Chapter Thirty-Four
She fluttered her eyes open. She was groggy, and her head was pounding. She reached back for a memory to help explain the feeling and found nothing. There was nothing.
Where was she? The room was unremarkable.
Simple and white, with one king bed in the center, the covers rumpled.
A small black suitcase lay open in the corner.
Her suitcase? She did not recognize it. She did not recognize anything.
There was something in her hand. A piece of paper. She held it up to her face and read:
Dear Rose,
You are safe. You are in a hotel room in Boston.
The credit cards on the table are all under your name.
The clothes in the suitcase all fit, though I’m hopeful they won’t be to your liking.
I want you to know that I chose to take the forgetting pill for a reason.
I could not bear this life a moment longer.
My only wish for you is happiness. You can do anything.
Start wherever you want and go wherever you want.
Poppy will help you. She is the best friend in the cosmos.
Whatever you do, please do not try to remember. There is nothing there for you.
With hope,
Rose
Rose. Her name was Rose. She loved it instantly. It was beautiful, and melodic, and something about it just fit. Rose walked over to the table and picked up one of three cards. “Rose Martin,” they read. A first and last name. Now she was complete.
Rose breathed in deeply and placed a hand on her chest, searching for words to describe the strange lightness where there must once have been heaviness.
It was as though there had been a gaping void and hope had rushed in, like a river to the sea.
And God, did she feel hopeful. And joyful. She could do anything.
As the fog cleared, she felt something unpleasant.
Her stomach thrashed. When was the last time other Rose had eaten?
She walked to the bathroom and flipped on the light.
Her eyes were sunken in the mirror. Her whole face looked a bit sunken.
She lifted her shirt. Her stomach was more concave than she would have liked.
She could solve that. Credit card still in her hand, she stepped into the hallway.
Outside, the city shimmered with possibility.
Every corner held a new marvel: the blinking traffic lights; the sooty, sweet smell of exhaust; the frazzled dog walker trying and failing to maintain order.
A silver diner materialized like an oasis in a desert, neon sign flashing.
When Rose walked in, a bell chimed. She clapped her hands and laughed.
It was so beautiful, that bell. A waitress caught her eye and nodded.
“Sit anywhere you like, hon,” she said. Anywhere? Rose thought. What a generous offer.
Rose slid into a booth by the window and picked up a menu sticky with sugar.
Everything sounded good. “Can I get pancakes?” Rose asked the waitress.
“And eggs? Scrambled. Two orders of eggs, actually. One scrambled, one fried. And bacon, and toast. And orange juice. And a coffee, I think. Yes, a coffee, with cream and sugar.”
The waitress blinked but nodded. “Sure thing.”
When the food came, Rose knew it would not just be a meal, but an experience.
First the bacon—salty, crunchy, and perfect.
She should have ordered more bacon. Then, the eggs, warm and soft on one side, oozy and rich on the other.
The pancakes so fluffy she would have rested her head on them if she’d felt even a twinge of exhaustion.
She ate until she forgot she was eating.
By the end of the meal, she wasn’t just full: She was alive.
The bells trilled behind her, marking her exit, and she clapped her hands with delight once more.
Where would she go next? The possibilities were infinite.
She could go dancing, eat salty oysters and drink champagne, shop for clothes to match her mood, wander museums soaking up layers and layers of meaning.
Rose pulled the note from her pocket, already crumpled and now stained with grease from hands she hadn’t bothered wiping.
Whatever you do, please do not try to remember. There is nothing there for you.
Other Rose had not wanted to be here. With no additional context, it only confused her.
How could she have not wanted to be here?
She held her face up to the sky and felt the warmth of the sun on her cheeks.
Life was beautiful. It was extraordinary.
What had happened to the woman whose body she shared to make her give it all up?
Rose would spend the day here, in the city.
And tomorrow she would make plans to give other Rose what she had asked of her: a fresh start.
She would go somewhere beautiful. Magical.
Somewhere she could create. Somewhere old and romantic, with a skyline of steeples and spires.
Somewhere she could be truly, blissfully, happy.
It was the least she could do.