Chapter 2 #4
I slug down two painkillers and quietly pad back down the steps to the living area, past the three people who are clearly talking about me.
I slip into the bedroom and change into the silk PJs, wondering whether anyone can see me through huge terrace windows.
I explore the walls and find controls for the blinds, which obediently glide down.
It’s a shame to hide such a stunning view, but I need to be cocooned.
I slide between the softest of white sheets and close the gauzy canopy.
If I’m going to live in a crazy parallel universe, I guess this is pretty much the best way to do it.
* * *
Knocking.
Where am I?
The room is dark, the bed unfamiliar. Every part of me aches. The door cracks open, and Laura is silhouetted against the chink of light. Then I remember. The accident. The man who thinks he’s my husband. The incredible apartment. Not a dream, then.
“I made you another tea.” Laura opens the door wider. “It’s nearly 6 p.m. You’ve been asleep all afternoon. We wondered if you might eat dinner with us? Rob’s promised to cook chili prawns.” She puts the mug down on the table beside me, picking up the previous mug. She turns on the light.
It doesn’t seem right to eat in a universe that isn’t my own, to be cooked dinner by a husband who isn’t mine. But it won’t help to starve. My stomach growls in agreement. “Yeah, I could eat. I haven’t had anything since yesterday.”
“I’d better shower, though.” Could be interesting, with this new body.
“I wasn’t going to say anything, but . . .” Laura screws up her nose, then winks as she backs out of the room.
I ease out of bed and slip on a robe that matches the pajamas. I check the mirror on the closet door. My hair is messy but not too bad — not only longer but also thicker than usual.
I run my good hand through it and feel a line along my scalp with thicker hair underneath.
Extensions. I’ve thought about getting them, but they’re expensive, and my life doesn’t require that much glamor.
Perhaps this version of my life does. I pick up a clip from the bedside table and fix up the locks in a twist before venturing out into the living–dining area.
My mother and Laura are on the couch, Laura showing Mum the latest photos of Theo, her three-year-old son. Rob is nowhere to be seen.
“He’s getting groceries,” Laura says, watching me look around.
I’m relieved. “Right. I’m going for that shower.”
Walking up the steps, I realize I have a free moment to explore. I open the door on the other side of the foyer and find the primary bedroom. It’s so huge, I can’t help but laugh as I take it in.
Ahead of me, against the right wall, is a vast, super king-sized bed dressed in rich plum silk bedlinens, a cityscape painting above it.
Past the bed, a tall, thin window reveals a north-facing view that frames the Empire State Building, lit up triumphantly against the now black sky.
To my left, the richly carpeted room sinks down to the lower level, which offers a generous sitting area and a huge wooden desk and chair.
This is the biggest bedroom I’ve ever seen — larger than the entire Murray Hill studio I used to live in — and so sexy I’m almost turned on.
Nervous of being caught trespassing by Rob, I quickly descend to the lower level and peer inside some cabinetry on the interior wall.
A flatscreen TV and state-of-the-art smart-home system.
At the end of the room is the wall of windows that stretches across the whole apartment, with doors to the terrace and more westerly city views beyond.
Back up on the bed level is another interior door, which must be the en suite.
Instead I find a luxurious dressing room with fitted cabinets and a velvet ottoman.
I resist the urge to examine the clothes in the cabinets to see if any are mine — that will have to wait.
Another door beyond the dressing room opens to a stone-clad wet room, with a soaker tub under another Empire State-view window, and a huge walk-in shower.
I laugh again, shaking my head at the idea of living in this level of luxury.
I’m startled by a distant thud, a door closing. What would Rob think, finding me poking around his bedroom suite? I scuttle out of the room, across the hallway and slip into the main bathroom, closing and locking the door with a click. Phew.
Under the hot shower, my new body feels strange and angular beneath my hands.
It’s also a major challenge not to soak the strapping on my right arm.
But I realize I’m almost glad of the injury.
It’s a visual manifestation that something is wrong.
People can see I’m not myself — although they have no idea how much that is true.
Washing my hair is even tougher with one hand, and I’ve no idea what to do with these extensions.
I make a mental note to ask my hairstylist. The amnesia excuse will help with a lot of problems. That is, if I don’t wake up and find myself back in Brooklyn, in bed with Peter — which is what I’m hoping.
Slipping my robe back on, I clutch the PJs to my body, in case Rob is back. I walk back through the living room, smiling at my sister and mother. “Tricky keeping my bandages dry.”
“I’ll redo them soon,” Mum replies.
The front door opens, so I give them another, more rueful smile and scurry into the bedroom to get dressed. When I emerge minutes later, a delicious smell hits me, bringing home just how hungry I am.
Rob is in the kitchen, absorbed in stirring a sizzling pan. Laura is carrying bowls of salad and rice to the table. “Hungry?” she asks me.
“Starving,” I admit.
My mother sets down four plates and reaches into a drawer in the long walnut sideboard.
I glimpse a mix of old and new cutlery, including some inexpensive stuff I recognize.
I bought it years ago. She pulls out some beautiful, contemporary silverware.
When she sees me admiring it, she murmurs, with a half-smile, “Wedding present from David.”
“Better than that cheap set of mine,” I tell her, watching as she moves gracefully around the table, setting out the cutlery. I sink down into a chair.
Rob brings the chili prawns. “Dig in.” He sits across the corner from me. “I’m glad you found your place.”
“Do I usually sit here? Seemed like a good spot.” I don’t like fitting in with his idea of me, but he’s being welcoming. “Thanks, this looks delicious.” I help myself to a generous serving and eat with unabashed gusto. This Rob guy is going to have to take me as I am.
“Seems like the appetite is back,” says Mum. “You’re so slim, we thought you’ve hardly been eating.”
I want to tell her about the meatball sub but figure it wouldn’t be well received, so I smile and keep eating as my mother and sister discuss plans for tomorrow.
But I’m distracted — the silverware from my brother reminded me of him.
He’d be on his surfing trip in Australia by now, so the time difference is probably why he hasn’t called.
“Speaking of David, did you tell him about my accident? I know he’s away, but I’d love to talk to him.”
Rob, Laura and my mother glance at each other. Mum puts down her fork. Rob coughs. Laura’s avoiding eye contact. They say nothing.
“What? Didn’t you tell him?”
My mother breaks the silence. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. We didn’t even think about that. You not remembering. About David.”
“What about David? Is everything all right?”
Laura rises abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. She walks to the windows. My mother moves around the table to sit beside me, twisting her chair so it faces mine.
I’m gripped by fear. This is not going to be good.
She takes my hand in hers, her eyes reddening.
“It happened in Hawaii, darling, the week we were all there for your wedding. A few days after the ceremony. David and cousin Charlie took a helicopter ride with two girls they’d met.
The pilot had a heart attack mid-flight, and they crashed.
” Her voice breaks. “I’m so sorry to have to tell you, none of them made it.
We’ve been grieving their loss for more than two years, and it’s been getting better for us, for you — everybody. ”
Her words are distant, as if she’s speaking through fog. The terror in my stomach has expanded to fill every cell in my body. “David? Dead? Charlie too?” I push back the food that now looks repulsive and try to rise, but the ground falls away.
Moments later, when I open my eyes, I’m not where I thought I was.
I’m lying on something soft, white muslin draped above me. Mum is sitting on the edge of the bed, Laura standing by the art wall. Rob is nowhere to be seen.
“What happened?”
Mum takes my hand. “You fainted, darling. After I told you about David.”
So that’s true, then. Another thing that isn’t a dream. In this version of the world, there’s no David. No big brother, whom I adore. I spoke to him only yesterday, on my birthday. But in this world he’s been dead for more than two years, killed because of my not-real wedding.
Sobs rack my body, and I let them consume me. When the wails come, I let those happen too. My mother continues to hold my hand tightly between hers, and my sister kneels by my bedside.
After a long time, Mum reaches over to the bedside table and opens the pill bottle to give me more painkillers. My throat is so dry, so dehydrated from all the crying, I can barely swallow them down.
As she and Laura finally leave me, Mum switches off the light at the door. The room, along with my thoughts, is plunged into darkness.