Chapter 17
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
Mateo
“We should have dinner,” Florian’s mother says when the Blizzards’ players leave.
“The takeout menus are in the drawer beside the fridge,” Florian says.
Everyone stares at him. Annika presses her lips together in the way that people do when they want to hide a smile and when they are of a sufficiently advanced age to know that pointing and laughing is not the most socially appropriate action.
“I noticed them,” Florian says. “I did not remember them.” He shoots me a worried look, like I might walk out the door if I fear he has displaced memories of me in favor of remote controls and takeout menus.
“I saw you open the drawer last night,” I tell him.
Florian’s shoulders ease.
I remove the takeout menus from the drawer and hand them to Florian’s mother. “You can choose.”
“Which is your favorite?” Florian’s mother asks.
I glance at Gina. She smiles back.
And not the sort of smile that involves pressing your lips together.
Annoying twin sister.
“Well, mostly Florian and I cooked in the past,” I say.
“Florian cooked?” Florian’s mother looks impressed.
Florian starts to laugh.
I look back at him, uncertain if he’s going to say that his memory returned, and it was triggered by the apparently absurd statement that he cooked.
“I think, mi amor, that you mean to say that I watched you cook,” Florian says.
“Well—”
“Mateo is an excellent cook,” Florian says. “Gina and Mateo made chili last night.”
“Florian is a huge fan of takeout,” Florian’s mother says. “I am glad to hear his taste is evolving.”
“Mama.” Florian frowns.
“What? I can’t celebrate that my son is no longer the bad eater he normally is?”
“Florian is not bad at anything,” I say loyally.
Then Florian sweeps me into his arms. He dips me down, like he’s doing a full Hollywood kiss. Or he’s just a man who has done a lot of ballroom dancing.
My heart pounds too quickly.
This is all wrong, and soon Florian will know and hate me.
Florian lifts me back at once. “Are you okay, mi amor?”
I nod.
“He probably misses the you who used to remember things,” his mother says.
Florian’s eyes soften. “I am sorry, mi amor. I know it is difficult. If we used to cook together, then that is what we used to do.”
“I shouldn’t have laughed,” his mother apologizes.
I flutter my hands. “It’s fine! You didn’t do anything wrong. Really.”
“You picked a true gentleman,” Florian’s mother tells him.
“I know.” Florian beams, then kisses my cheek for the umpteenth time.
His mother looks at the menus. “Let’s have Thai food.”
After everyone else agrees, Gina calls the restaurant to order the food.
The Thai food is delicious—lemongrass and coconut. My throat burns pleasantly. Clearly pre-amnesia Florian had good taste in takeout places. His parents volunteer to get the food. I pull out my wallet, and his parents look horrified, and Florian tucks it back into my satchel.
My body tenses.
My manifestation book is inside my satchel.
Florian’s hand is inches from discovering that I’m carrying a book titled: How to Manifest Your Ideal Boyfriend in 30 Days or Less (Even If You’ve Tried Everything).
Why would a man who has a boyfriend carry a manifestation book on how to get a boyfriend?
And, oh God, what if he sees my exercises?
Where I listed the qualities of my dream guy that are too close to Florian’s qualities?
But Florian removes his hand from my satchel, and my shoulders ease.
Is this all my fault? Because I wanted a boyfriend who had some similarities to Florian?
If I hadn’t written those things in the workbook, would Florian have woken up and just have been grumpy that I was in the room with him?
Worried that people might think he was gay by my presence?
And I would have had to hurry away, the encounter every bit as awkward as I thought it might be when I came to the hospital?
Perhaps Florian would still be unconscious.
No, there is no world where that would have happened. Florian is an exceptionally healthy man. Of course he was going to wake up. Of course.
“What are you thinking of?” Florian asks.
“About the hospital,” I admit.
His eyes round. “Oh, mi amor. You were worried about me, weren’t you? I am so sorry I put you through that.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“I will try to pay more attention on the ice in the future.”
“It wasn’t your fault. That player came out of nowhere.”
“Then I will make sure to be extra scary on the ice in the future so no player dares hurt me again.”
My eyebrows jump up, and I giggle.
Florian kisses my cheek.
“Oh, my god,” Annika says. “You are disgusting.”
I stiffen, but Florian laughs. “You are jealous, Annika.”
“Perhaps.” Annika scrutinizes me with the vigor she probably uses to detect anomalies in any cells she looks at under microscopes.
I shift my legs, then square my shoulders, because perhaps cowering is a bad look when I’m trying to pretend that I’m not lying to her brother, not lying to her, not lying to her brother’s parents, not lying to the whole world after Florian announced to the paparazzi that we are dating.
Because people have totally noticed.
People are making videos of us.
They only have the video of us at the hospital, since Florian ran whenever he saw me so predictably, but they have found every picture of me on the internet and are creating slideshows and comments.
A player declaring himself to be gay is a big deal. Perhaps multiple players in the Blizzards are gay, but there are no other players on any other team who are gay or bisexual. At least none who are out.
None.
Florian was already in the news because he was lying in the hospital unconscious from a hit that so many viewers watched live. People were already speculating on his health and researching him.
Now they are researching both of us.
I hate it.
This is my fault, and there will be no apology I can give him that can wipe what I’ve done away.
Florian
Mateo is melancholic during dinner. I hate it. I try to make him smile, and each time I try, he tries to smile.
I am relieved when my family leaves and Gina leaves and I am once again alone with my incredible boyfriend.
I vow to remember as soon as I can.
I put the pillow divider up so that Mateo will not stress about accidentally injuring me further.
He comes out of the shower, clean, wearing his heart pajamas and smelling of chocolate.
“I love you so much,” I tell him.
His eyes widen. “I-I love you too.”
“Maybe when we wake up, I will remember.”
“M-maybe.”
He looks worried for some reason. Perhaps he doesn’t want me to put too much pressure on myself.
“Or perhaps I won’t,” I tell him.
“I want the best for you,” he tells me. “Every decision I make, that’s my criteria. I, um, don’t always make the best decisions. I try to though.”
“That’s all any of us can do,” I assure him.
He chews his bottom lip, and I wonder who has given him a hard time in the past for his decisions.
“Is this about massage therapy?” I ask him.
His eyebrows do that rising up thing again. They’re so adorable. How is everything about him so adorable?
“My parents are proud of you,” I assure him. “It felt like it got a bit awkward when everyone was talking about graduate school.”
“I know I don’t have an impressive job. I dropped out of college.” He seems to be studying me extra hard.
“Mateo, I think it’s wonderful that you help people with your hands. What you do is very complex and physically demanding.” I tilt my head. “What I do is also physically demanding.”
“More physically demanding,” Mateo says. “Much more.”
I shrug. “Perhaps, but I have a lot of variety in the types of exercises I do.” I take his hands in mine. “These hands help people. That is wonderful. Annika looks at bacteria under a microscope. She is excellent at doing that—”
“And medical research helps people.”
“Eventually,” I say. “That is the hope, certainly. But you can make people feel better at once. That is a gift.”
He smiles.
He still looks confused, which is sweet. But I have made him smile. I lead him into bed, and he slides under the covers. I tuck him in and kiss his cheek.
“I love you,” I tell him again.
“I-I love you too.”
I grin and then walk around to my side of the bed. I slide under the covers and turn out the light.
Tomorrow I will ask Mateo to tell me the story of how we met. I want to know everything: the place, the words, the moment he knew. I want to remember.
I cannot wait for tomorrow.