Chapter 28
Tucker
Life after the carnival felt miraculous compared to the time we spent apart. I brought Ava to meet Gram, something we hadn’t been able to do in the before times.
Afterward, Gram remarked that Ava seemed very different from how I described her a year ago.
“She is,” I told her. “But whether she dresses in long skirts or all in black, and whether she’s easy-going or intense, she still feels like the same person to me.”
Gram nodded. “We all grow and change. Your grandfather was a different man at age sixty than he was at twenty-five, but our love was the same.”
“Exactly.”
I continued to go see Ava outside the diner. On one of those nights, a couple of weeks after the carnival, she suggested we go to her apartment and cook. She was trying to get back into making her own food.
“Just nothing from when I lived at home,” she said. “Something about tasting those things takes me back to that horrible time.”
“Did you have a lot of variety? It might be hard to avoid it all.”
She shrugged. “We didn’t have a lot of money. We made things we could stretch. Soups. Stews. Stuff with potatoes and ramen noodles.”
“My grandmother has the best lasagna recipe,” I said. “Even if you’ve had lasagna before, you’ve never had this lasagna.”
She tilted her head. “I’ve heard the word lasagna. And I know it’s an Italian food because I’ve seen the Olive Garden commercials. We don’t serve it at the diner, and I never made it with Mother.”
“Then it’s settled. I’ll grab the ingredients, and we can make it at your place. You have things like pans and baking dishes?” I couldn’t assume anything.
She laughed. “I have a pot. And a couple of plates.”
“No problem. I’ll bring what I need.”
“It’s a date.” She glanced at the diner door. “I’m late, and Big Harry is a brute.”
“Don’t I know it.”
She leaned in for a super-fast kiss, and my heart sped up. It was so easy, so natural, but after a year without it, this kiss, and every kiss, felt like a miracle.
As I headed to the bus stop, I suddenly understood the urge of people in old-fashioned movies to jump in the air and click their heels.
I sure felt like it. I glanced around. There were a few people wandering First Street. Who cared? I jumped in the air, and wouldn’t you know it, my heels connected.
Someone behind me whooped, and I waved.
Yes, this day was a good one.
Gram was meeting some of her friends the night Ava and I chose for the lasagna dinner, so she dropped me off at Ava’s apartment rather than having me lug all my kitchenware on the bus.
I wanted to drive again, but that seemed completely out of reach.
“I can come and fetch you after,” she said as I opened the door.
“No need. I’ve got this.”
Her smile got tight. “Call me if you don’t feel well.”
“I’ll be fine. I really will, Gram.”
I knew she was glad to see me out of my room. But at the same time, she also knew how bad things were. My migraine meds were nearly empty, but we couldn’t refill them for another two weeks. Because of the way I was hoarding and over-ingesting them on Ava days, she was worried.
I was too. But this was more important.
When Ava opened her door, I smiled at seeing her wearing all black, as usual. Her hair was down today though, so she looked more like the Ava I once knew.
“I only have that one shirt that isn’t black, and I wore it on our last date,” she said flatly.
I leaned in to brush my lips against hers. “You look perfect.”
Her brows drew together as if she wasn’t sure she could believe the compliment. “Let’s check out your kitchen skills,” she said.
I followed her through the ramshackle apartment with its lawn chairs and crates. I pictured my family’s old coffee table there. And the gliding rocker Mom loved. I should get them soon. I wanted those things for her. I wanted to imagine the two lives I loved coming together, even without me.
I slid the paper bag onto the counter and began pulling out the contents. Gram and I had assumed nothing. I had a pan for browning the meat. A spatula. The big pot for making sauce, and later, boiling the noodles. A large bowl to mix the cheeses.
I slid a cutting board and knife toward her. “You can cut up the tomatoes.” I passed her the bag.
She dug out the tomatoes and took them to the sink to be rinsed, while I arranged the spices along the counter. Soon, her kitchen smelled of the aromatic sauce.
“It’ll be a while before we need to do the next step.” I took her hand. “Want to listen to music?”
“Sure.”
We settled on the floor by the wall near the kitchen. “I brought songs we liked back in the day. I know your amnesia is complete, but I thought it would be interesting for you to hear them. See if it makes you feel anything.”
“Like a big ol’ Ava experiment.”
I hesitated. “Or you can choose. I have a subscription. We can make a new list.”
“No, it’s cool. Queue up our greatest hits.”
I passed her one of my earbuds and pulled up my Ava playlist. I didn’t want to start with “Highway to Hell,” even though it matched her current personality. I went with Lizzo.
Her eyes lit up. “I love this one. The first time I heard it playing at the shelter, I knew it was my jam.”
Of course. Many of the songs were so popular that she would’ve heard them since her memory reset. I didn’t know why I thought this would work. And it’s not like I needed the help of her old memories. Things were going pretty great.
But when she jumped up to dance, there was something I noticed immediately.
Parts of Ava hadn’t changed. The way she moved, the way she held out her elbows and closed her fists, was the same as before.
She closed her eyes and angled her head exactly as she had in the art room over a year ago. I knew it. Ava was still Ava.
The song ended, and she opened her eyes and drew in a breath, as if she might ask me to play it again, but then she paused.
The first notes of the next song had already begun, and she plunked down onto the carpet.
This one was Taylor Swift, one of the obscure songs from the 1989 album that never got much airplay. We had listened to it over and over again when she was stuck with her mother.
She placed her elbows on her crossed legs, concentrating.
After a moment, she pressed her hands to her cheeks, her eyes glistening. “It’s Taylor Swift, isn’t it? What’s happening?” She wiped a finger under her eyes and stared at the wetness.
“We listened to this album a lot on the nights we couldn’t get together.”
“What’s it called?”
“‘You Are in Love.’”
“It’s the sappiest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Oh. I reached to move the playlist forward, but she stopped me. “I want to hear the rest of it.”
We kept listening, and it got hard for me not to tear up, too. As great a song as it was when we were a couple, it had become tragic for me in the months I couldn’t find her, then the period when she wouldn’t see me.
“You can’t tell anyone at work that I’m a secret Swiftie. It’ll destroy my reputation.” Her voice shook.
“I won’t.”
“Here I am, crying like a lovesick schoolgirl.” She wiped her eyes. “I’m supposed to be a badass bitch.”
I slipped my arm around her shoulders. “Songs are supposed to make us feel something.”
“What am I going to do about you? I’m not supposed to feel this emotional! I’m supposed to avoid feelings. Repel them. Make fun of them.”
“Maybe there’s more to you than you’ve let yourself be since you left your mom.”
She laid her head on my shoulder. “Maybe.”
We stayed like that for quite a while, but when she lifted her face to mine, I knew exactly what she wanted. We were on our third Taylor Swift song, back in that sacred space we’d always found in those moments we stole together last year.
Connected. In tune with each other. Like gravity existed to draw us together.
Her lips were as I remembered, soft and inquisitive. She kissed like she was always asking a question. What now? What next? How is this possible?
I wanted to drown in it. Drown in her. Something settled inside me. I unclenched, like I no longer had to hold myself so tight.
The kiss went on for two more songs before another Lizzo worked its way into the playlist and broke us apart, laughing.
“She’s the best,” Ava said.
“You always loved her.”
“Still do.” Her gaze met mine. “I didn’t have the guts to ask something at the carnival.”
“Ask me anything.”
She sat away from me, leaning against the wall. Her hair was filled with static electricity, and it fanned out around her head.
“When we were together before, did we ever…” She looked down and bit her lip.
I knew what she meant. “No. We were about to on the last night. But your mom caught us.”
“Okay. I read your story about that night. But I didn’t know if maybe you didn’t want to write out that part. An admission of guilt or whatever.”
I shook my head. “I would’ve said it. You were so determined to know if you were a virgin that night.”
“And you felt like I was.”
“I mean, you’re talking to someone who was barely eighteen and pretty inexperienced. But it seemed like you were.”
She glanced in the kitchen. “And how much longer will the sauce take?”
My heart hammered at what she was suggesting. “Some people let it simmer for hours before they declare it ready.”
She held my gaze. “Then we should let it simmer for hours.”
This time when she kissed me, with a determination that matched the final fateful night we were together, the ground swooped out from me. Maybe something was unclenching in her, too.
She stood up and took my hand. “Okay, let’s do this thing.”
I stood beside her. “Are you sure? We’re still new this time.”
She punched my chest. “Are you saying no? You’ve waited over a year.”
“Hell no, I’m not saying no.”
“Then come on.” She pulled me down the hall. “And am I to understand you didn’t get any more experience in the time we were apart?” Her voice was light and kidding, but I stopped dead in my tracks.
“Ava, there is no question to me that you are the only one I’ll ever want.”
She faced me in the hall. “How can you know that? How can anyone know that?”
I gripped her hands. “Some of us just do.”
She watched me for another long moment, as if trying to decide if what I said could possibly be true.
“Well, Mr. Mush. Mr. Romance. Mr. Lovestruck, let’s figure this thing out together.”