Chapter 9
Chapter nine
Paisley
I wasn’t sure how long I slept—depsite my exhaustion, insomnia had still reared its ugly head—but I woke up in an alternate reality.
Not like Alice stumbling down the rabbit hole.
More like Rip Van Winkle waking up after a hundred years and not recognizing the world anymore.
Especially since Juliet was crying. Or almost crying.
Pretty sure I could have learned how to drop a transmission before that happened.
“How’re you feeling?” Greyson asked, running a slow glance over me while I sipped my tea. Like I could have injured myself further in my sleep.
I shrugged, tugging at the hem of his T-shirt over the sweats I was wearing. It was an unfair world where men’s clothes were by default more comfortable than women’s. I was never giving this shirt back. It was perfectly soft and buttery. “I’ll be better when Jules stops lying.”
Juliet glared at me, something flashing in her aquamarine eyes. We’d been arguing about it since Greyson left us on the back porch to put the kettle on—and make me tea—but she was remarkably stubborn. At least some things never changed.
But the pretty chime of the doorbell interrupted whatever protest Juliet was going to lob my way, and she flew to answer it. Coward.
A whirlwind of colour waltzed through the front door.
The vibrant combination shouldn’t have looked so chic, but with the woman’s styled greyish-blonde bob and confident step, she wore it well.
The sequined-butterfly cream sweater paired with sunny yellow and royal-blue plaid pants wouldn’t look good on just anybody.
I rubbed my eyes, clicked my heels three times (metaphorically of course), and wished I could go home because this had to be a dream. But the scene didn’t change. And was that a crocheted ivy vine in her hair?
“Hello, my loves!” The buxom woman beamed, smile lines crinkling her motherly face and familiar blue eyes.
My heart squeezed, and I set my cup down. “Mama D!”
Juliet yelped and rescued the Tupperware container of gold—aka tiramisu—as Mama D caught me in her arms, squeezing me tight.
“Oh, my sweet girl,” she whispered, her Southern drawl smooth as honey. “We’ve got you.”
And then I was crying. For the first time since I woke up in the hospital and found my memories missing. The motherly warmth of her arms and the soothing smell of jasmine that always accompanied her brought my guard down until I was a puddle.
I knew this woman. I knew her hugs. Her scent. The sound of her voice. All the times I’d sat at her kitchen counter with a mug of tea and a slice of pie, pouring out my troubles to her sympathetic ear. She was the mother I’d wished for. The Marmee to my storm-tossed Jo and nervous Beth. I was safe.
Time didn’t exist as we stood there in the entryway, me sobbing and Mama D holding me together. Greyson and Juliet faded away, leaving us to our moment. Bless Delilah Satterfield, the woman knew how to hug.
It was up to me to pull away, otherwise she might have never let me go. I swiped my cheeks. I wasn’t even sure if I was wearing mascara at that point, but no need to be more of a freak than I currently was. And I wasn’t a dainty crier. Give me a sleigh and call me Rudolph.
“Thanks.” I sniffled and dabbed my nose with my shirt sleeve. Or Greyson’s, really, but not giving it back, remember? Possession was nine-tenths of the law. Though Juliet with all her lawyer-y brains might argue that. “Did . . . did they tell you?”
Mama D’s kind eyes swept my face, and she tucked a loose tendril of hair behind my ear.
“I heard, but don’t you worry for a minute.
Everything will work out.” She squeezed my hand.
“I know things are terrifying right now. But you’re not alone, Paisley.
You might not remember us or how much we love you, but there’s an army behind you with so much love.
” She cupped my cheeks, forcing me to hold her gaze as the words washed over my soul.
“The Lord’s not finished with your story yet, honey. ”
Her words brought every speck of moisture in my body back to my eyeballs. And just as the floodgates threatened to break again, she added, “And I brought tiramisu because no one can be sad over dessert.”
I managed a watery laugh. “Pretty sure all the rom-coms where girls drown in ice cream after a breakup don’t agree.”
“That’s because they haven’t had my pie.” She winked at me, her honeyed Alabama accent warm and soothing in her teasing.
Mama D’s medicine was three-fold: her bubbly company, a warm carb-laden meal for easy reheating later, and a coffee-flavoured dessert with the perfect balance of sweetness.
I couldn’t remember much, but I knew I wasn’t a cake, pie, or even an ice cream girl.
I was a Delilah-Satterfield’s-homemade-dessert girl.
Especially when I got said dessert for breakfast.
Sitting on the soft leather couch with Juliet beside me as Mama D lit up the room felt . . . normal. Nothing since I’d woken in the hospital late Saturday night had felt that way, but this little bubble felt real. Tangible.
Until I studied Greyson. He leaned back in the armchair in the corner, a bowl of tiramisu in hand.
His posture screamed casual and relaxed, but the way his gaze swept the room indicated he was on edge.
He contributed to the conversation in short sentences, his muscles rigid and his smile dusty—like he had to polish it off for the occasion.
“Pais, you okay?”
I tensed when a hand touched my wrist, extracting the empty bowl from my shaking death grip. “Huh?”
It was only Juliet.
Rising from the couch, Mama D chuckled. “I’ve held the hounds back this long under pain of giving a detailed report when I get home.” She patted Greyson’s arm. “But they might be dropping in over the next few days if you give them the green light. We’re all worried about our girl.”
Her words were as warm as the hug she pulled me into.
“They’ve already tried dropping in virtually,” Greyson grumbled, but a half smile touched his lips, like he appreciated his siblings’ concern.
Greyson and Mama D’s murmured undertones faded, disappearing into the entryway.
“I need a shower,” I said to Juliet, and she nudged me down the hall towards the stairs.
In the doorway of my room, I stopped and turned to my best friend. “Jules, I still need answers. I’m not a child in need of coddling.”
Her expression was dead serious. “I know. I think we kept hoping you’d just wake up this morning and this would all be over.”
I frowned. “Well, it didn’t. What if this doesn’t go away? This is my life. I . . .” My words trailed away, unsure how to finish.
“I’m sorry. You’re right.” She started gathering a few clothes for me. “You up for a girls’ night tonight? Steph and Liz have to head home tomorrow.”
I nodded but winced at the movement. “There’s no way I can wash my hair,” I whispered, and that helpless feeling had the waterworks ready to burst again.
Juliet tucked a bundle of clothes under her arm. “I’ll help you.”
“What about Greyson?”
“You want him to help you?”
My face burned. “No! I meant . . .” What did I mean?
How was he doing? What did he think of having a wife who couldn’t remember him?
I was still trying to wrap my head around him being my husband.
Of being his wife. Jared still lingered close to me, like my present, not my past. “’You are strangely troublesome,’” I settled on.
Juliet hugged me. “You must be feeling better if you’re quoting Shakespeare at me again. And don’t worry, he’s . . . he’s coping. Trust me, he’s not blaming you for this.”
That thought hadn’t even crossed my mind until just this minute. But as I trudged down the hall after Juliet to the washroom, it was the only thought on replay in my mind.