Chapter 21
Chapter twenty-one
Steven
“I can’t believe that’s your last memory.” Liam snorts into his mug.
I replay the house party in my head again—the last clear memory I can fully grasp. Liam and I were about to bomb our midterm, and I was drowning myself in books. It would’ve been the first fail in medical school for me, and Liam insisted I drowned my sorrows in other ways.
“It’s probably because it was so traumatizing for us,” he adds with a laugh.
“Could be.” I twist my glass between my fingers, my water glistening in the afternoon sun. Liam pours himself another cup of coffee.
“You still drink three pots a day?” I ask.
“Pretty much.” He winces as he drinks half the cup then sets the mug on the railing behind him. “Alright, let’s get started.” He claps his hands together and leans forward, clicking on his pen and scribbling my name at the top of the paper.
When we were in school, Liam had plans of going into cardiology, for no other reason than it’s good money. But apparently, somewhere along the way, his plans shifted, and he ended up in a field I never would’ve imagined.
“Fill me in on you first.” I lean back in the porch swing, the chains creaking under me.
“When did this happen?” I gesture at his notebook and the entire persona I don’t recognize.
This is the guy that would break up with a girl for not liking chicken, or refused to call his father on his birthday because, and I quote, “He knows I love him; no need to call.”
“Psychiatrist?” I pose. “I am truly shocked.” I cross my ankles and settle in, half hoping his story can help me recollect some of mine.
Liam laughs, self-deprecatingly. “It was a shock to all. But during our didactic year, cardiology started to get repetitive, and I realized how great of a need there is for mental health.” He shrugs, scribbling more notes.
“So your heart grew two sizes?” I joke.
“Not at all. It’s good money too,” he adds, not looking up from his notes.
I smirk, finding an odd sense of comfort in the familiarity.
I was never one to ask Liam for help—ask anyone, for that matter.
I was too prideful to let anyone know I needed it.
But now is not the time to be stubborn. I have a wife and children I hardly recognize, so if Liam’s ego is what can stir some kind of memory, then so be it.
“Now, we can start slow if you want.” He’s still writing, not looking at me.
The cool wind rustles his papers, and he smooths them back down.
“But seeing as I only have a couple days…” His incredulous eyes flick to the kitchen window, and I follow his gaze, catching Emma and Ellie spying on us.
They freeze, then scramble out of sight.
“Well, one thing’s for sure,” Liam says, finally shutting his notebook. “You’re still a lovesick puppy over her. Amnesia can’t change that, I see.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb. Look at you.” He waves the leatherbound papers at me. “You’re blushing right now.”
“Am I?” I rub at my jaw and the warmth that’s spreading there.
“Like old times. Just her watching you from across the hall had you starstruck. I couldn’t be in the same room with the both of you.”
He scoffs out a laugh, but it doesn’t feel like judgment. Doesn’t necessarily feel supportive either. I tuck that away for another time. Maybe there’s something there that present me knows already.
“You know, the first month of your relationship, I only saw you in class. You two were inseparable.”
“Really?” I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling, focusing on the way his brows pinch together at the memory. “Did that bother you?”
The crease between his eyes softens as he blinks back to me. “Not really. I figured you’d still be there if I needed you.”
“Was I?” I whisper nervously.
“Of course,” he says, dismissive, like the question is too ridiculous to entertain.
He doesn’t catch the way I exhale, relief rushing out of me in one shaky breath.
The idea of getting swept up in a woman and leaving my oldest friend behind is unthinkable—even if the woman is now my wife and that friend can be intolerable.
But my mind shifts anyway, veering down a road of what-ifs.
What if I’m the guy who only calls his best friend on his birthday?
What if I’m the dad who works too much and forgets his kids’ favorite foods?
What if I’m the husband who forgets his own anniversary?
They’re little things, ordinary failures I would’ve put to the wayside if it was fifteen years ago.
But these possibilities start to multiply, flooding my mind with some alternate, disgusting version of myself.
It slices a sharp, gnawing pain across my chest.
“What’s wrong?” Liam asks, eyeing my hand as I rub at my sternum.
“I don’t know. I just…not knowing anything is messing with me, I think.”
“It would mess with anyone, Jones.”
“How do we fix it?” I ask, my voice sounding as desperate as I’m beginning to feel.
“To start, we do this.” He clicks his pen and opens his notebook again. “We talk, ask questions, get your neuropathways firing.”
“Sounds simple enough.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard. So…” He pushes his glasses to the top of his head and rubs at his brow. “Let’s start with the party. Your last full memory, right?” When I nod, he instructs, “Tell me about it. Tell me about the night you met Emma.”
“Oh, man, alright.”
A warm, electric rush glides over my skin, slowly cascading down to my toes before lifting off me like steam.
The memory is vivid and distant all at once.
I can’t remember the date or what I was wearing.
But I can remember her. Every marvelous, earth-shattering part of her.
And that settles in my chest, pulsing in time with my heartbeat.
I remember her. Even if it was fifteen years ago, remembering her feels essential, like she’s the one thing my mind refuses to let go of.
I walk Liam through the story of meeting her, sparing him the gooey details.
I don’t tell him how her brown hair shimmered copper when certain light found it, or how her green eyes lingered on my neck long enough to set my pulse on a reckless sprint.
I don’t mention her red lipstick or the way I nearly lost every shred of restraint when she bit her bottom lip.
“I let her win at darts, then she had to leave.”
I watch the sun slowly set behind Liam as the memory of watching her walk away blends with the skyline, like a mirage in an old country movie, her steps on the hardwood floor still sounding in my ears.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see her again.” I practically whimper this.
“So you don’t remember seeing her the next day?” Liam’s eyes are unreadable, the doctor mask clearly in place.
“I don’t.” I rub at my face, aggravated that nothing after that night has come back yet.
“Well, you did. I remember you raced out of class and sprinted across the campus lawn to get to the art building.” He scoffs again, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips this time. “You were so gone for her after one night.”
“Can you blame me?” I don’t expect him to answer, but he does.
“You guys are really great together—even if she hates me.”
“From what I was told, it’s for good reason.”
He waves this off. “Everyone is better off for it anyway. They’re all happy, aren’t they?”
“They are,” I agree, knowing he’s talking about Ellie as well. I don’t know his reasoning for leaving her, but knowing Liam and seeing the way he’s been glancing at her this afternoon, he’ll probably question that decision for the rest of his life.
“Alright, so I think the next thing to do is talk to Emma. Let her share her side of your story, and maybe that can elicit a positive response.” He taps the side of his head.
“And I’ll get out of here so you can do your game night.
” He gives a mocking tone, but I can tell he’s jealous he has to leave.
I laugh as we both stand to go back inside. I’m not sure if we made any progress with this—whatever he wants to call this—but I can’t fight the urge to pick his brain while I can, even if it’s just for one simple confirmation.
“Let me ask you something,” I murmur, glancing through the window to ensure Emma and Ellie are out of earshot. They’re sitting on the couch, flipping through a binder while Benny moves around the dining room table, setting up a board game. “How much do you know about my marriage?”
“What do you mean?” Liam arches a brow, his curiosity piqued.
“Like, did I tell you any specifics? Was I happy? Were we happy?” I rub the back of my neck, unease rising at the possiblity of him saying no.
“You were. You are,” he reassures, patting me on the shoulder. “I’ve never seen anyone more in love than you two.”
My unease dissipates at his words, and my limbs slacken in relief. Liam is a lot of things—negative in most areas, if we’re being fully transparent—but the one thing he will never be is dishonest. If there was something going on in my marriage, he’d tell me. Amnesia or not.
“But I will say…” He’s now whispering, glancing behind me into the house.
The air in my lungs goes hot and thick, sticking to the back of my throat.
“We haven’t talked about you two in a while.
Like, almost two years. Anytime I would ask how you guys were, you’d brush me off and start talking about work.
I never wanted to press. It’s your life, and I assumed it was just busy with the kids and everything that happened a couple years ago. ”
“What happened a couple years ago?”
“Alright, boys, session is over.”
Emma appears in the doorway before Liam can answer me. She stands there, holding a pair of game dice, offering Liam a look of impatient disdain. Her jaw is tight, her lips are pressed together, but still she’s smiling. It’s a territorial kind of smile and it is wildly attractive.
“Game is ready,” she says, slowly plucking her eyes away from where Liam stands and looking to me. “Ready?” Her smile shifts to something more real, familiar. A smile I know I’ve experienced a thousand times, a smile I’ve probably done absurd things for, a smile I’ve committed my life to.
“See you in the morning.” Liam rolls his eyes, scoops up his things, and heads to his car. Benny was kind enough to tell him about a late-night waffle diner in town and about the bald owner who will trauma-dump to just about anyone.
I don’t watch him leave, instead following Emma inside.
The kitchen island is covered in a variety of snacks ranging from candy to veggie sticks and hummus.
She beams down at the assortment, proud of her efforts.
She doesn’t say anything as she grabs two plates, filling both.
The sun is almost set, with a small beam of orange light peeking through the window above the sink.
As she moves around the space, it shines around her, casting her in a beautiful glow.
The kind of glow you read about in books, a glow made just for her, illuminating her soft skin and brown hair.
Her hips shift, fluid and intentional, bumping cabinets closed and scooting plates farther onto the counter.
A sliver of skin peeks out from under her shirt as she lifts her arms overhead, a full plate in each hand.
My tongue is suddenly dry, and I realize my mouth was hanging open, drinking her in. I swallow hard and fix my eyes on the plates as she scoots past me, her body brushing against mine, accidentally I’m sure, but enough to send my pulse skyrocketing into my throat.
She glances over her shoulder when she realizes I’m not following her into the dining room. “You coming?”
“Y–yeah,” I stammer, caught off guard by the sudden rush, nearly tripping over my own feet as I follow her. She giggles, and the sweet sound zaps straight through me, followed by a new, overwhelming sensation.
I know it’s only been a few days, and apparently it didn’t take nearly as long last time. But whatever this is, this buoyant, fluttery feeling now brimming behind my ribs, can only mean one thing.
There’s no denying it.
I have a crush on my wife.