Chapter 9
For the forty-eight hours after my panic attack, I can barely keep my eyes open. I’m caught in a haze, drifting in and out of sleep. I’m barely aware of Ash’s presence; barely aware of myself. My thoughts keep slipping away.
When I wake up in the small hospital bed, the headache is back and so is Lindsey the nurse.
“Good morning, Ford.” She’s quick to take my pulse and then three sets of worried blue eyes are on me. Doctor Parker is in the room, as well.
This day sucks. It must be Monday already.
“Guess I’m not being discharged sooner, am I?
” I ask and then look at the nurse, at Parker and finally, at Ash.
2024 isn’t that much different from 2022.
People with bad news still have the same apologetic smile, the same fucking half-shrug lingering on their shoulders.
“I guess I don’t know where I live anyway. ”
The doctor’s face turns whiter at the comment and I have to give it up. If this is a prank, the acting is phenomenal.
And then, a cackle—a soft breathless cackle that turns into a laugh, a bark, a shriek. I see Ash’s puffy eyes. “You’re awful. When you see it you’ll-”
“Hum.” Clearing his voice, Parker interrupts Ash. “Let’s try to remember slowly. No more panic attacks.”
The laughter dies on Ash’s lips and fades into a promising smile.
“I’m told you have a longer history of these episodes, Ford,” the doctor continues.
“None in over a year,” Ash interjects and I catch his wink and proud eyes. It’s the look of someone who’s been there; someone who’s been supporting, helping, guiding—loving. Who is this person?
This Ash is terrifying. I thought I knew him inside out, like the back of my hand.
I have seen him as a scared child; an insecure teenager; a young man finding his confidence.
From a shy delicate chrysalis to a sparky, vibrant butterfly.
I have known every aspect of Ashley’s personality since he was six years old.
I don’t know what to do with the flirty tone, the sweet eyes and the overt yearning—the obvious pining.
Most of all, I have no idea how I will be able to break the news that I still don’t remember anything. I’m still not the Ford that lives in 2024. And no matter how desperately I wish I was, this Ashford isn’t the one Ash is in love with. I’m just the childhood friend, Ford the bestie.
Doctor Parker does not let the subject drop. “We were not told about any medications,” he points out and for once I’m useful and I think I have an answer.
“I have never taken any.”
“Have you been in contact with a psychotherapist?” Parker asks next.
I don’t need to think twice. I have been seeing Dr. Bakari twice a month since I turned twenty and couldn’t ignore my parents’ divorce any longer. “I used to,” I say, unsure what the state of that is in 2024.
Luckily, Ash is always there to catch me. “Still happening. Sometimes.”
The confirmation doesn’t surprise me.
“Perhaps we could arrange a meeting whilst you are still here, Ford. Otherwise, I strongly recommend seeking support early after discharge.” The doctor proceeds to summarise my current state.
Standing? Check. Short walking trial? Not without support.
Peeing on my own? Work in progress. Elbow?
Healing with notably reduced swelling. Bruises in various locations of the body, slowly fading.
Feeling brave, I ask whether I could attempt a shower, and I receive a discouraging frown.
“I appreciate your quick progress, Ford, but perhaps let’s not be too ambitious. Lindsey here will be more than happy to provide you with a washcloth and support you at the sink for the next week or so.”
I nod. “Pee first, shower after.”
Then, the doctor decides to offer his own recap of my miserable brain—my mind, my memories.
Nearly three weeks awake and the progress can be summarised with half Deja-vu and a panic attack.
I cannot remember my boyfriend, nor my child.
A neurology check is booked and Doctor Carter is very excited to see me.
Great. Everything is going great.
After Doctor Parker leaves the room, I meet the gaze of Lindsey the nurse. “Do you think we could try a trip to the bathroom?”
It is not a success, but it also is not a failure.
I lean heavily on the nurse and let her carry most of my weight.
When Lindsey suggests we grab a wheelchair, I scoff.
I’m a big strong man. I can manage ten meters and back to take a leak.
When I drop on the toilet, a dead weight, I fear for a second I might break it.
On the way back, Lindsey chuckles that I’m way heavier than I look, and she suggests Ash helps me next time.
Once I return to the bed and Lindsey leaves Ash and I alone, I suck a breath in. “Do you remember it?”
Ash is silent, brows furrowed.
“The accident,” I specify.
Ash shakes his head, lowering his shoulders. “Honestly it’s a bit of a blur. You were driving…” Ash leaves the words there, hanging between us.
“Your car?”
“It’s ou-…” Ash doesn’t get to finish the sentence and the doctor’s voice echoes in my ears. No more panic attacks.
“Yeah. My car,” Ash settles.
“I drive?”
“Here and there. Much prefer to be driven.” There’s something in Ash’s voice that makes me shiver. Almost as if he’s talking about another person, someone who isn’t right in the same room with him. It’s gone as soon as it comes.
“Why, did you remember something?” he asks.
Lowering my head, I purse my lower lip. Ash clicks his tongue in understanding.
“It will come back,” Ash says and it’s been weeks now. The words are losing their meaning with every passing hour.
“Yeah,” I reply. It’s deflated, weak. I barely recognise my voice.
“Hey Ford?” Standing up, Ash walks closer to the bed. There’s hesitation in his movements. He looks almost scared of what is about to come out of his mouth.
“Yeah?”
“Wanna meet the baby later this week?” Ashley asks out of nowhere and I see the mischief back in his ice blue eyes.
“But…” I don’t finish the sentence. Looking into Ashley’s eyes, watching that blinding smile appear on his lips, I feel a deep sadness. I hate to be the cause of that.
Fuck the doctor’s recommendations. I nod. Of course I’ll meet the baby. Of course I will do anything to remember—anything to bring 2024 Ashford Hale back home to Ashley Bergman.
???
It’s the slowest week of all.
Maybe it’s because finally I’m more alert, or maybe it’s because I simply cannot wait until Ash and the baby will visit.
I busy myself as much as I can. Lindsey the nurse gets me some magazines and I go through them, flipping the pages without really reading anything.
Half of the celebrities I don’t know and the half I do recognise I’ve never been able to name anyway.
The days go by and I pretend I don’t care about where Ash has been.
I pretend I’m not missing his presence like crazy.
I kind of fail at it.
And then, fucking finally: a knock on the door, barely audible. I’ve counted the hours, counted the days until this very moment.
Ash’s head appears at the door with a warning. “You can still change your mind.”
“Are you kidding me? I’m as deep as it gets.” It makes me laugh, how stupid this man is.
“Just double-checking. Here we go.” He kicks the door open, barges in like a burglar in a bank at 2:00 p.m., hiding something in his arms.
Hiding someone, I correct myself.
As Ash turns towards me, it’s no wonder he never did any sports. He’s as uncoordinated as it gets.
It’s a floppy reveal. Giggles are already escaping Ash’s oversized jean jacket and two tiny feet are dangling out. When I see the baby (my baby? Our baby?) for the first (the first?) time, my heart stops.
It’s… it’s a baby. A small human. The size, the concept… it annoys me, already.
Then, I look closer.
Brown hair, huge tawny eyes. A shy smile with a line of white teeth up front. The chubby arms are squeezing Ash’s neck and once he lets his jacket fall, his arms come around an obnoxiously pink dress. I love it.
As soon as the child notices me, she wiggles her arms in the air and coos “Da!” pointing at me.
“Da! Da!” Ash joins in, his accent changing ever so slightly.
“Is she Russian?” I ask.
“Does she look fucking Russian to you?” Ash lowers his head dramatically, his lips curled up despite his attempts to make a serious face. He doesn’t curse often and when he does, I feel unhinged.
The child, growing squeamish in Ash’s arms, repeats “Dad!” This time, she pops the last consonant proudly.
“Yeah Win, Dad’s there.” He turns to me then. “Do you want to hold her?”
My reply couldn’t come quicker. “No.”
Nodding in understanding, Ash moves the baby around so that she’s hanging at his hip. He produces a plastic bag out of thin air and passes Winnie a handful of cereal.
I watch silently, filing the twitch in Ash’s muscles and his effortlessness away for later.
That is something I will have to think over.
Ash has never been particularly sporty or into working out but the shadow of his bicep sends a shiver down my spine and I find myself incredibly attracted to him.
I want to have it around me, I want to feel his chest under my touch again.
The thought knocks the air out of my lungs, leaving my mouth dry. Where did that come from?
No. Focus.
Ash’s holding a baby, our baby, in his arms. A baby that’s now busy munching on cereal, big brown eyes jumping from me to Ash and then back to the cereal. I study her quietly as she stuffs her mouth and babbles incomprehensible words.
She looks… familiar.
The feeling in my stomach is… familiar.
And Ash… Ashley belongs right there where he is.
So I tell him. “You know, all of this is quite familiar.”
“I would hope so.”
Still, my mind is blank. There’s nothing. Staring at the crumbles on the baby’s pink dress, I whisper, “Winnie?”
Winnie yelps upon hearing her name. “Me!”