Chapter 26
twenty-six
“Ozzy agreed to sell you the house?” Aggie sits on the sofa next to me, her position mirroring mine. Her legs are folded beneath her, and she’s hovering over a plate of food. Her hand holding a fork hangs midair, while several strands of spaghetti stretch from her plate to her fork to her mouth.
“I can barely believe it myself. As soon as Lakeman signs the deal, I’ll draw up the papers.”
I’m so close to my goal, I’m giddy. My head bobs to the pop music we have playing in the background as I slurp my pasta. Red sauce splatters my cheeks. I’m carb building for tomorrow’s marathon. The race is another personal goal I’ve been working toward.
“So, when can I see my room?” She sets her plate aside and wipes a napkin across her face.
“Absolutely not,” I mumble with a full mouth.
“Why must you force me to break into your place? You know I love sleeping in your bed while you’re out.”
I know she’s kidding, or I hope she is. I glance at the ceiling, recalling every time I returned home to a messy bed when I was positive I had made it that morning. I thought I was overworked and losing what was left of my mind. In reality, I was getting punked by Aggie.
“Just remember who saved your tushie the other day with my spare key. You owe me, Cait.”
“But if we lived together, you wouldn’t need to break in. You’d have your own key, not a secret one. Wouldn’t it take all the fun away?” I try reverse psychology. Yes, I want to be free like Aggie, but not live with her. This is where I draw the line.
“Hmm.” She ponders with a scrunched face and then concludes, “I hate when you’re right.”
A knock at the door draws my attention. I swallow what’s in my mouth and pause at the following uncomfortable silence. Even the music has stopped. My gut rolls, but there’s no sense in pretending we aren’t home. Whoever it is will have already heard Aggie’s loud mouth.
“I’ll get it.” Aggie saves me by circling the sofa and darting across the room. When she swings the door open, no one’s there. She swoops down and lifts a cardboard box from the hallway’s floor. She turns it around in her hands and reads the return label.
“Looks like it’s from Maryland.” She glances at me.
I choke in surprise, having to cough a few times to clear my throat. The emails. The calls. And now this?
“Oh, don’t freak out. It’s probably just from your parents or something.”
I hurl an inquiring glance in her direction. I never revealed where they lived. I’ve never even talked about them before, much less acted like they existed.
“Okay, so I know how to use Google. I stalked you online a little bit.” Seeing my wide eyes, she huffs and admits, “All right, all right, I stalked you a lot. Okay? And I may have chatted with your cousin over text.”
“Aggie . . .” I grab a pillow, not sure if I want to nail her in the head with it or shrink to the size of an ant and hide beneath it.
When she closes the door with her foot and crosses to the kitchen, I toss the pillow aside and stand. She settles the box on the counter and continues with her squeaky fast-talk.
“Your cousin was really cool, well, mostly weird. Seriously, she kind of scares the bejesus out of me. How are you related? The good news is she told me what I needed to know. Doesn’t matter.
I’ll continue to pretend I know nothing until you’re ready to talk about it.
It’s fine. I’m fine with it. Okay? Okay. ” She releases an exaggerated breath.
I can tell she was nervous to confess, but now that it’s out, I release my own pent-up breath and cross the room.
“Really?” I ask. When she nods, I give her a hug, squeezing her slight frame. She grabs my hands in hers when I withdraw.
“What happened to you sucks donkey balls, and I get why you aren’t exactly eager to talk about it.”
“Thank you.” My eyes water. I find unexpected relief in the fact that she knows, and she’s not freaking out about it. She’s not even looking at me the way everyone else does when they find out. That awful pity face. In fact, she looks—intrigued?
She releases my hands. “Can you show me your scars? I bet they’re badass.” She playfully lifts my T-shirt, but I smack her hand away.
“We’ll see, stalker.” I laugh.
Aggie finds a knife in a drawer and returns. The blade gleams shiny and silver under the lights. Before she slits open the taped seam on the box, she asks, “You want the honors?”
“Can I really tell you to back off when you have a knife in your hand?”
“Good call. It might get bloody.” She waves it around with a flourish before plunging her sword into the packing tape. She saws at the seam from left to right, and the top pops open. She sets the knife aside, reaches inside the box and removes an item. Curious, she pinches her brows tight.
“An old sock turned inside out?” She looks at me for verification.
I lift my hands and shrug. I have no explanation.
She accepts this, but then proceeds to smell it. “It reeks.” Scrunching her face in disgust, she tosses it aside.
“Let me see this.” I slide the box closer. Tipping it forward, I peer in.
It’s filled with things I’ve never seen. I groan with irritation as I rifle through the random contents when I understand what this is—a test.
By giving me mementos, my parents hope I’ll find something of myself in them. That looking, touching, and holding them will trigger old memories. They’ve tried this before, several times. It’s an old tactic that rarely works.
Disinterested, I close the box and shove it away. I return to the couch and pick up my dinner. It’s turning cold, and I need to eat another plate of carbs before the night is over.
“Really?” Aggie gives me an incredulous look. “A random box of crap appears, and you have nothing to say?”
“You were right; it’s from my parents. They want me to remember.” I take a heaping bite of spaghetti and chew.
She appears disappointed. This strangely unnerves her. Or this proves she’s normal, because no one can learn about my memory loss without offering a suggestion on how to resolve it. It might be human nature, but it’s annoying.
Aggie jumps up and slams cabinet doors open and closed, looking for something. Her mind seems to have zagged to a new topic, which is fine by me.
But a few moments later, I halt in midchew when she asks, “Where are my Milano cookies?”