The Life Lucy Knew

by Karma Brown

  “But I know it has more to do with you. And today,” I added. “Is that okay?”

  “It’s more than okay,” Matt said. “But I need you to understand something, Lucy. I love you. And like I said, there’s no rush for any of this. I’m not going anywhere.” He stepped closer to me, brushed a stray hair from my forehead, then rested his hands gently on my shoulders. “So if this is about Daniel more than it’s about me, or us, it’s fine. I can wait. And if you’re never...ready...” He held his composure. “Well, I’ll accept that.”

  I placed my hands on his hips and leaned against him, closing my eyes. He held me for a moment, settling his chin on the top of my head, and I turned my face so my cheek rested on his chest. This must have been it, I thought, comfortable and secure. Our position.

  “Thank you for saying that,” I said. “But I still want to try, okay?”

  “Okay,” he murmured, his lips on the crown of my head. “Would it be all right if I...if I kissed you again?” His voice was quiet, unsure despite what I had said. Like we were kids exploring the boundaries of our relationship, trying to see what else might be there.

  I leaned slightly away from him so I could look into his face, but kept my arms wrapped around his waist. “Yes.”

  He smiled and pressed his lips to mine. I wish I could say this time there was a blinding flash of recognition and I remembered everything. But I didn’t.

  However, I did like the feel of him. The way his lips were gentle with mine until I responded, giving him permission to go deeper. And while it was true my mind couldn’t recall my history with Matt, it seemed my body remembered and responded to him. It wasn’t long before we stumbled into our bedroom, barely breaking apart for a breath—what we’d started at the park warming us up for what came next.

  The sex was fantastic, if not a bit intense, and though it was the first time I could remember being intimate with Matt, it didn’t feel entirely unfamiliar. Which was odd, yet reassuring. It seemed a part of me hadn’t forgotten what Matt and I had, or how well we had worked together, once.

  Yet as I lay naked beside him afterward, trying to hang on to the lingering, warm buzz of what we’d done, I had to fight the instinct I’d betrayed Daniel.

  14

  It was the end of March, almost two months since the day I slipped on the ice, and Matt and I were headed out for Jake’s thirtieth birthday party. Matt had been asking me daily for the past week if I was sure I wanted to go (yes, or mostly yes), and then if I thought I should go. He seemed more anxious about it than I was, and while I wasn’t looking forward to Jake’s party exactly, I was tired of the four walls of our living room and my antisocial status.

  Matt and I had been sleeping in the same bed now for the past two weeks, and things were progressing in the sense it had started to feel more natural to have him beside me all night. We’d had sex only a couple more times, and while it had been nice to share that closeness with someone—my body certainly craved the release—I couldn’t shake the feeling I was being unfaithful. It hovered over me, settled like a sickness in my gut even when I tried to push it away and remind myself I was with Matt. Thinking about Daniel was actually the unfaithful act.

  I told Dr. Kay I’d decided not to contact Daniel, and she listened carefully as I unleashed my frustrations in the safety of our session about everyone keeping the truth from me. After acknowledging my resentment, she said, “Everyone is trying to help you, Lucy. The best way they know how. And they won’t always get it right.”

  What could I say? Of course they were trying. They loved me. I felt bad after what she said, for the stunt I pulled by locking myself in the room and making everyone worry. But Dr. Kay wouldn’t let me get too self-pitying, either. “Own your feelings, Lucy. But don’t try to control or suppress them. No one expects you to get it right all the time, either.”

  She asked what had set my mind about not contacting Daniel, and I admitted that while part of me still wanted to see him, a greater part of me wanted to let him go.

  “What do you think you need, Lucy?”

  “I don’t think I need that anymore. To see Daniel, I mean. What I need is to convince my brain to accept the truth, because it’s still hanging on to last year’s news.” I smiled, or at least I tried hard. “Do you know how impossible it is to try to get your brain to convince your, well, brain what it believes isn’t true?”

  “I’m guessing it’s not easy,” Dr. Kay said. “Not at all.”

  No, it isn’t.

  * * *

  When Matt and I arrived, the party was already in full swing. If I thought I was prepared to be out at a bar, I was wrong. Between the sounds of celebratory voices, the band playing full tilt and so many bodies packed into the room, I could barely catch my breath. I focused on my belly, extending it with a deep breath, then letting it out with a low, controlled hiss. It helped somewhat, so I did it a few more times as Matt clutched my hand and led me toward the bar.

  We stood in line and he leaned close. “You okay?”

  “Stop asking me that,” I snapped, then immediately regretted it when Matt dropped my hand, looking stung. My emotional pendulum swung from swift anger to remorse, and I swallowed hard as I forced the necessary apology to my lips. “Sorry. I’m okay. Thanks.”

  Matt nodded, then gave his body a little shake—rolling his shoulders a couple of times and jumping up and down a few inches while we waited in line, as though he were getting ready for a race. It was what he did when he was nervous, needed to release energy so he could focus.

  “Gin and soda?” Matt asked as we approached the bar.

  “Please. Lots of lime.”

  He was leaning on the bar, about to give our drink order, but then he turned back to me. “You want lime?”

  “In my gin and soda?” I replied. “Always.” That was my go-to drink order, or at least I thought it had been. I frowned. “Isn’t that what I drink?” He gave me one last curious look, then shrugged before leaning across the bar to give our drink order—beer for him, gin and soda for me, lots of lime.

  I tried to relax but was struggling to find my bearings, the environment too loud and boisterous for my fragile brain and fickle emotions. Matt handed me my drink, asked again if I was okay. “Lucy? Do you want to leave?” Part of me did, but I also wanted to enjoy my drink and dance and have fun with friends on a Saturday night. I wanted to be past-Lucy for one night and figured maybe I could find her with enough gin and sodas—or maybe that would help me forget all of new-Lucy’s problems.

  “No, I want to stay.” I smiled wide as though to prove I was okay. Everything was under control.

  Matt shifted uneasily in front of me, his eyes darting around the room like he was expecting something to happen at any moment. He hadn’t even taken a sip of his beer. “Look, Lucy, there’s something I should have said before...before we got here. And I’m not sure—”

  But before Matt could finish his thought, someone grabbed me in a hug from behind and my drink spilled with the sudden shift of my body. “Lucy!” the hugger shouted, spinning me around before embracing me again. It was Jake, the birthday boy. He held me at arm’s length, gave a low whistle. I laughed at Jake’s theatrics until I saw Matt’s face. He did not look well at all. But there wasn’t a chance to ask him if he was okay, because Jake was hugging me again. This time I held my drink away from our bodies so it didn’t spill. “You look better than ever. Are you sure you didn’t make up this hospital stuff to hide an extended vacation?”

  “Yeah, hospitals are the new spas,” I said. Finally Matt smiled, then tucked me protectively into his side and kissed my temple. Did I like that? Matt acting like I needed a shield? I tried to decide if it was sweet or cloying, voted for the latter and shifted slightly away from the nook of his arm to clink glasses with Jake. “Happy birthday,” I said.

  “Thank you,” Jake replied, eyeing me closely. “So, how are y
ou really?” He held the neck of his beer bottle between his thumb and forefinger, rested it on his hip casually as he waited for me to answer.

  “Good! Great!” I said. Matt squeezed my elbow gently, and I smiled at him. But as much as I wanted to take care of myself, to prove I was just fine, I was feeling rattled because now I realized this was how I would spend the evening: not drinking and relaxing with friends, but answering their same concerned and curious questions, over and over. “I’m doing well, thanks.”

  “Glad to hear it. So crazy, right?” He looked between Matt and me and I saw Matt shake his head a little. But while I caught it, Jake didn’t seem to. “I’ve had a dozen concussions playing hockey but never had anything like that happen. Crazy. I can’t imagine.”

  Matt stiffened beside me and I realized why he had been so anxious leading up to tonight. Why he had given me so many outs for the evening, and why he had tried to give Jake the signal to stop talking.

  Jake knew. About my memory. Glancing around the room, I felt like all eyes were on me. I spotted a handful of our colleagues in the crowd, was immediately self-conscious being on display like this. How many of them know? My irritation from earlier blossomed into full-fledged rage, and my head pounded as though the only place for my anger to go was straight out the top of me.

  “Amnesia would be a trippy thing.” Jake gave a low whistle, took a sip of his beer.

  “She doesn’t have amnesia, Jake,” Matt interjected. I glanced at him sharply, but he kept his eyes on Jake. “It’s just a few—”

  “It’s called false-memory syndrome,” I said, keeping my tone even despite the pounding through my skull, the simmering heat in my cheeks. I was just fine, thank you very much. “Actually, apparently they don’t call it a syndrome anymore. So I guess it’s false-memory...”

  Now I turned to Matt. “What should we call it, do you think? Maybe ‘Lucy hit her head and then made shit up’ condition?” I laughed hard—forcing it out—and so did Jake, still not noticing the bands of tension between Matt and me. Matt looked down at his feet, not laughing with us.

  “Atta girl,” Jake said, clinking his bottle against my glass, which I raised in response and took a long sip. “You haven’t lost your sense of humor. Glad to see it.”

  “Thanks. Me, too.” I took another long sip of my drink as Matt whispered in my ear, “Maybe you should slow down?”

  “Maybe,” I said, then drained my glass.

  “So, any idea when you might be back to work?” Jake continued. “We miss you. Especially this guy.” He clapped Matt on the shoulder. “He mopes around the office. Seriously, it’s freakin’ sad. Lucy, get back to us soon, okay?”

  I glanced at Matt, who stayed silent.

  “I will. Shouldn’t be long now,” I said.

  “Oh, yeah? That’s great news.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” I said, now desperate to escape. It was exhausting playing “just-fine”-Lucy—my skin crawled, my stomach rolled, my head pounded with the effort of pretending to be okay when I wasn’t. “Every day a little better.”

  Jake nodded, sipped his beer. “Fantastic,” he said. A couple of guys I didn’t recognize (Did I know them? Did we work together, and I’d forgotten?) came up and pulled Jake away for shots at the other end of the bar. He offered one last “You look great, Lucy. Thanks for coming tonight,” over his shoulder as he went and Matt and I stayed in place, saying nothing.

  There was a long moment of silence, then, “Lucy, I’m sorry. I tried... I didn’t mean to—”

  I held up my hand, and Matt abruptly stopped talking. “I thought we’d agreed to say nothing to anyone at work.” My hands shook as I set my empty glass on top of the bar. “Why did you tell Jake? It’s no one else’s business.”

  “At some point it’s going to be their business, Lucy!” He was practically yelling. In part because he was upset and frustrated—high-strung with the stress of the past few weeks—and in part to be heard over the bar’s loudness. “What did you want me to say when he asked? What?”

  “How about nothing?” My voice rose to match his. “Or that I’m still dealing with the postconcussion stuff. Which is the truth, by the way.”

  “You don’t know what it’s been like,” he said, his voice pleading. “I didn’t plan on saying anything about the memory thing.”

  I had to get out of there because I didn’t want to hear any more excuses about how Matt had once again made a decision for me, kept something from me. I also couldn’t seem to catch my breath and needed to get outside into the fresh air, but Matt was right behind me and grabbed hold of my arm, begging me to let him explain. We were now in a quieter corner down by the washrooms, so I leaned back against the wall and crossed my arms over my chest, which heaved with the effort of trying to take in a full breath.

  Matt rubbed at his face, looked worried as I gasped for air and asked if I wanted to sit down. I shook my head and focused on slowing my breathing. “What, Matt? What happened?” My voice was strained, thready with my erratic breathing and how pissed off I was.

  He sighed and pressed a palm to his forehead, but kept his eyes on mine. “When Jenny texted about what happened at lunch and that she was worried about you—like, 911-level worried—I was on a conference call with a client. Jenny was panicking, so then I started panicking. It’s been hard...not having you there, at work.” But I knew what lived between those words. It’s been hard you not remembering me, and us. “I bolted from the conference room to call Jenny, and then Jake came to make sure I was okay and asked me what was wrong and it...it slipped out. I’m so sorry, Lucy.”

  Slipped out? Even though I felt awful for everything I had put him through, I’d had it. Enough with people who supposedly had my best interests in mind making unilateral decisions that directly affected me, behind my back and without my consent.

  “I need to go home,” I said, unable to argue about it anymore. I was drained, and dizzy from the gin. And before Matt could say anything in response, like, Okay, let’s go home, I added, “Alone.”

  “Lucy, come on. This isn’t like you,” Matt replied, his words sharp, his cheeks flushed with frustration. He nearly immediately realized his mistake—reminding me I was not the same person as before—and cringed, then took my hand in both of his. Begging me through his touch to stay, to calm down and to forgive him. His tone softened as he said, “There’s no way I’m letting you leave by yourself.”

  “Good thing it isn’t your choice, then,” I replied. “Please let me go, Matt. Now.” I pulled my hand out of his, took a few steps back and promptly ran into the wall. A sob choked me and I ran toward the front entrance of the bar. The tears were already streaming down my face as I stumbled outside onto the street. Still struggling to take in a full breath, I hastily wiped my tearstained face and looked around for a cab, until I noticed one idling by the curb and strode toward it. Another car pulled up behind the taxi and three guys spilled out, but I gave them little notice as I focused on not having a complete breakdown on the sidewalk. I was opening the taxi’s door when I heard, “Lucy?”

  I turned, and there stood Daniel London.

  15

  He looked different, his hair longer and scruffier than he used to wear it when we were together—the way I still remembered it. I wouldn’t say he looked older exactly, but there was something about him that felt unfamiliar now.

  “No way. Lucy Sparks.” Daniel’s face broke into a slow smile as I stared at him, unsure what to do next. My knees started shaking and I was grateful for the taxi’s open door, which I used to prop myself up. Daniel pointed to his two companions, then back to me. “Dave, Greg, this is Lucy.” He paused, still smiling. “An old friend.”

  I barely glanced at the other two but managed to say it was nice to meet them. “Hey, guys, I’ll catch up with you inside,” Daniel said to his friends. Then we were alone and all was quiet, until the taxi driver asked me if I wa
nted him to wait.

  “Yes,” I said through the open window, still trying to catch my breath. How long can a person hyperventilate before they pass out? “Please wait.” He started the meter and I turned my attention back to Daniel. It was dark, but we were near a streetlight, so I could now see better how his face had changed: crinkles at the corners of his eyes, a little extra weight had softened his jawline, a soul patch under his bottom lip. But the smile was the same, and it slayed me to see it.

  “It’s been a long time,” Daniel said. He tucked his chin inside the collar of his coat, rubbed his hands together to warm them. I was in too much shock to even feel the cold.

  “H-has it?” I stammered, then corrected myself. “It has. But it doesn’t feel like it, to be honest.” Keep it together, Lucy. “I can’t believe it’s you. Daniel London.”

  “In the flesh,” he replied, grinning. Then he leaned in to hug me, and it caught me off guard. The embrace was awkward, as was the struggle to right ourselves after it. “It’s been, what...four or five years?”

  “Something like that.”

  “So how are you?” he asked, leaning against the taxi beside me. “You look great.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’m good. Doing well. How about you?”

  Why did we break up? What the hell happened to us, Daniel? I tried to quiet my mind, to give little credence to the strange luck that brought us together tonight. To ignore the screaming questions about why I wasn’t Mrs. Lucy London. But Daniel, standing so close to me now, was extremely distracting and I was struggling to concentrate. He was stockier than Matt, shorter, too, and because of that our eyes were nearly level when he turned toward me, which was disarming.

  “I’m back at school, grad school actually,” Daniel said. “Turns out the law wasn’t my thing. Dad is less than thrilled, but hey, I’m used to disappointing that man.” He shrugged like it didn’t matter, but he looked upset. I remembered how hard Daniel’s father used to be on him. The assumption he would become a lawyer, join the family firm, follow confidently in his father’s well-heeled footsteps. It was a constant source of frustration for Daniel when we were dating, the expectations his highbrow parents had set out for him.