2. Jason
2
JASON
Hadley walked beside the nurse all the way to the car, her jaw clenched tightly and a troubled look in her eye. She didn’t want to be here; that much was obvious.
Ever since she’d walked into my hospital room, she’d avoided looking into my eyes. I would say that she was almost apathetic, but this was more. This was more than simple apathy. This was dislike. Maybe even hatred. It was how our friends, Jeannie and Richard, had looked after their divorce. We’d known them for a really long time, and we’d watched them fall out of love and move on with other people. Hadley and I had been at Jeannie’s house one evening for dinner, and Richard had shown up to pick up the kids. Jeannie and Richard had glared daggers at one another, shooting harsh barb-filled words at one another. The subtle glances, knowing smiles, and feeling that they could read one another’s thoughts had been replaced by an apathy that mirrored Hadley's actions.
Hadley looked at me now like they’d looked at one another, only I had no idea why. Hadley was my best friend, and the idea that she wouldn’t look at me, touch me, smile at me, or reach for me nearly tore me up inside.
The doctors and nurses had explained that I’d lost more than five years of memory. What had happened in those five years to cause this? What had gone wrong?
Hadley was my best friend. She always had been, ever since we’d met. We’d become friends first and lovers second. We’d planned a life together. We were a team.
I didn’t know much about my life. I’d had one call while I was at the hospital from someone named Quinn, who’d said she was my secretary. She’d asked me if I wanted her to go by and water the plants at my apartment. I’d said sure and asked if she had a key. She’d said the doorman would let her in. He’d done it before when she’d gone there before me. Why would she have been at my apartment? Why did I have an apartment of my own? Where was it? My head gave a dull throb, and I reached to massage my temple with my good hand. The other hand had a soft cast on it. I’d sprained it, they’d said.
Hadley cut her gaze toward me as I reached for my head, but she didn’t ask if I was okay. Instead, she sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. There was a time when Hadley would have asked me if I was all right. She would have cared.
She didn’t care now. That much was painfully obvious.