’m not sure if I have to or not. I’m an adult, yes, but feel more like a child right now. A lost child.
“Sure, why not. I can come with you…”
“You don’t have to,” I cut my mother off before she can finish. “I can go by myself. I don’t want to burden you guys any more than I already have.”
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.” Dad’s voice cuts through the air, and I glance over at him, shocked.
What does that mean?
That I can’t leave on my own? As if he can hear my thoughts, he clears his throat, and says, “What I meant was, you don’t know this area yet, you need to get familiar with everything again before going out into the city by yourself. It’s not safe.”
Right, that makes sense.
“I’ll be happy to come with you, dear,” Mom chimes in. “We are long overdue for a mother-daughter shopping trip.”
“Perfect, let’s go together then,” I say, forcing a smile because I’m not sure how to genuinely smile yet.
The next morning is spent going from one high-end boutique to the next. My mother has already bought a fortune worth of clothes while I only hold one measly bag with some pajamas. I picked them out at the last place to keep her happy. This is clearly her element since it seems she’s thoroughly enjoying herself; smiling, laughing, and trying on clothes like she’s a doll. I, on the other hand, am bored out of my mind and have been annoyed since store number two. I can’t imagine ever enjoying this. Tossing money around like it’s nothing.
I’d have more fun watching paint dry.
“Okay, last stop is Macy’s, and then we’ll go have lunch at the little Italian place across the street,” Mom says, utterly oblivious to my lack of enjoyment. I cringe at the thought of enduring another three hours of shopping this afternoon.
We climb into the car that’s pulled up in front of the boutique, and the driver takes us to the large department store, which is a couple blocks away, dropping us off at the main entrance, like we are too good to walk across the parking lot or something. All I can think is, this isn’t me, no way. It doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t seem like me. I might not know who I am, or have any memories of who I once was, but in my gut, I know this person isn’t me.
Once inside, Mom heads straight for the shoes, dragging me behind her. With my hands hanging down at my sides, I watch her try on about twenty different pairs before we head to the dresses section of the store.
As if she finally notices that I’m with her, her gaze sweeps over my empty hands, “You haven’t bought anything yet, you need to buy something here. Something nice to wear this afternoon when Matt comes by. How about this?” she suggests, handing me a strapless summer dress with cherries on it.
“Maybe,” I tell her while inspecting the dress. It’s not terrible, maybe a little shorter than I like, but still wearable.
“Well, go on, go to the dressing rooms and see if it fits,” she orders, her eyes not even meeting mine but roaming over the racks. “Oh, look at this one over here…” she trails off and walks away, acting like a child distracted by a shiny new toy.
Standing there, I stare at her for a long moment, with the dress in my hands, before deciding to try it on. Getting a stall without any hassle, I place the dress down on the hanger and start to pull off my shirt. The fabric barely passes over my head when the door suddenly bursts open. A scream lodges itself in my throat, and before it can pass my lips, the man who has invaded the small space uses his hand to cover my mouth. Peering up into his blue eyes, I feel this strange wave of deja vu overtake me.
