Remembering Us (11 page)

I see the pain slice right through him as he flinches at my words. I regret them instantly. Something feels wrong as I sit on the couch acting like a cold-hearted bitch, directing all my anger and frustration at him.

“I’m not trying to be a bitch, Adam,” I sigh, falling back into the chair and press the heels of my palms into my eyes.

“Listen,” he finally says, “I’m trying to do what’s best for you, and I’m sorry I screwed up. I’m sorry, truly, that I didn’t tell you about your job. I
want
you to remember. I want you to remember why you love this little dump; which you chose, by the way.”

One side of my nose twitches as I take in all four hundred square feet of our apartment. It’s not a dump, not really. Just small.

“Yes, you chose this place. And someday you’ll know why, but I don’t want to force you into anything. I just want you to come back to me.”

“What if I don’t?”

“You will.” Those two words are filled with the same confidence from earlier but this time it’s matched by his heated stare. It pins me to the couch, not allowing me to look away.

“You sound so sure.”

He shrugs, not one of nonchalance, but confidence. It almost makes me smile. Almost. “I’ve seen our story. I’ve lived it, and I know how it ends.”

I take the bait, I can’t help it. I need to know. I need to know why it is that he scares the hell out of me – awake and now in my dreams, and yet, I can’t just pack up and walk away. Go start a life that’s one of my own making instead of stories I don’t understand. “How’s that?”

“Together.”

I wrinkle my nose, but I can’t argue; mostly because I still don’t know if he’s right or not.

“You said something in my dream about not working at my dad’s firm.”

He licks his lips and then presses them together. I know the move by now. He’s stalling or debating how much truth to give me. “Your dad lined up a job for you when you graduated at his old tax firm and you turned it down.”

“Why, though?” That had always been the plan. I was always supposed to go to college, major in finance, and work where my dad did. That plan was set in stone before I ever stepped foot into high school. Turning it down is not only surprising, but I bet my parents flipped their shit.

He raises one eyebrow and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and watches me intently. “Do you really see yourself working at a tax firm, stuck in a cubicle farm, every day for the rest of your life?” He pauses, waiting for my reaction. As soon as I open my mouth to answer, he stops me. “Don’t answer based on the plan, Amy. Think about it. Think about who you are and what you’ve always wanted for yourself, even before I came into the picture.”

I breathe out a puff of air, frustrated that he can’t just answer the question for once. Then I close my eyes and rest my head on the back of my chair. I want to tell him, “yes, of course I wanted that,” but as I open my mouth to speak the words, I can’t. Even as I think the words, something doesn’t feel right about them.

The thought of working in that office makes me feel as uncomfortable as the dresses and shoes I bought that look like they belong to me but don’t fit the way I want them to.

And I know, without even having to answer him, that he’s right. Something has changed within me. Somehow I broke away from the life my parents predetermined I should live.

“That’s why my parents drained my bank account,” I finally say, quietly. Adam doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. Without opening my eyes, I can feel him smiling at me from across the room. “And that’s why I work at Hooka Joe’s. I couldn’t afford the apartment anymore.”

When I finally do open my eyes, startled by this revelation but somehow unsurprised by it at the same time, Adam shrugs his shoulders.

“You wanted to be free.”

I want to open my mouth to say something, but I can’t. The memory of sitting at Martino’s and crying on Adam’s shoulder while I watched the butterflies dance from the ceiling flashes through my mind.

Now I know why I was so upset that day.

I don’t always understand how I know things I do without having an actual memory attached to them, but every once in a while it happens. Or it’s beginning to.

Yesterday, when I walked into the kitchen, I stared at the black and white photo mural on our wall and knew – just knew - that I was the one who created that gorgeous masterpiece. I don’t remember the hours I must have spent finding the perfect photos, editing them so they were all black and white, finding the perfect frames, or spray painting others black. But that’s what I did.

It must have taken me days, if not weeks, to complete the project and hang it all so perfectly on the wall that you can’t help but get lost in the smiles and the memories that I’ve preserved.

A labor of love. And it’s mine.

And before last week, I also couldn’t tell you the difference between a latte, macchiato, or cappuccino, except for maybe the flavoring if it was required. But when I showed up to work the other day, after calling Preston to see if I could come back, it only took minutes of training for me to know how to do everything.

It’s like it’s instinct, so deeply ingrained in me I could prepare the perfect coffee drink in my sleep. And there’s been something oddly thrilling, if not comforting, at the fact that for the first time in a month, there’s finally a place that I fit.

Even if it is just knowing how to make a medium, skinny, soy, Caramel Mocha, iced with an extra shot of whip cream, to perfection.

“This isn’t the drink I pegged you for,” I say with a genuine smile, and slide the cup across the counter to the customer.

He flashes me a smile and tucks his wallet into the back of his perfectly pressed pants.

“What can I say, Amy? I’m a new man.” Tyler looks around the small coffee bar and takes his first sip of his drink. “Do you have a break coming up?”

“I don’t think Preston will mind. I’m not on the clock today anyway.”

I wave him away to get a seat while I mix myself almost the same drink I made for Tyler. Except mine is full fat with dairy not soy because that’s just gross. I figure if you’re going to consume four hundred and fifty calories in a drink you might as well make them count.

“What are you doing here?” I ask once we’re sitting in a corner table near a small stage that has a few stools and two microphones for their open mic night. It’s nothing special, but I can see how customers could enjoy coming here to listen to music as they relax on some of the overused microfiber sofas and oversized plaid chairs. None of the furniture matches, yet it all fits.

But it doesn’t seem like a place Tyler would spend much time in, if any at all.

His sheepish grin tells me he’s busted. “I saw your car out front so I thought I’d stop in and say hi. See how the other night went when you got home.” He says this last part with a quiet and concerned voice. It’s laced with suspicion, as if he wants to check out my arms hidden under my sleeves and look for bruises.

“I figured today was as good as any at getting back to my life.” I shrug and take a sip of my drink, allowing the coolness of the creamy iced coffee to bring me a second’s pleasure. I think that Tyler’s concern is going overboard. The problem is that I don’t blame him. Adam did break his nose, and I’m not always entirely sure how stable he is either.

But hurt me? Physically? I’m not sure Adam is capable of that by any means. Emotionally? That’s a whole different ball game. The things I’ve seen, the memories I’ve had – even if they were slight glimpses – makes me feel like the beginning of our relationship was some big game to him. Or me, maybe. But it must have calmed down at some point and become real, right? Because if not, what are we still doing together?

The only thing I can’t deny is the way my body reacts to his, even if I wish it didn’t.

I shake the thoughts and questions out of my head. The answers exist; except just like always, they’re out of my reach.

“Adam was fine. Worried, but fine.” He doesn’t look like he believes it fully, but he shrugs. We finish our drinks talking about his boring day as an intern at some small law firm downtown. And when Preston isn’t looking, we laugh about the hassle it must be for her to fly with all that metal she has to remove during security.

Not maliciously, though. And Preston seems used to people gawking and giggling about her. I was surprised at how quickly she welcomed me back into the coffee shop. She spent the first morning talking nonstop. Literally. I’m not sure if she’s simply overly caffeinated from owning the coffee bar, or if it’s her natural personality, but the girl can talk. And talk. Without breathing. It’s the most strangely fascinating thing I’ve ever seen.

She looks like some bad ass punk or goth chick with her piercings, wicked dye job, and skin tight black clothing. She’s almost intimidating, even if she’s the size a puppy. But then she talks and sounds as if she believes fairy tales are the spice of life. It’s a strange combination but equally endearing.

The best part is that she talks to me like she’s seen me every day for the last three months, which is apparently how long I’ve worked at Hooka Joe’s. She doesn’t give me the pitiful look I’m used to seeing. She doesn’t tip-toe around me like I could crumble to my knees at any second. And most importantly, she doesn’t keep asking, ‘do you remember this?’ like so many people, including Adam and Kelsey, have a tendency to do.

She’s completely refreshing.

When our drinks are done I tell Preston that I’m going to walk Tyler outside. There are only a few customers anyway so she waves me away like she’s been doing all day. I can’t decide if she simply trusts me or if she’s this laid back with all of her employees.

“Thanks for stopping to check on me,” I tell him once we’re outside.

“Not a problem. I just want you to know that I’m here if you need anything. I don’t know what you’re going through, but if you need an ear, or a friend …” his voice trails off as his gaze catches something behind me. His friendly smile tightens right before he leans in and brushes his lips against my cheek. I flinch away from him, but if he notices, he doesn’t say anything. “I’ll see you soon.”

And then he turns and walks away, leaving me watching him with a confused look.

“How long have you been seeing him?”

I jump at the cold voice coming from behind me. Each word punctuated precisely, as if he’s not trying to spit something out of his mouth.

My eyes widen and my back straightens as I slowly turn to face Adam. His hands are shoved deeply into his dark blue jeans. He exhales a breath and it takes one second for his teeth to grind together. Amazing how I don’t know this man but can read him so well.

I look back to the spot where Tyler just walked away from, but he’s gone.

I frown. “I’m not seeing him. He showed up here the other night when I was lost in the park and then today he came in for a drink when he saw my car.” I look around the park across the street and scan for the dry cleaners. “He lives over in that building,” I tell him, pointing to the apartment Tyler told me he lived in.

His lips twist into a funny shape, like he’s trying to hold back saying something he might regret. “But you like being with him.” It’s a statement not a question, and I understand his implication. I like being with Tyler and not him.

I look away, not knowing what to say. I can’t even deny it. Tyler and I have a history that isn’t complicated by me not remembering things. By the time I lost my memory, Tyler wasn’t really in my life anymore, so anything that happened in the last two years is as much of a mystery to him as it is to me.

“Being with him doesn’t come with pressure to feel anything.” My words are soft and not meant to hurt, but I can tell they do. It’s not my intent, but I can’t make him feel better about me being around someone either. It’s completely innocent. “You have to remember that I grew up with him. I know him.”

He opens his mouth to say something but quickly closes it, fidgeting back and forth on his heels, flexing his fingers. He’s angry and I want to explain to him that it’s no big deal, but I can’t find the words. I’m not sure I have anything to be sorry for besides talking to a friend over a coffee and slacking at my job.

He blinks slowly. “I stopped by to see if you want to go get some dinner.”

“I told Kelsey I’d have dinner with her at the bar.” I rock back and forth on my feet, nervous under Adam’s searing gaze. I watch his anger at seeing me with Tyler slowly disappear and a sparkle appears in his eyes.

“Great. I’ll go with you.”

I stare at him for a second before nodding. I don’t know what to say or why he wants to be with me so badly, but I’ll let him just so I don’t have to hear his teeth grind together anymore when he’s mad at me.