Repeat

by Scott, Kylie

Apparently complimenting him is a bad idea, since he’s turned his face away. His body once again radiates pissed off. The seemingly go-to setting when I’m around.

  Shit. “Oh, okay. I’m going to stop talking now.”

  “Good idea,” he says.

  All right, so maybe I shouldn’t have pressed the question. Or mentioned anyone’s attractiveness. In a rare display of wisdom, I keep my mouth shut and give Gordon some pats. At least he’s still happy I’m here.

  We move aside for a couple pushing a stroller, the baby fast asleep. The two women don’t look much older than me. I can’t imagine having a child yet. One with Ed’s smile and my eyes, maybe. God, what am I doing? The situation is complicated enough without imaginary infants intruding.

  “Did you ever get around to choosing a favorite color?” he asks eventually.

  “Undecided. I mean, I like blue in general. But royal blue is a hard no.”

  He snorts. “Yeah. You were the same about purple. Violet was fine, but the hate was strong for burgundy and maroon.”

  Gordon doesn’t tug on the leash. Instead, he trots alongside me, sniffing trees and fences, pausing occasionally to mark his territory. The sun hangs low, the world lit a brilliant gold. I watch the ground, keeping my eyes diverted from the glare. My sunglasses must have been taken in the robbery. Next shopping trip, I’ll have to replace them.

  “Still,” he says. “You have it narrowed down to blue. Good work.”

  “Are you patronizing me?”

  “Never.”

  I’m not sure about that. “Why is it whenever you talk about me, I always sound so high maintenance?”

  “Because you are, Clem. Trust me, I’ve dated enough women to know the difference.” His brows draw in all thoughtful like. “You’re not a take-it-easy, whatever-comes-is-fine kind of girl. Not saying you don’t know how to relax, but that’s not your normal setting. You’re a little high strung, which requires some extra care, might as well embrace the fact.”

  “Hmm. I think your bias is showing.”

  This time, he actually does smile. So dreamy. Full-blown tingles in the pants area.

  I turn away. It’s safer not to look. “Have you ever been friends with an ex before? And yes, I know we’re not friends, that you’re just being kind, et cetera.”

  “I don’t know what the hell we are,” he says, sounding weary. “But yes, I’ve been friends with exes before. Kind of depends on the breakup, though.”

  I nod, turning over his words in my mind.

  “When it’s a drift apart or you’re just not right for each other, then it’s no big deal to maybe keep in touch. But when it’s Godzilla leveling Tokyo, like we were . . . not a whole lot left to build anything on. Sure as hell no trust in either direction.”

  While I don’t get the reference, the general meaning is loud and clear. “Right. Though you did come and help me at the hospital.”

  “Don’t read too much into that,” he says. “Frances only called me because she had no other options, and I was hardly going to leave you there on your own for hours on end. No matter what shit went down between us.”

  “It was still kind of you, and I wasn’t particularly nice to you at the time. Sorry about that.”

  I’m pretty sure behind the sunglasses he’s giving me side eyes. “Whatever.”

  We walk a block in silence, Gordon doing his happy doggy thing. The quiet between Ed and me is strangely peaceful as opposed to awkward. An occasional car zips past and a few people are out and about enjoying their weekend. One man is in his small front garden, planting some daisies. That he does this wearing white long johns is a little different.

  “I’ve never actually seen him dressed,” whispers Ed once we’re a suitable distance past. “Only ever wearing those thermals.”

  “Have to admire his dedication to comfort.”

  “True.”

  “Interesting neighborhood,” I say.

  “You picked it.”

  “I did?”

  Ed nods. “I was sharing an apartment with friends on the other side of the city and your rental was up. Figured we might as well move in together.”

  “I figured or you figured?”

  “We both figured. It was mutual.”

  “Okay.”

  “You thought with my hours it would be better if we were close to the shop. We looked around for a while, lucked out and found this place.”

  “It’s a nice place.”

  “It is.” His hands flex and tense at his sides before he realizes what he’s doing and stops. I’ve strayed into forbidden territory yet again.

  Times such as these, I always wonder what he’s thinking, what he’s remembering that’s set him on edge. Probably he’s dwelling on the good old days. Back before he did or didn’t cheat on me. But even I know better than to ask what’s on his mind. This is exactly why I avoid contacting him. Why I didn’t text him after Monday’s hospital brouhaha. Because occasional communication with him feels safest. He’s less likely to turn his back on me if I don’t push. Though I really want to push.

  As if sensing my curiosity about things best left unsaid, he speeds up, his long legs stretching, leaving me behind.

  “Frances and I did some girl bonding this week,” I say as he turns the corner and we cross the road to enter the large green expanse of the park. I think our pace borders on power walking. At any rate, Gordon seems content to follow and I do my best to keep up. “We’re getting along better. I feel like progress has been made.”

  “Good.”

  “Did you have a busy week at work?”

  “Yeah.”

  All right. So everything is horribly awkward again. But I can fix this. “Resting and staying in was annoying. But it gave me a chance to start rereading the books.”

  A nod.

  “Got a fair way into The Stand by Stephen King. It’s awesome.”

  A grunt.

  Okay, I can’t fix this. The man is in unhappy land and I’m lost at sea. Instead, I give up on Ed for the moment and focus on the dog. This involves me crouching down to deliver belly rubs followed by a brief discussion on the merits of various things for peeing on. Chain link fence was a bit of a bitch, but wooden picket appeared to be quite satisfying. In the park, he’s mostly moved on to trees. Gordon seizes the opportunity to overwhelm me with doggy kisses, knocking me on my ass in his exuberance.

  “Jesus.” Ed grabs me under the arms, lifting me back onto my feet with ease. “Are you hurt?”

  “No, I’m fine. Thanks.”

  “Be careful. He’s stronger than he looks.”

  “Meh. He’s a lover, not a fighter.” I wipe dog spit off my chin. “Too much tongue, Gordy. You got to take it easy on the ladies. Ease them into things.”

  “Clem, I’m serious. You need to be more careful.” He pushes his sunglasses up on top of his head, worried eyes looking me over. My ass is given a quick light brushing, his capable hands running over my body with obvious familiarity. I’m being manhandled—and I like it. It’s as if he hit my ON switch and boom. My skin becomes hypersensitive, my breathing is faster, and the want for more is real. More contact. More him.

  Feeling this much, however, is a little scary. Cold and clinical are safer. I just can’t seem to reach that state of mind.

  “Enough bruises on you already,” he carries on, unaware of my ongoing lust/fear.

  “Don’t treat me like I’m made of glass.”

  “Then don’t take stupid risks.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I ask, voice rising in volume. “I can’t pet a dog. I can’t leave the house. I can’t do a fucking thing without it being a risk. But the bad thing already happened, Ed, and guess what? I survived. I could have died, but I didn’t. And I am not going to live the rest of my life in fear. So back the hell up. Stop touching me.”

  Mouth slightly open, he just watches me, his hands retreating back to his sides.

  It takes me a good minute to calm down and get a handle on things. I didn�
��t exactly mean to rant. In all honesty, I’m not sure where it all came from. Frances irritates me now and then with her caution and things not said, but generally I handle it okay. At least, I don’t verbally abuse her in public. Thankfully, the party in my pants has calmed down.

  “You okay now?” he asks, sounding subdued.

  “Yes.”

  He moves the sunglasses back into place, covering his eyes. “All right, then.”

  Gordon looks between us before taking a step or two onward. A bee crosses his path and he of course sniffs at it with interest.

  “Gordy, irritate the bee and you’re going to get stung,” I say, leading him onward, away from temptation. “Not a good life choice.”

  “I think there’s something in that for all of us.”

  Though I’m pretty sure he’s teasing, I don’t dare speak.

  “You were enjoying yourself and I overreacted,” he says, a late-afternoon breeze ruffling his hair. He’s like something out of an ad, too perfect, too pretty, too much in general. “I’m sorry, Clem. Shouldn’t have touched you without your permission either. When we’re together like this, sometimes I forget.”

  I snort. “You forget? Try being me.”

  At this, he laughs, shaking his head. “How can you make jokes about it?”

  “Dark humor has its place. God knows, being depressed all the damn time would just be boring.”

  “Fair enough.” The corner of his lips creeps up. “Wow. You sure told me. You know, you wouldn’t have done that before. Or at least, not until you’d stewed on it for about three days, making us both miserable in the process.”

  “And again, I sound awful.”

  “Nah. Neither of us were all that great at saying what we meant.”

  “You have flaws?”

  “Shocking, isn’t it?” He walks alongside me, taking smaller steps so I no longer get left behind. It’s a start.

  “Next you’ll be saying you used to hog all the covers and always wanted to be on top.”

  His head snaps around to face me, the tension palpable.

  Shit. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have gone there. The doctors say my frontal lobe will eventually start working properly again. But then again, my filter can’t be trusted.”

  He sighs. “This is getting us nowhere. How about we both stop saying sorry to each other all the damn time?”

  “I don’t know. Given the situation, is that even possible?”

  A thick shoulder lifts. “Never know until we try.”

  “All right. I’m not sorry.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not sorry either. So there.”

  I smile. “You know, I’m really not. There are so many questions about sex and more personal stuff I’m dying to ask you. I mean, I’m twenty-five years old and I don’t even know my favorite sex position.”

  “Don’t do it,” he answers, shaking his head. “Shit. Seriously, Clem?”

  “Sorry.”

  * * *

  When we get back to the building, two people are sitting on the front steps waiting. The female tattoo artist from the shop is holding hands with a man. Even in a simple yellow dress, she’s beautiful enough to give me a severe case of the dowdies. My hand immediately reaches up to adjust my hair so my scar is covered. I hate getting all self-conscious.

  “Are you kidding me?” is all the woman says, getting to her feet.

  Ed stiffens at my side while Gordon wags his tail, happy to have more visitors.

  “Beautiful. Relax.” The man still sitting on the steps tugs on the woman’s hand.

  “Relax?” she responds.

  “Come on,” says Ed, ushering me forward with a hand to my lower back. We go in ahead of the couple on the stairs, keys jangling as Ed unlocks the front door and then the door to his condo. “Calm down, Tessa. I told you the situation.”

  Off his leash, Gordon trots over to his water bowl on the floor at the end of the kitchen counter. The living room seemed big before, but Tessa’s anger fills it up fast.

  “I just . . . how could you, Ed?” she says, pacing.

  “Babe, have a heart,” the man she came with says, collapsing onto one of the sofas with a nod in my direction. “You really don’t remember anything, huh?”

  “No, nothing,” I answer, lingering near the door.

  Tessa mutters something along the lines of, “Have a heart, my ass.”

  “Clem, this is Nevin and Tessa. Friends of mine.” Ed’s in the kitchen, pulling beers out of the fridge. “Take a seat, it’s fine.”

  If he says so. I perch on the edge of the unoccupied couch, grateful when I get passed a cold bottle. Not only am I in need of a drink, but it gives my hands something to do. Because this whole scene is beyond uncomfortable.

  Eventually, Tessa sits down, her arms and legs crossed. I ignore her glare to the best of my ability. Gordon comes over and sits on my feet. Bless him for his loyalty. Dogs really are a girl’s best friend.

  “So what happened?” asks Nevin, watching me with interest. He’s a good-looking man, lean and muscular with brown skin. Indian descent, perhaps. “How’d you get amnesia?”

  Ed groans. “Man, she doesn’t want to talk about it. Stop and think. You’re complete strangers to her and you want her to just open up about bad shit like that?”

  Tessa harrumphs.

  “What did I do to you?” I ask. Not hostile, just curious.

  The woman doesn’t hesitate. “You broke Ed’s heart and then you tried to drag Nevin and me into your shit storm, and I am not interested in forgiving you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  There’s not really anything else I can say. Curiosity makes me want more details about how on earth I entangled the two of them in my and Ed’s implosion. But given Tessa’s hostility, asking for more information would not be constructive. So I set my beer aside, ease my feet out from beneath Gordon’s butt, and give Ed a smile. “Thanks for letting me visit.”

  He just nods, rising to his feet. “I’ll wait outside with you.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  No point arguing. I give Nevin and Tessa a strained smile. Tessa ignores me, but Nevin lifts his hand in a friendly enough wave. Someone should really write a guide for what to say in these situations. Etiquette for reconnecting with an ex after suffering amnesia. That would be quite useful.

  Gordon whines unhappily when Ed tells him to stay inside. After giving the dog a pat and a hug goodbye, I get the hell out of there. Outside on the street, I can at least breathe easy. Ed stands beside me in silence as I pull out my cell and request an Uber. Everything between us is now cold and distant. I hate it. In all honesty, I’d rather be bewildered by desire than left bereft like this.

  So I’m not emotionally empty when it comes to him. Now I know.

  “Sorry for making things awkward with your friends,” I say.

  “Thought we weren’t going to say sorry anymore.” Arms crossed, he stares off into the distance. “You and Tessa used to be close.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. That’s why she’s so mad at you. Mostly.”

  I don’t know what to say.

  In this part of the city, at this hour of the day, it only takes three minutes for my ride to arrive. I climb into the backseat, still searching for words. Something to take the edge off what happened. I should thank him, I should . . .

  “Take care,” says Ed, shutting the car door.

  And we’re done.

  Chapter Four

  “Amnesia chick?”

  The barista grins, handing over my drink with this new nickname scrawled on the side. What a fucking comedian. I guess having a seizure on the café floor has made me mildly famous. Whatever. At least the coffee is good here; they don’t burn the beans.

  “Thanks.” I meet his grin with a small smile. Nothing to do but take the nickname in relative good grace. I take the cup over to the side to pour in some sugar. Let’s face facts: I need all of t
he sweetening up I can get.

  It’s been over a week since I last spoke to Ed. I try not to think about him. Try not to remember the way he looks and the sound of his voice. Definitely try not to dwell on everything he’s ever said to me. Though given the silence, I’d say he’s far better at ignoring my existence than I am his.

  Also, the bank broke up with me this morning. No more job. The good news is, the small amount of holiday pay I’m owed, combined with severance, means there’s more money in my account.

  So mostly my life has consisted of me attempting to be useful and keeping myself occupied. I clean my sister’s small ranch-style house, cook most of our meals, read books, go for walks, and attend doctors’ appointments. Everyone (the good doctor and Frances) says to take things slow. To let myself heal. But I feel like I’m stagnating and it sucks. No past and no future.

  Apart from the occasional headache, I suffer from acute anxiety. Just because I can’t remember the attack, apparently doesn’t mean I’m not dealing with the trauma. It’s a bitch because you can never quite tell what will set it off. The crowd in the coffee shop, for instance, is not great. People bumping into me, all of the noise . . . the sooner I get back outside, the easier I’m breathing.

  “Clem?” a woman asks with a wary smile. She’s smallish, has very short hair, and is vaguely familiar. “Clementine?”

  “Yes.”

  “I, um . . . this is weird. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Why don’t you start by telling me who you are,” I say, taking a sip of scalding-hot coffee.

  “Right.” Her smile widens. “You won’t remember, of course, but we used to be friends. Good friends.”

  I just wait.

  “My name’s Shannon.”

  “You’re from Ed’s shop, right?”

  “Exactly. I’m the receptionist, assistant, whatever’s needed really.” She bops on her feet with excessive energy. “I didn’t get to say hi when you came in the other week. I mean, none of us even knew this had happened to you. It was such a shock.”

  “So you and I were friends back when I was with Ed?”

  She nods. “Yeah. When the breakup happened . . . well, it was messy. You just kind of needed time out from everyone attached to him. I understood completely.”