Chapter 25
Brian gets through most of Fleetwood Mac’s greatest hits before I finally get up.
I wash my face and get into my pajamas—along with a sweatshirt for extra warmth—then shuffle to the kitchen and fill up the kettle, putting it on the stovetop and grabbing my Paradise Cove Beach Café mug from the shelf.
I stare down at the faded words on the porcelain while I wait for the water to boil.
It’s just you and me, mug, I think. We’ve stuck together this long, we can do this.
The kettle whistles and I pour the steaming water over a waiting chamomile tea bag.
A moment later, my phone dings with a text message.
My heart stumbles, and I pick up my tote from where I dropped it on the floor and dig through it for my phone, hoping to see Ben’s name on the screen. Instead, I see a text from Matt.
MATT
Hey, did you need a ride to dinner tomorrow night?
Sara mentioned I should swing by and get you
Let me know
I snap my phone closed, leaving it on the counter as I start toward the sofa, my mug cradled in my hands.
Maybe this is my life now. My destiny is to wallow. That’s not so bad, I think, letting my slippers drag on the hardwood. That is, until I get my first rent bill and don’t have enough money to pay it. Or I never find a way into my old phone. Or—
The thought is cut short by a blur of motion, furry and gray, running across the floor and over my foot to disappear under the sofa.
I scream, jumping up and sending my mug into the air. Tea splatters in every direction, flying across the floor, the sofa, the rug, as the mug hits the hardwood floor once, twice, then shatters into a dozen pieces.
I squeeze my eyes shut. I can feel the tears coming.
I had been so good for so long keeping them at bay, but messy, emotional Marnie is back.
There is no way to stop her, so I give in, letting my head fall back as the sobs overwhelm me.
I’m hiccupping to take in air, my whole body heaving with each breath.
I’m done. So completely done that I barely hear the door across the hall open, followed by a knock on mine.
“What?” I bellow, my voice wobbly.
There’s a deep, rumbly sigh that sounds suspiciously like Ben’s. “Are you okay?”
I walk over and open the door. He’s standing in the hallway, wearing those worn jeans he had on when we went to the grocery store for the first time, along with a pair of work boots and a thick wool sweater.
His messenger bag is still over his shoulder, as if he only just got home from work.
He looks so perfect that I want to start crying all over again because I know I’m definitely falling in love with him and I have no idea what to do about it.
“I’m spiraling,” I cry.
He considers for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “Do you want company?”
I throw my arms out at my sides because why not? Let’s finish this day off properly by giving the man I’m falling in love with, who has been ghosting me all day, a front row seat to watch me hit rock bottom. I turn around and head back into my apartment. He follows, shutting the door behind him.
“What happened?” he asks.
“I broke my mug, and now it’s everywhere,” I say, waving at the scene of the crime: the handle by the kitchen, what looks like part of the rim by the TV.
He blinks, and the tension that had been keeping his entire body taut falters. “Your mug?”
I nod.
“We can glue it, or get you another one—”
“We can’t get another one!” I sob. “It’s my mug! The one I’ve used since I started drinking tea back in middle school. The one I packed to bring to Boston.”
He crosses his arms over his chest, and it looks like he’s trying very hard to follow what’s happening here.
“It was something I remembered, okay?” I say, my voice pleading.
“Nothing in my life looked familiar, and then I saw this mug and I thought it meant something, like all I had to do was follow the trail of all those other objects and I’d remember them, too.
And I’ve been trying so hard. So so hard, Ben!
Because I believed my doctors when they said I would remember.
And I believed the mug was a sign. But it turns out there are no signs or magic.
I don’t even have my mug. And it’s all that mouse’s fault! ”
“The mouse?”
I wipe my nose with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. “I just made some tea and was walking over to the sofa when I felt something on my foot, and he was there. That’s why I screamed and I dropped the mug. Now it’s broken into a million pieces, and I’ll never get it back because… because…”
“Because of the mouse,” he finishes for me.
I scrunch my eyes closed and nod.
“Do you want me to take care of it?” he asks.
“You can’t glue it, Ben! It’s destroyed!”
“Not the mug. The mouse.”
“Oh.” I shake my head. “No. You’ll just kill it.”
“Well, you can’t—”
“Let him wander around my apartment, giving me the plague? I know that! But that’s not his fault! He’s just a mouse, doing mouse things and trying to survive! Just because he’s an inconvenience and annoying doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a right to exist!”
He pauses, the hard line of his brow softening. “Talk to me, Marnie.”
I throw my arms out at my sides again, so overwhelmed with everything I want to say, I don’t know where to start.
“My mug is gone,” I reply. “And none of my memories have come back. And I have short hair!”
The corner of his mouth ticks up. “It’s not that short.”
“It’s so short, Ben,” I say, sending him my most stern expression. “These could have been micro bangs. I don’t know!”
“Marnie—”
“And everybody thinks I’m a ditz!”
He pauses. “Nobody thinks you’re a ditz.”
“Of course they do! I’m a blonde from Southern California! The stereotype is ubiquitous!” I shake my head. “And they’re right. I threw away my career. I have no idea what I’m doing with my life. I can’t even steam oat milk!”
Somewhere in my mind, I hear my grandmother’s voice: Don’t hold on to anger, Marnie. Let it flow through you. But I need to hold on to it right now. I deserve to.
“And you didn’t talk to me!” I blurt out. “You kissed me like that, what was probably the best kiss of my life, and then poof, nothing!”
His head cocks to the side. “The best kiss of your life?”
“Don’t change the subject!” I exclaim. “You texted to say we should talk, and I spent so much time wondering what you were going to say, how you would break my heart, and then you didn’t say anything!”
“I stopped by earlier,” he says, his voice a bit softer.
I blink, his words taking a second to land in my brain and stick there. “You did?”
He nods. “I thought you’d be back from your doctor’s appointment, but you weren’t home yet, so I slipped a note under the door that said I’d try again when I got home from work.”
As much as I’d love to challenge him on it, I barely remember coming home today, let alone if there was a note there waiting for me. I was too hurt, too broken, and suddenly my anger crumbles under a fresh wave of grief in my chest.
“I might not get my memories back.” My voice suddenly sounds small, like the weight of the admission is crushing me.
And in a way, it is. I feel like this diminished version of myself, vulnerable and weak and more alone than I’ve ever felt in my entire life.
“I might never know why I stayed in Boston after Matt and I broke up. Or why I got this haircut. I might never be able to follow directions again or keep track of instructions. Even if I do, my brain will never go back to normal. All this work and focus meant nothing, because I’ll never be me again. ”
He takes a cautious step toward me. “You’re still you, Marnie. Even if parts of you feel different, they’re still you.”
“But what if I don’t know who that is?” I ask.
“I used to have so many dreams, Ben. I wanted to do so many things. But then life got hard and they disappeared, one by one. Now all I have left is me. But I don’t even know who that is anymore.
And I have to figure it out all on my own.
That’s so terrifying, I don’t think I can… I don’t know how to…”
There are too many words, and I can’t catch my breath fast enough to say them. It’s just too much, the reality of everything I have to face now on my own. I don’t know if I can keep from buckling any longer.
Then Ben’s arms are around me, pulling me into a warm embrace.
My face digs into his sweater, breathing in the smell of sandalwood and sawdust as his chin rests on the top of my head.
The weight inside me dissolves, and it suddenly feels like this embrace is the most important thing that has ever happened in the history of the whole world.
“You’re not on your own, Marnie,” he murmurs.
“I’m right here. But you don’t need me to do this.
Because you don’t need to do anything. You’re Marnie Stephens, the woman who was raised to believe in magic.
The one who stepped in to take care of her grandmother when that magic disappeared.
The person who woke up in a strange city, with no idea how she got there, and faced it head-on.
The one with a heart so big she won’t even consider hurting something as small as a mouse. You’re you without even trying.”
I pull back enough to stare up at him. “But what comes next? How do I decide what to do when I don’t even know how I got here?”
He leans down, meeting my eyes with a gaze so intense, my breath catches. “Be brave and do it anyway.”
So simple. So matter-of-fact. As if he believes it. Like he thinks I actually could. Maybe that’s why the words feel like they’ve suddenly filled the hollow bits in my chest with something glowing. Warm and electric and alive.
Be brave, I think.
So I lean up and kiss him.
It’s not like the kiss in the bar, or the one from the hallway. This one seems to catch him off guard. The seam of his mouth remains sealed, and all I can think is, Please don’t pull away.
Then, a moment later, something miraculous happens. He doesn’t. He kisses me back, devouring my gasp as his arms pull me against his body again.