Chapter 4
The key turns in my hand as I unlock the door to London’s—to my apartment. My parents stand behind me waiting for me to go in. But I can’t. I’m frozen in something akin to fear.
The living room is dark, but I scoot myself inside far enough to flip the light switch on. As soon as I do, I study the beige carpet and white walls. The couch is a light brown color. All neutral tones.
“Sweetheart, are you okay?” my mom asks.
My chest feels heavy as I search the room for anything I might remember.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
They both stare at me as if I’ll break like glass at any moment.
“I, uh, I just need to be alone. I promise I’ll call if I need anything.”
“Are you sure? One of us can stay. Or both of us,” my dad says.
“I’m sure. Please go home and try to get some rest. I’ll be fine,” I tell them.
My mom stares over my head at the portrait of me and Lennon hanging on the wall before coming closer and kissing my head. My dad follows suit with promises to check in first thing in the morning.
Once they’ve gone, I roll my chair to the couch and use my good arm to slide onto it.
I sit in silence for a few minutes as I browse the room with my gaze, trying to connect with anything that helps me remember something about my life here in this space.
I inhale deeply but nothing triggers. I feel around the couch with my hand and accidentally knock a pillow off.
I see a red stain the pillow was hiding. I almost hear the echo of laughter and my heart races. A flash of a memory I can’t quite grasp tries to surface.
“Ah! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to spill my wine!”
“It’s okay. Maybe all my neutrals need a pop of color.”
“I’ll have it cleaned for you.”
“I have the cutest pillow that can go there! I got it for my bedroom, but it doesn’t match the style in there.”
“Look…”
My chest rises and falls rapidly with this glimpse of the past. I glance at the pillow and study the burgundy color. Definitely a pop of color for the neutral tones in this room.
I don’t know if I should be glad I remembered something or angry that I can’t remember more about it. I’m not sure how to feel, but my head is throbbing as if the memory will hurt more than my head if I see the whole thing. All I know for sure is it was a memory with my sister.
That must be a good thing, right? I remembered something here in what is supposed to be London’s apartment…my apartment.
I swipe the pillow from the floor and try to get as comfortable as possible on the couch. After a few minutes, I decide to call Hendrix. I want to share this with someone, and I feel the logical choice would be who is supposed to be my boyfriend. Maybe he can help me remember more.
He answers on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Hey. I remembered something…I think.”
“What was it?” he asks, his tone piqued in interest.
“A wine stain on the couch at my apartment,” I tell him.
“Yeah. I wasn’t there when it happened, but Lennon spilled her wine on your couch.
You wouldn’t let her buy a new couch for you or even try to get the stain out.
You said it was the perfect excuse for that burgundy pillow you love so much to shine.
You said no one would see past the pillow to what was underneath it.
You told me it was one of your favorite nights with Lennon.
She shared a secret with you but had to drink a glass of wine to gain the courage. ”
“What secret did she tell me?” I ask.
“I’m not sure. You said the secrets between you two were sacred. Part of your twin bond. No one else was allowed. But I have my theories,” he says.
“And what’s your theory?”
“I think she might’ve told you about her secret relationship with Dash,” he answers.
“What do you mean secret?”
I hear him sigh. “Dash is a racer too. I don’t think anyone wanted them together from what I’ve gathered, so they were together in secret.”
“How do you and my parents know about it, then?”
“Because she finally admitted it to them. She tried to bring him to dinner not long after the night you’re remembering. Your dad was so angry, and he forbid them from seeing each other.”
“Why would he do that? Why would he be so mad?” I ask, not understanding.
“Dash almost got Lennon killed in an illegal street race. Luckily, Lennon’s driving skills saved her.
But it didn’t keep them from being arrested and causing a huge PR nightmare.
The charges were dropped, but it almost tanked Lennon’s career and only seemed to boost Dash’s.
He has the ‘bad boy’ reputation in the racing world from what I understand. Your dad was beyond furious.”
“How long ago was this race?” I ask, feeling like I should remember something so big.
“Probably about a year and a half ago.”
I remain silent until Hendrix calls me.
“London?”
“I’m here. I’m just thinking.”
“Listen, it’s getting late, and you need your rest. Don’t try to overdo it. And don’t get upset; the glimpses you’re getting will eventually turn into a whole picture.”
“Should you be making promises like that?”
I can almost hear the smile in his voice. “I didn’t say the words ‘I promise,’ I simply have faith in you and what you’re capable of. I know what you can do when you set your mind to something.”
“I’m at my apartment.” I’m not sure why I divulge this detail, but I do.
“Alone?” he asks quickly.
“I am.”
“Can I come and see you?”
“I’m not so sure that’s such a good idea,” I answer honestly.
“I can stay on the couch. I’m not sure you can move around your apartment without help. Especially in your wheelchair with a busted-up leg and shoulder.”
“Is that medical terminology?” I ask laughing.
“Close enough,” he responds with a light-hearted chuckle.
“I guess you have a point. I just needed to get away from my parents. I feel like I’m suffocating,” I admit.
“Okay, give me about twenty minutes and I’ll be there.”
I smile even though I still don’t think it’s a good idea.
“Okay.”
I must have dozed off because the next thing I know, Hendrix is standing over me and I gasp.
“I didn’t mean to scare you. I’ve only been here for a few minutes and saw you on the couch.”
I rub my eyes. “How’d you get in?”
He pulls his keys from his pocket and holds one up.
“That makes sense,” I say as I try to sit up.
He helps me get situated. Then he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear before putting some distance between us.
“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” I ask.
He glances at his watch. “It’s almost nine.”
“I don’t care. We can eat popcorn and pretend I didn’t bury my twin today,” I deadpan.
“Well, when you put it that way, how can I say no?”
“You can’t if you have a heart at all,” I say and scrunch my nose at him.
He doesn’t respond, he simply moves around my kitchen like he lives here, like he knows it better than me. Which while my memories evade me, I guess he does.
Even so, as I watch him move around effortlessly, I try to envision myself doing the same. The kitchen feels like the centerpiece of this apartment. It draws me in but I don’t know why.
Once he comes over to the couch, he places two cups on the coffee table and then he sits beside me with the popcorn bowl staring into it as if searching for his next words carefully.
Then, he turns on the television before peering over at me with slightly widened eyes and swallows hard like he has an important declaration to share. “I have a heart, London, but I don’t own it. You do.”
We stare at each other in silence. I glance down at his lips and then back up to his eyes. I lean closer and so does he.
He reaches for my face, and I know he’s about to kiss me and I’m about to let him. But my phone sounds with an incoming call.
I turn and grab it, swiping the screen to answer. “Hello?”
“I just wanted to check on you before bed. And to tell you we still need to talk when you’re ready.” It’s Dash.
Just the sound of his voice sends butterflies through my stomach. I close my eyes at how screwed up this is. I can’t have feelings for my late sister’s boyfriend. What is wrong with me? Maybe my TBI messed up more than my memory. Is it possible your personality can be altered too?
“Oh, um, I’m fine. Can I call you tomorrow sometime? We’ll talk then.”
I need to find out what he wants to talk about whether I’m ready or not. But I’ve been surrounded by my parents since I left the hospital.
“Are you with him? Hendrix?” he asks, and I can hear a hint of anger in his voice.
“Yes. Is that a problem?” I ask.
“It is for me. Just, please promise me you won’t do anything with him, Lennon.”
“You mean London,” I say, correcting him.
“Please.” He sounds so desperate and my heart breaks for him. What am I supposed to do in this situation?
“I promise. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Then the call ends without him saying goodbye.
Hendrix stares at me with a furrowed brow.
“What did you promise him?” he asks.
“What do you mean?”
“What does he want, London?” he asks again but leans up and rests his elbows on his knees.
“He wants to talk. And he…”
“He what?”
“He wanted me to promise I wouldn’t do anything with you,” I admit.
He stands and runs his fingers through his hair.
“So, he won’t let go of the idea that you could be Lennon instead of London. Is that it?”
“Maybe, I guess.” There’s no point in denying it.
“And you’re entertaining it. Why?”
“Because I don’t remember who I am!” I shout.
He stops pacing and stares at me. His shoulders drop as I continue.
“I have no memory! All I know is what everyone else is telling me. He’s the only person who has been trying to let me figure things out on my own instead of insisting I’m someone I don’t remember being.”
“London was driving the car. You were pulled from the driver’s side. Just look at your injuries. They’re mostly all on the left side of your body which is to be expected of the driver being hit from that side,” he says as he waves his arm.
“And what if Lennon was driving instead? Were you with us?” I ask, calling him out.
He hangs his head. “No, it was just the two of you. And a hit-and-run driver who has yet to be identified.”
“Okay, so it could be possible. What about the clothes we were wearing?”
“You were essentially dressed the same. Both in jeans and T-shirts with one of Lennon’s racing jackets.”
“Why would I have been driving her car? I know the car was hers because London’s is in the lot out there,” I say pointing toward the parking lot.
“She was excited about her new car, and she let you drive. Plus, she was going to teach you to drive a manual transmission so you could do some drag racing with her.”
“London didn’t know how to drive a stick?” I ask. This information seems important, but I don’t know why.
He shakes his head.
“Did she want to learn?” I ask.
“You mean did you want to learn. And yes, you did. In return, you were teaching Lennon how to cook.”
“I was?” I ask, glancing past him to the kitchen. I noticed earlier it’s a very large, nice kitchen but didn’t think anything of it.
“You’re a chef, London. You always spent time in the kitchen with your mom, and Lennon was around cars with your dad. You have your own cooking channel and blog. You’re finishing your second recipe book,” he says.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
He drops to his knees in front of me on the couch, like he’s begging me to understand.
He takes my face gently in his hands and searches my eyes. “Because Dash isn’t the only one who’s trying to let your memory come back to you without being swayed or influenced.”
I move to pull away, but he gently tugs me closer as if he’s trying and failing to rein in his emotions.
“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Your happiness and safety are all that matter to me.
I want your memories to return exactly how they’re meant to.
It’s important for you to know you are in control of your own life and what happens in it.
But I hope and pray you still choose to live a life with me once the dust settles from the storm we’ve found ourselves in,” he says as his eyes reveal nothing but hopeful love.
It’s my turn to cup his cheek in my hand. How did I get so lucky as to have this man not only on my side, but to have his love too?
“I don’t know if I deserve someone as special as you, Hendrix. How can you be so sure everything will work out? How can you have so much faith in me to figure this out?” I ask gently.
Instead of answering, he leans in closer as his breaths become slightly more rapid.
“Can I kiss you, London?” he asks cautiously as if I might say no.
I stare at him and ponder his request briefly and then nod.
His lips meet mine, gently at first. But then his tongue slides against my lips, begging for entry. When I open to him, the kiss is all consuming. I’m not sure if it’s because it’s been so long or not.
When we pull back to catch a breath, we stare into each other’s eyes.
Yes, the kiss was full of heat and passion, but I didn’t feel it in my heart.
The physical chemistry was top notch, but the heart and the body need to be on the same page for me.
I might not know much about myself, but I know that.
I’m afraid I’ll have to tell him to stop when he leans in again, but to my surprise he kisses my forehead and stands back up.
He scrubs his hand down his face as his eyes darken. “I, uh, I’ll be right back. Just going to run to the bathroom before the movie,” he says.
“You okay?” I ask.
“I’m fine.” He walks down the hall, and I hear a door open and close.
I feel like he’s lying to me, but I shake it off and try to find a movie to watch. My attention catches on an older movie called The Parent Trap. A movie about twins switching lives. I can’t think about anything along those lines, so I keep flipping and find another one called She’s All That.
I feel like I remember this one as I read the description. I pick up my glass and take a sip and frown. Hendrix walks back in at the same time.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“This is root beer. I hate root beer,” I tell him.
His complexion pales before he sits beside me again. “Sorry, I must’ve swapped the glasses when I set them down. Here’s Coke.”
He swaps the glasses, and I try it and close my eyes. “Much better.”
I set my glass back down and look at Hendrix. “Do we need to talk?”
“Why?” he asks.
“About the kiss.”
“Oh, no. It’s all good.” He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“What are we watching?” he asks while grabbing a handful of popcorn almost like he’s avoiding the kiss entirely.
I study his profile for a few seconds before facing the TV again.
The rest of the night is nothing but light-hearted conversation meant to steer clear of my accident or my identity. But still, I feel the burn of his kiss on my lips.
And my gaze continues to drift toward the kitchen, and even more so, the desk off to the side making me wonder what else I’ll remember about myself in this apartment.