Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Ava
Iround the corner carrying my usual order of coffees, with a few extras in case any of the others show up as they occasionally tend to do.
For as far back as I can remember, Maddie, Regan, and I have met up behind the ice cream shop every Tuesday night at seven. The only thing that keeps us from coming is birth, death, or vacation. And sometimes bad weather—but on those occasions we just move it inside.
I’ve missed the last three. In fact, I’m not even sure anyone showed. Like maybe our standing coffee dates died with Trevor.
On this chilly Tuesday eve, my two very best friends are the only ones sitting at the picnic table. I’m not sure if that relieves or upsets me. I mean, doesn’t every single one of my friends want an update on the chaos that is my life?
Regan’s face splits with a smirk as I approach. “So… how’d the first night go?”
She asks it like she thinks, despite his memory loss, we’d just immediately jump back into bed together simply because we’re married.
I set down the coffees and shake my head, settling on being relieved that more of my friends aren’t here to witness the retelling of my failed first night with him.
Maddie’s arm is around me before I’ve even settled in next to her. “Not the night you were expecting?”
“Worse,” I say, staring sadly into my coffee. “He stayed at his parents’ house.”
I see Regan’s jaw go slack out of the corner of my eye. “He didn’t stay at the apartment? But that’s where he lives.”
“With the party and everything, he just got overwhelmed. He asked me to back off and not inundate him with too much information at once.”
“Was this before or after you told him about the baby?”
My eyes close. “I, uh…”
“You didn’t tell him?” Maddie says with a gasp.
“I couldn’t. You didn’t see how upset he was with everyone trying to tell him about his life.”
“We saw him throw the photo albums across the floor and stomp out like a toddler,” Regan says. “I thought he might have come around after he had time to process it.”
“Yeah, well… he didn’t. Not really. He did come and talk to me a few hours after. It was at the tree.” I look over in the direction of the park, and beyond the park, the tree. But it’s all too far away to see from here.
“I thought for sure when he saw the photos of our wedding that he’d remember.
Then after that, I thought the tree would jolt his memories.
Then when he said something about me being like a sister, I kissed him, and the way he responded…
” I lower my face into my hands and try not to cry for the thousandth time.
“I thought that did it. But it didn’t. In fact, I might have made it worse.
I think he felt pressured. Like if he did stay at the apartment, he’d have to act like my husband and do things husbands do. Things he’s not nearly ready to do.”
“But…” Regan shares a look with Maddie. “You’re going to have to tell him.”
“I know. I will. I just can’t yet.”
We sit in silence and sip our coffee. I think I’ve really surprised them by not telling Trevor about the baby.
“Listen,” I say, trying to appear optimistic. “He’s probably going to remember everything any minute now. In fact, maybe sleeping in his old room and being back in Calloway Creek is just what he needs, and he’ll wake up tomorrow even with his memory intact.”
“Of course he’s going to remember,” Maddie says. “And then just imagine how wonderful it’s going to be when he finds out he’s going to be a dad.”
“Assuming he’s not mad at me for taking out a loan and going behind his back.”
“He won’t be. Once he knows you’re going to be a family, none of that will matter. Besides, he’s a doctor and will go on to make millions.”
I sigh then reveal some of my worst fears. “What if he can’t make millions? What if he can’t be a doctor? What if he doesn’t want to be? The doctors warned us that even if his memory returns, he could have a personality shift.”
Regan grabs my hand. “Then you’ll work blissfully side-by-side at the coffee shop and raise your middle-class family.”
“I suppose. But what if—”
“Stop with the what ifs, Ava. Because at this point, you’ll just drive yourself crazy.”
My throat thickens with all the unspoken what ifs. Because it’s seven o’clock at night and I haven’t even heard from him today.
“But… what if he’s done with me?”
Regan cackles as if it’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever said. “Right. Ava, he’s your soulmate.”
“Some soulmate,” I whisper. “I haven’t seen him since he left the apartment last night. I expected him to call or maybe show up at work or, I don’t know, run in the front door having remembered everything.” The tears begin to fall. “It’s been complete radio silence.”
“He needs time to process everything,” Maddie says.
“Put yourself in his shoes. Imagine waking up and not knowing who you are. And then, while you’re trying to piece everything together, people you don’t remember keep trying to tell you who you’re supposed to be, bombarding you with things like you’re a doctor and you were injured by a bomb serving in the military and you’re married and here is the wife you’re supposed to love and the parents you don’t know. ”
“I know, I know. I’ve tried to look at it from his point of view, and he did try to explain it to me out at the tree. It’s just…” I rub my stomach. “What will happen to me, to us, if he never remembers?”
“He will,” Regan says. “Even if he doesn’t right now. On some level, in his subconscious, I believe he will know you and things will work out.”
My phone pings with a text and I heave a sigh of relief when I check it. I look at my friends. “It’s him.”
914-555-5879
Ava, it’s Trevor. This is my new phone. Can we meet?
My heart pounds. Has he remembered?
I quickly show the text to Maddie and Regan. “What are you waiting for?” Regan says, waving me off. “Go!”
I add him to my contacts and then respond.
Me
Of course. Where?
Trevor
How about a cup of coffee?
Me
Sure. I’ll meet you there shortly.
I excitedly hop off the bench. The shop is closed, but I don’t care. It’ll be better that way, us there alone without anyone interrupting. And what good is owning your own coffee shop if you can’t open it for whoever you want, whenever you want?
But then I reread his text, and my stomach twists into a knot.
He’s asking to meet for coffee. That’s definitely not a request from a man who just remembered who he is.
He’d have asked where I was so that he could rush to me and sweep me into his arms and twirl me around because he knows how much he loves me and how much I love him and how much we’ve loved each other since we were thirteen.
Better yet, he’d have known where I was.
He always knew where I was at seven pm on Tuesdays.
He’d have simply shown up, his amazing blue eyes staring at me just how they used to.
With a smile that would let me know even before we said a single word that he’d remembered.
That it had all come back to him. Every second of our incredible life together.
My steps slow when I realize none of that is going to happen, my entire body one bundle of tightly coiled nerves as I make the walk to the shop.
I unlock the front door, turn on one light behind the counter, and leave the CLOSED sign on.
For the next few minutes, I try to calm down by making Trevor’s favorite drink: an iced caramel macchiato.
But my mind keeps racing. He’s had all day to contact me, and hasn’t.
Has he been trying to work up the nerve to tell me what he wants to tell me?
That he doesn’t want to see me? Be around me?
My body stiffens. That he doesn’t see the point of being with me if he can’t remember.
Or is he going to say he feels guilty about parting the way we did last night? That he wants to stay with me in our apartment. Fall back into whatever routine we’re supposed to be in.
That he wants to try.
It’s the last thought I’m clinging to when the door chime sounds.
Trevor steps through. Before he looks at me, he does a visual sweep of the entire coffee house. Is he imploring himself to remember? How many times has he done the very same thing over the past week?
When his gaze finally lands on me, there’s no spark of recognition. No visceral reaction. Just a cordial smile and lift of his chin. He might as well be meeting his sister, not his wife. Not the woman he pledged eternal love to.
“Sit anywhere,” I say from behind the counter with a flippant wave of my hand, trying not to sound like the dejected woman I am. “I’ll be right over.”
After I finish making his drink, I grab a few leftover cookies from the case then make my way to him.
I stop in my tracks when I see where he’s sitting.
It’s like time has stood still. The booth may have been re-covered and the window behind him may have a new etching, but in this moment, all I see is the thirteen-year-old boy with the amazing blue eyes who brought me to this very same booth on our very first date.
I stride over with shaking hands, set down the drink and the cookies, then turn. “I need a minute.”
Rushing behind the counter and into the back, I press my spine against the wall and sink down to the floor where I try to control my breathing and keep from falling apart.
Because the man on the other side of this wall has absolutely no idea what he’s doing to me when he looks at me with those same blue eyes that used to sear into me and worship me.
Only now, those blue eyes are vacant. Not full of life. Of passion. Of us.
“Ava?”
His voice isn’t as distant as it would be if he were still in the booth.
I wipe a tear. “Yeah. Coming. I just need to use the bathroom.”
It’s a lie. I need a minute. I need all the minutes. Because I’m just not sure how much longer I can take facing him and looking into those eyes without breaking.
I still don’t understand how his brain isn’t allowing him to remember. How can he not know about the booth?
I sit up straight. Then I stand. Then I run upstairs and get my diary. If he doesn’t remember, and he doesn’t want me telling him, maybe I can show him. Just as I did with the letter he wrote.
“Hey,” I say, walking over and taking the seat across from him.
He doesn’t know how it kills me to sit across from rather than next to him. I keep the diary in my lap, not wanting to push him too much too soon.
He lifts the cup. “It’s good.”
“It’s your favorite.” I catch myself, because if I’ve learned anything over the past few days, it’s that he doesn’t want people telling him who he is. Who he was. “Or… it used to be. I can make something else if you want.”
“No. Like I said, it’s good.”
There’s an ocean of silence between us. It’s sucking all the air out of the room. It’s such an odd feeling, not being comfortable with the man I’ve loved for two decades.
“Um, so what did you do today?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Worked on the car a bit.” He holds up his arm with the cast. “It’s kind of hard with this thing though. I walked one of the trails. And I looked at some photo albums.”
It’s the last sentence that has my curiosity. “Really?”
“It’s not that I don’t want to know who I was.
Who I am. I just don’t want it crammed down my throat.
I feel like I’m walking around on eggshells.
What if I say something someone doesn’t like, or do something I’m not supposed to do?
Honestly, I did a lot of sleeping. And hoping that this nightmare will just end. ”
“Is that what it feels like to you? A nightmare?”
He nods. Then his eyes flutter closed before he looks at me again. “I know it must be for you, too. I’m not trying to be difficult.” He looks toward the back room. “How come you ran back there?”
I swallow, and it hurts, because his question brings back so many memories. Memories that are painful because now I’m the only one who knows them.
“This was the same booth we sat in on our very first date.”
Now he’s the one swallowing. It’s like he wants to know about it, but at the same time, he doesn’t.
“Do you want to move somewhere else?” I ask.
He runs a hand along the edge of the table then looks up at me. “Do you?”
“I love this booth. I’d never want to sit anywhere else with you.”
“Okay, then we’ll stay.”
There’s more awkward silence. I want to ask him why he came.
Why he wanted to see me. But I don’t. I don’t think I should be asking him any questions, or even giving him any information, unless he’s the one asking.
There. I just decided. I’m not going to try to make him remember or push memories onto him.
Because so far, it’s only led to disappointment.
I tuck the diary beneath one of my legs. It was probably a silly idea anyway. As if reading the words of my thirteen-year-old self would somehow cause him to remember.
“What’s that you brought with you?”
I shake my head. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. I heard you go upstairs. What is it?”
Well, he is asking. So I put the diary on the table. “My diary.”
“Why did you go upstairs to get it after seeing me?”
“Because…” I huff out a blast of air. “Because when I saw you sitting in this booth it reminded me of that day, and it’s a day I wrote about, so I thought…” I shake my head again. “It was stupid. Forget it.”
“Let me see it,” he says curiously.
My eyes widen and meet his.
He holds up his hand and waves his fingers toward himself. “Come on. It’s why you brought it, so what did you want me to read?”
I inhale deeply, push the diary across the table, and open it to the very first page.