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Ignoring my weird premonition, I look at the twenty different color boxes of Jell-O and laugh. “It appears we’ll be making Jell-O shots for the rest of the morning. Oh—” I pause “—but you can start with clearing the living room if you like.” I have no idea if Samuel remembers what Jell-O shots are, and I don’t want to make a big deal about it.
My attempt at being subtle however falls short. “I’m a fast learner,” he offers, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater.
I hold my breath, waiting for some kind of explosion to erupt, but it doesn’t happen. Instead, Sam begins opening the packets of Jell-O, waiting for me to instruct him further.
“Right,” I say after a few seconds of collecting my thoughts. “We’ll need a couple of big bowls and a measuring cup.”
Before I can direct Sam to where the bowls are kept, he walks over to the cupboard near the fridge and opens it. My mouth drops open and I gasp. “You remember?”
His hand freezes on the handle. “Holy shit.” The mixing bowls stare at us innocently, while I choke on my raspy breathing. “I don’t know. I don’t think I remember?”
“You’ve done this once before,” I say, winded.
“I have?” He spins to look at me, eyes wide.
“Yes, you did it the other day. With the mugs.” I point to the cupboard above the stove top.
He scans to where I’m pointing. “Un-fucking-believable.”
My stomach drops at his comment as I can’t make out his mood. Have I just ruined a “moment” by putting my foot in it? We were having a semi-decent conversation and now I’ve gone and…but I pause. This is exactly the type of attitude I refuse to relive. No more second guessing myself.
I am thankful however when he turns to me and smiles. “Maybe there’s hope for me after all, then?” His optimism reminds me of the old Sam.
Whatever has triggered this response, I decide not to question it for now because even though I’m completely confused, I’m also…glad.
“Hello, anyone home?”
Sam cocks a brow, obviously not recognizing my mom’s voice.
“It’s my mom,” I state, while his mouth falls open in understanding. “We’re in here.”
My parents walk into the kitchen, my mom unable to hide her happiness at seeing me standing beside Sam without tears in my eyes.
“My, my, what on earth have you got there?” Dad asks, looking at the endless Jell-O boxes as he kisses me on the top of the head.
“It’s Piper’s doing, sir,” Sam replies politely.
I don’t know how much he remembers of my parents, but he never once called my dad sir. Dad doesn’t make a fuss, however, and smiles.
“We’re throwing a party tonight, and no Dad, you’re not invited.” I giggle when he stops mid-tango.
This reminds me of the old days when Sam and my dad used to get a kick out of teasing me. But why does it feel so different?
“Honey, I have some of your things in the car. I cleaned out the attic and didn’t know what you wanted to keep, so I brought it all over. Did you want to take a look?”
“Maggie, I can get that,” my dad says, but when my mom shakes her head, I know this is her silent cue to get me alone.
Samuel smiles, none the wiser. “You can help me…”
“Simon.” My dad fills in the blanks when Sam pauses, obviously not remembering my dad’s name. Dad rolls up his sleeves and the boys get to work.
The moment my mom and I step aside, she gently rubs my arm. “What’s the matter, Lucy?”
She can read me like a book. She always has been able to.
“Nothing, Mom. Sam is really trying.”
“That’s great news. Isn’t it?” she adds when I remain quiet.
