Chapter 23
I leave work at three for my cognitive therapy appointment.
The bell above the door at Strange Brew jingles as I leave, but I barely hear it, and I don’t look back as Bobbi shouts goodbye.
I just tug my scarf tighter around my neck and wait on the sidewalk for my car to arrive.
Capobianco’s doors are open and the smell of roasted garlic and olive oil wafts out, intermingling with the stubborn sweetness from the bakery two doors down.
If it were a normal day, I would relish it.
Instead, all I can think about is the woman who came in an hour before.
April.
The name tugs at a memory, but the details disappear as soon as I get close enough to grab them.
I hate this. I hate not recognizing my life, or the people in it.
How, even though I understand some of the choices I made over the last year, from quitting Probus to signing up for a photography course, I still don’t remember actually making them.
It’s like my life is happening to me rather than vice versa, and I can’t do anything about it except burst into tears.
Thankfully, a blue Nissan Altima pulls up to the curb before I can start. I slide into the back seat, offering the driver the meekest of smiles, and try to focus on the view out my window when my phone starts to ring deep in my bag. I see Sara’s name on the caller ID.
“Are you packed?” I ask, forcing levity into my voice.
“Packed and ready to go!” she practically squeals. “We have a car coming to pick us up at seven a.m. sharp.”
I hear a deep voice murmur something—probably Garrett—and she scoffs.
“You’re ridiculous,” she says to him. “You know traffic always doubles the travel time!”
I smile. I know exactly what Garrett probably said—how getting a car so early when their flight doesn’t leave until two is ridiculous—and I know exactly the look Sara threw at him, how he probably laughed as she did. It makes me miss them both so much it hurts.
“All right, so here’s what’s happening,” Sara continues. “We land at about four, then we’re going to head to our hotel, shower, and get ready. We’ll meet you and Matt at the restaurant at seven.”
I nod even though she can’t see me. “Got it.”
“What time is Matt picking you up?”
“He’s not. I’m going to grab a taxi,” I reply, tempering the annoyance in my tone.
She sighs at this obvious wrench in her plans. “Okay, fine. More importantly, what are you wearing to the restaurant?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You still haven’t decided?”
I slide my teeth over my bottom lip as I think back to the dresses I had laid out on my bed earlier this morning. “I have options, don’t worry.”
“Good. Okay, I have to run. I’ll have Matt text you about that ride, okay?”
I frown. “Sara—”
“Can’t wait to see you tomorrow! Bye!”
And then she hangs up.
I’m still bubbling with anger when I arrive at the hospital and head up to the fifth floor.
The call with Sara plays on repeat in my head as I hone in on every moment I should have stopped her, when I should have finally been honest. By the time I’m shown into an exam room, I know I need to call her back, set boundaries before tomorrow night.
But as I reach into my bag for my phone, there’s a knock on the door and Janine appears, a warm smile on her lips.
“Hello, Marnie,” she says. “Ready to run a few tests?”
I offer her a smile, even though I can’t think of anything I’d rather do less.
We spend the next hour going over the same litany of evaluations and exercises I did a few weeks before. It agitates my already-growing frustration, so by the time we sit down in the exam room again to discuss how I’m feeling, all I want to do is leave.
“And you’re feeling okay? No new headaches or issues with coordination?” she asks, noting it on her tablet.
I shake my head.
“Anything from your box of mementos looking familiar yet?”
“No.”
“How about—”
“Can I ask you a question?” I blurt out.
She looks up from her tablet. “Sure.”
“When will I get better?”
“Like we discussed before, recovery isn’t linear, Marnie.
Yes, physiologically your brain has healed.
But the brain is also a complicated place.
Certain parts can recover at a predictable trajectory, while others will have starts and stops.
Periods where it feels like things are moving forward and others where it plateaus. ”
“Okay, but can’t we at least estimate how long it will take for me to get back to normal?”
“That depends on how you define normal.”
“Back to how I was before,” I plead.
She stares at me for a long moment, then pushes her reading glasses to the top of her head so she can meet my gaze directly. “There might not be a way back to the way you were before.”
The words land with a heavy thud in my chest, stealing my breath. “What do you mean?”
“You’re doing phenomenally well. And I’m confident your memories will start returning soon. But while we continue to work on resolving your cognitive issues, we need to also acknowledge that some may not resolve completely.”
I blink, shock rippling through my body. “Are you saying… some of this might be permanent?”
“The data is on your side, Marnie. You’ll likely get your memories back, but there could be gaps.
Moments that are still hazy. Directions could still be a struggle, too.
Your emotions might still feel hard to manage.
There’s no way to tell right now. But what we can do is give you the tools to be ready for whatever your new normal looks like. ”
But I don’t want a new normal, I want to scream. I don’t want every day to be a challenge anymore.
I’ve spent weeks retracing my steps, following a shoebox full of clues in the hopes of remembering the past year, believing that if I just found the right place, the right memory, my brain would magically fix itself.
And what do I have to show for it? Nothing.
I’m in the same exact place as when I left this hospital.
Sara was right. Hope is not a strategy.
Janine watches my expression, then leans forward, offering me a supportive smile. “It’s okay to miss that version of you from before. But you’ll be proud of this new one, too. I promise.”
I know she’s trying to make me feel better, but I want to tell her that I don’t want a new version of me. I only want to remember the old one. And I thought I would. I honestly thought, somehow, the stars would align and the universe would give me this one thing.
I suddenly feel so stupid. How could I have thought it would be so easy? How had I let my grandmother’s promises of magic and destiny trick me again?
How am I still here, right where I started?