by Scott, Kylie
“We’re not. You’re not. You’ve been avoiding me since you walked me to work this morning. You know you have.” Okay, so my gift of blurting has obviously returned.
Leif’s gaze jumps back and forth between us while Gordy whines slightly.
“That’s crazy.” Ed scoffs. “How could I possibly be avoiding you while walking you to work and picking you up again? We’ve been in the same room for the last few hours!”
“Mentally and emotionally you are avoiding me. Not that I blame you.” I hold up a hand. “I do not blame you. But ever since you made me coffee this morning and I asked you a question about us and you answered it honestly and openly, which I really appreciated, by the way. But, well, ever since then, things have been a little weird again.”
Ed looks at me.
“Not that we’re in a relationship. I didn’t mean it like that.”
Ed just looks at me some more. He’s really not happy.
“It’s just that I thought we were going to be friends. If you’ve changed your mind about that, then I guess I’d like to know,” I say. “Promise I won’t get upset or anything.”
Nothing from Ed.
“I’ve annoyed you again. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. He’ll get over it,” says Leif. “In the meantime, I’ll be your friend.”
“Leif,” growls Ed.
His brother, however, does not take the warning. “Why don’t I share the futon with you, Clem? You’ll be extra safe and we can be as friendly as you like. I like the short hair, by the way. Very cool and edgy.”
My hand goes to my fringe, checking it’s still in place hiding the scar. “Ed said it was punk rock.”
“Totally.”
Meanwhile, Ed’s lips disappear into a fine pissed-off line, then he gulps down the rest of his whiskey.
“Lucky I’m back,” his brother continues. “Since you two are broken up and not getting along particularly well, why don’t I start taking Clem to work and picking her up on the bike?”
“A motorcycle?” I ask with interest. “I’ve never been on one of those. Well, not that I remember, anyway.”
“It’s great. You’ll love it.” He frowns. “Wait a minute. Would you have forgotten ever having sex as well? Hell, you must be like an emotional virgin. All I can say is that it’s a good thing for you I have a particular specialty—”
“You are not putting a woman recovering from a recent head injury on the back of your bike, dickhead.” Ed’s still growling. “It’s not safe. And stop flirting with her.”
“Shouldn’t that be her choice?” asks Leif. “The bike and the flirting?”
I sigh. “He probably has a point about the bike and I’m not actually interested in you that way. Thanks, though.”
Ed just looks to heaven. No help, however, appears to be forthcoming.
“C’mon, what about at least sharing the futon?” Leif winks at me, not the least bit put off. “Seriously, if you’ve sat on that couch for more than an hour you know it’s impossible to sleep on. You don’t mind, do you, Clem?”
“Whatever’s easiest,” I answer honestly. But it’s apparently the wrong answer because Ed’s jaw starts doing the tensing thing times about a thousand. Much more pressure and his teeth are going to break. My bad, again. “I’ll take the sofa.”
“Enough of this,” says Ed. “You’re sleeping with me and I’m still taking you to work.”
“What?”
“You heard me. I’ll keep taking you to work.”
“Um. Can we please revisit the first bit again, please?”
“We can share my room. That’ll be easiest.” Ed fills up his glass once more. I’m not sure if it’s me or his brother driving him to drink. Both, maybe?
“I guess the mattress is really big,” I say, tone most dubious. Me and Ed in the same bed. I pick up my glass and down the lot, letting it burn my throat out. Whoa. Tears of whiskey joy leak down my cheeks. Alcoholic courage come to me. Fill me with your faux bravery.
“Take it easy,” says Ed. “Just sip it.”
I nod. “Okay. Good idea.”
He refills both his glass and mine. His brother, however, he very much ignores. “You said I wasn’t talking to you, so what do you want to talk about?”
“Oh, no, I’m fine for now. Thanks. I kind of just used up all of my words for the time being. You two should catch up, though, you haven’t seen each other in a while.”
Meanwhile, Leif is hiding a smile behind his own glass of liquor. “Fuck this is bizarre. She’s so different to how she used to be.”
“She’s right here.” I wave. “Why do people do that, talk about you as if you’re not there? It’s so rude.”
“I figure you’re about fifty-three percent different,” says Ed with a softer smile.
“Really?”
“Yep. I did the math. You only react the way I expect you to about half of the time, so . . .”
“Huh.” I don’t say anything else, instead pondering the ramifications of his statement. It could possibly mean I’m still horrible, but best not to take it that way. All in all, I think I’m okay with who I am so far. Most of the time.
“She’s a shitload more fun than she used to be,” continues Leif.
“So glad I can entertain you,” I say. “Is there just the two of you or do you have other siblings?”
“We’ve also got an older brother, Niels. He’s the strong silent type.”
My gaze moves tellingly to Ed.
“Nah,” says Leif. “Eddy’s actually pretty happy and easygoing most of the time. But I’m guessing the breakup kind of messed with his whole joie de vivre. I mean, you and he were—”
“You’re right, Clem,” interrupts Ed. “It is rude when people talk about you as if you’re not in the room.”
“Sorry,” I say.
Leif just laughs.
They start talking shop then. Discussing mutual tattooing acquaintances Leif saw during his time over in the Pacific Northwest. I slowly sip my whiskey and pat Gordy when he comes over to say hi before retiring once more to his doggy bed. Such a good dog.
Leif’s comment about Instagram has me thinking. If previous me had social media accounts, she must have deleted them after the breakup. I’ve done multiple searches and checked with Frances just to be sure. Time to fix that. It’d be nice to dip my toe into something. To have some sort of digital record of my life. Playing with my phone, I settle on Instagram. Of course, I’ll have no followers, but never mind. This would be for me, not other people. Putting a photo in a public place makes my existence more real than just carrying them around on my cell. And more permanent. Phones can be stolen. Memories can be lost. But once it’s out there and online, it’ll take more than just a random mugging to lose it all.
Sitting on the couch, with Ed and Leif’s banter in the background forming a comforting white noise, it takes me barely five minutes to set up the account. And just like that I have a digital footprint. It makes me strangely relaxed. Like I’ve just taken out insurance somehow.
Safety wise, my account is locked, but still probably best not to use my real name. So instead I go for @amnesia_chick. Might as well own it . . . in secret. I start with a picture of my Adidas Originals blue suede sneakers. I may or may not have bought them because they’re similar to the ones Ed wears, only his are green. But the shoes give a hint of my aesthetic or style or whatever the hell you want to call it while also suggesting that I’m perhaps going places. Not sure where yet, but never mind. It’s a nice message.
There. I have a social media presence now. Nothing can stop me.
Eventually, I guess the lull of conversation sends me to sleep. The soothing sound of Ed’s voice. I wake up the next morning alone in his bed. Oh, God, Ed carried me to bed. Iris would say this is an act of high romance and I’m not sure I disagree. If I wasn’t already lying down, I might even swoon. Though I doubt Ed would see it as any sort of romantic thing. Never mind. His sheets and pillows smell wonderful. And I tr
y not to dwell overly long on the part where he must have slept next to me all night of his own free will or I’d never actually get up. Just lie there dreaming all day.
For the first time, I take a little longer getting ready, trying out some basics. A bit of concealer, mascara, and a tinted lip gloss. The shade is called Dolce Vida. No particular reason for the extra effort. It just seems like if previous me used to be immaculate in her morning routine, then it won’t hurt me to give it a try and see how I like it. After all, I don’t need to do the exact opposite of everything she did. I don’t need to strip myself back to the bare bones. That would just be silly. While I suspect she and I have some basic differences, we can have the occasional thing in common as well. Same name, vagina, attraction to Ed . . . it’s not a big deal. Despite not understanding why she made certain decisions, it’s not like I hate her or anything.
And the makeup looks good.
Chapter Eight
“You’re mooning again,” says Iris, handing me a cloth. “Dust while you dream.”
“I’m neither mooning nor dreaming.”
She snorts. “Oh, honey. If daydreams had frequent flier miles you’d be halfway around the world by now from all of your ruminating over a certain someone.”
“No idea what you’re talking about.” I get busy cleaning. “I’m focusing solely on my job.”
“Are you now?”
“Did you know there’s a coffee-table book dedicated solely to genital piercings here?”
“Of course I’m aware of it,” she says. “Don’t think I don’t know you’re trying to change the subject, either. But there’s nothing wrong with a Prince Albert proudly displayed. As long as it’s not in public, of course.”
“Huh.”
She smirks. “You’re very judgmental for one so young.”
“I’m not judgmental. Just a little surprised.”
“Why shouldn’t I stock books on sex and the human body? Both are beautiful natural things worth celebrating.”
Not knowing what to say, I dust my heart out.
“Good Lord, are you embarrassed by intimacy and the naked form?” She clucks her tongue. “Clementine, for shame.”
“What do you want from me?” Leif’s words the other night may have been said in jest, but the truth was a serious reality lay behind them. “Care of the assault, I may have well have regrown my hymen. I have nil practical experience and I’ve never even seen someone in the flesh totally naked apart from myself. It is on my to-do list, though.”
“You know, I never thought of it that way.”
“It’s the truth. While I know that I’ve definitely done it, I don’t actually remember doing it, so . . .”
“Maybe you should ask Ed to help you with that.” There’s an evil sparkle in her eye. “See, you’re frowning. I say his name and you frown, every time.”
“Pretty sure he’d be too busy schtupping the brunette from the restaurant to be worrying about my sexual needs regardless of where I’m sleeping.”
“Hmm.”
“And I look after myself. I masturbate.”
A young guy who just walked in the door stops and blinks.
“Welcome to Braun Books,” I say with a smile. “Let me know if there’s anything I can help you with.”
He blinks again, still staring.
“To do with books.”
With a jerky nod, he heads back to the secondhand section. I’m rocking this work and socializing thing. Just ask me.
“Well, I should hope you’re able to see to your own needs,” says Iris, picking up the conversation. “Did you watch porn to learn how?”
“Masturbation doesn’t really fall under episodic memory. Its more things like personal facts and details of events that were wiped out. Muscle memory works just fine.”
“Ah. Well, if you need a little help or are just after some variety, there’s a wonderful selection of vibrators and other toys at Delilah’s just a short walk from here.”
“Sounds interesting. I might check it out sometime. Thanks.”
“Personally, I’ve found a Lelo Lily to be a wonderful investment,” she continues. “But you have to take the time to find a personal massager that works for you.”
The guy in the secondhand section obviously has issues with sex or at least discussions regarding same, because he all but flees the premises. Whatever. It’s around about five o’clock. Time for the after-work crowd to hopefully be lured in for some literature. The woman who struts in, however, is very familiar and probably not a customer. And there’s no other word for how she moves. I couldn’t pull off such confidence if I tried.
“We need to talk,” she announces.
“Hi, Tessa.”
Iris just looks between me and the beautiful black woman with intricate tattoos swirling up her arms. Tessa wears ripped jeans and studded boots. A chunky knit top that falls off one shoulder. Runway models wished they had it so good. In my ballet flats, jeans, and Where the Wild Things Are tee (got it from the shop), I do not compare. Oh well. At least I made some effort this morning, or I’d be feeling even further out of my league. And while I’ve seen an instance in a movie where that tone of voice was being used affectionately and jokingly between people, this is not one of those times. Not even a little. But Iris is beaming so I guess she figures it is. I don’t even think Tessa noticed her standing there at first.
“Iris, this is Tessa, a friend of Ed’s,” I say. “Tessa, my boss, Iris.”
Tessa nods. “Ma’am.”
“Hello!” Iris smiles before turning back to me. “Clementine, why don’t you grab your bag and go have a drink with your friend? Try out that new little wine bar along the way!”
“Oh, we are not friends,” says Tessa.
“We’re really not,” I agree. “Are you sure you don’t want a hand closing up?”
“No, no. Antonio will be here soon to help me. You go.” Iris flaps her hands at me. “See you tomorrow, dear.”
I ditch my cloth and wash my hands, grab my bag and head back out to face the woman waiting. The very angry woman. No idea what it is she wants to discuss. After the last time we crossed paths at Ed’s when she ripped me a new one, I’d have thought talking to me would be the last thing of interest. She and I were friends, once. But those days are clearly gone.
“Ready?” I ask, gesturing toward the door.
“Follow me,” she orders.
Out into the street we go. Tessa cuts through the sidewalk traffic with style and grace while I try to keep up. A block and a half along, she abruptly turns and disappears down a narrow stairway. The wine bar is in the basement of a building, all low lighting and atmosphere. Behind the bar is a wall full of dark gleaming bottles. People occupy maybe half of the tables. Guess it’s still a little early for the night crowd.
Tessa sits at a small table and gestures to a waiter. “Two of the house cabernet, thanks.”
“I drink red wine?”
“You do now.” Hands joined resting on the table, she just stares at me. “We have a problem, Clem.”
I wait.
Eventually, she continues, with one word: “Ed.”
“What about him? Is he okay?”
“He would be if you’d stay the hell out of his life,” she says. “I get that you don’t remember anything, so let me explain this clearly. Ed is more than my boss, he’s my friend. We’ve known each other a long time and I am not going to stand by and watch while you mess with his head again. You are not good for him. So you need to get away from him.”
“I tried to move out. He asked me to stay.”
“Try harder.”
I raised my brows. “Okay. Can we visit the part where I’m not convinced it’s even any of your business?”
“I should just let you hurt him again?”
“What have I done now?”
“You told him you no longer think he cheated on you.”
“He told you about that?”
“Eventually,” she says. “Leif
let it slip that you were staying with him and then it all came out. Clem, did you think for one moment how that might affect him? About what it would mean to him, you saying that?”
“Yeah, I thought he’d be relieved. A weight off his shoulders.”
She glares back at me.
“So what? I should just move to Alaska? Would that suit you?”
“I was going to suggest somewhere a little farther, at least the Yukon. But Alaska might be okay.”
Our drinks arrive and thank fuck for that. My throat is parched, my hackles riled, and my head even more confused than before. I down half of the glass in one gulp, the heavy tasting-room temperature aged grape juice going down a treat. Much better than whiskey. Tessa apparently feels much the same since she also throws back a good portion of her wine. Next I text Ed to tell him something’s come up so I’ll find my own way home today and not to worry.
“Look,” I say, diving straight back in, “It’s great that he has friends who care so much about him. But this is still none of your business.”
Her lips are an unforgiving line. “You didn’t see him after the breakup. You wrecked him.”
“Yeah, well, apparently I wrecked me too.”
“I’m not joking. I’ve never seen him like that before and I do not wish to ever again.”
My shoulders tense. Maybe it’s the thought of Ed hurting. Or maybe it’s the hate I’m facing. Either way, perfect excuse to drink more wine. “Why do you think I offered to move out of his place? I could see it wasn’t working. That he wasn’t happy.”
“And I’m supposed to thank you for behaving like a half-decent human for two seconds?”
“How about just acknowledging that he’s an adult who can make his own choices?”
She casts the ceiling a pained glance before drinking more wine, all while signaling to the waiter for another round. “Grown-ass men are idiots. How have you not discovered this yet?”
I laugh.
“Seriously?”
“Look, Tessa, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for the trouble I caused you,” I say. “And I have no intention of hurting Ed. I’m not . . . that’s not something I want to see happen ever again.”