The Life Lucy Knew

by Karma Brown

  “I saw you talking to him,” he said, looking back up at me with red-rimmed eyes. “I saw you laughing. With him.” His voice was hollow, like he’d given up.

  I stood quickly, walked around the table to stand in front of him. “I didn’t plan it, Matt. It was a total fluke.” I didn’t dare touch him, though my instincts told me to. I wondered what that meant. Was it a desire to comfort Matt because he was upset and I cared about him? Or did my body, my reflexes, remember I loved him even if my mind didn’t? “Honestly, we talked for a few minutes and then I came home.”

  “Did you see him again? Before last night, I mean?” he asked.

  I wished I could lie, but instead I paused, and that was enough.

  “I don’t think I can do this anymore,” Matt said, now openly crying. I was both anxious at his tears and sad in a way I couldn’t quite reconcile. It was different from the grief I felt about Daniel—the realization that despite believing he was my husband, he didn’t feel that way about me anymore—but it was still intense.

  “Please, Matt, can we talk about this?” I grabbed for his arms, but he shoved off the counter and away from me. Opened the dishwasher, loaded in his plate, fork and knife.

  “There’s nothing to talk about.” He no longer sounded angry, or hurt. He sounded indifferent and that scared the hell out of me.

  “So, what now? This is it?” My breath came out in strange little gasps I was unable to control.

  “This is it.” Matt left the kitchen, me right behind him.

  “Matt, stop.” He didn’t, headed into the bedroom. With a frustrated sigh I followed him again, then stood with my hands on my hips, trying to quell my too-fast heartbeat. Since I’d come home from the hospital Matt had been perfect and present—kind and patient, accommodating at every turn. And so for him to give up like this terrified me, because despite how screwed up everything was with our relationship, I needed Matt. He was the anchor I would be lost without. How could I have been so stupid to not see that? To jeopardize things like this? I knew it wasn’t fair, to need him so selfishly, but it was the truth.

  “Please, Matt. Stop,” I repeated.

  He did, paused with his jeans and sweater in his hands, his face holding none of the warmth I was used to. “What, Lucy? What do you want from me?”

  I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I let out another frustrated sigh. He shook his head and started to put his jeans on. “I’m going to work,” he said. “Then I’ll pack up some stuff when I’m back.” He pulled his sweater over his head, grabbed his phone from the nightstand.

  “Pack up some stuff? You’re leaving?” My voice was thin and high-pitched. I was untethered and coming apart fast. “Shouldn’t I be the one to leave?”

  He ignored my question, and my reaction. “We’ll talk later.” Then he left me standing in the bedroom, staring at the empty spot where he had stood a few moments earlier.

  A minute later the front door closed with a resounding click, and I sat down hard on the floor and tried to figure out what I was supposed to do now.

  * * *

  I had my legs tucked up under me on Jenny’s couch—a futon that would also be my bed for the next while as I sorted out the mess I’d made—and was nursing a cup of tea she’d placed in my hands when I’d arrived with tearstained cheeks and an overnight bag. I had considered going to my parents’ place but, still angry they’d lied to me, decided I couldn’t deal with them right now.

  When I’d texted Matt to say I was going to crash with Jenny for now so he could stay at the condo, I got a one-word reply (Okay). I’m not sure what I’d hoped for, because I certainly didn’t deserve anything more. Matt had, over these past couple of months, been solid and selfless, and what had I done to show him my gratitude for his commitment? I kissed my ex.

  “More tea?” Jenny asked, standing to fill her own mug.

  I shook my head, stared into my still-full cup.

  “So, what do you want to do?” she asked, adding water to her mug from the steaming kettle. She dipped the tea bag a few times, then settled back into the chair across from me.

  “I don’t know.” I sighed and put my mug down, my hands shaking. “I screwed up, Jenny.”

  She took a tentative sip of her hot tea. “You sure did.”

  I laughed then. “Thanks a lot.”

  “Well, you did!” We laughed together, but it petered out quickly.

  “Maybe you guys should try couples therapy,” Jenny said.

  “And talk about what?” I asked. “I’m not sure what a therapist would do with ‘My girlfriend thinks she’s someone else’s wife... Any strategies for such a conundrum?’” I rolled my eyes and Jenny chuckled.

  “You’re right. Bad idea,” she said. “Look, Lucy, I didn’t have the chance to say this yet, but I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about your mom and dad. And full confession, I agreed with them it was the right thing to do. Not telling you right away, I mean.” She frowned. “You were dealing with so much and I think we all expected things would get back to normal. With your memory.”

  “Yeah, I think I expected that, too.” And as I said it I realized I had, despite the warnings from my doctors and Dr. Kay about the possibility of my memory challenges being long-term. “It’s okay. I get it, and I probably would have done the same thing.”

  She smiled gratefully at me, and we relaxed into a moment of silence.

  “I’ve hurt Matt. Badly.”

  “You have,” she said, then quickly added, “But it wasn’t intentional, Lucy.” True, I hadn’t intended to hurt Matt. But even though my memory was in chaos, there was nothing wrong with my free will. Yes, I’d had too much to drink and my judgment was impaired, but I’d still made the choice to kiss Daniel. That was on me. “This is hardest for you.”

  “Is it? Is it hardest for me? I don’t think I’m suffering any more than he is,” I said. “But it feels impossible to transition from the Lucy who loved Daniel to the one who’s happy with Matt.” To box up what I connected with Daniel—that he took cream and sugar in his coffee, liked ginger beer and basketball but not hockey, how he shivered when I kissed a spot right below his ear—and shift to Matt, who liked his coffee black and was obsessed with the Toronto Maple Leafs and cycling and owned more shoes than I did and who knew how to make me laugh when I was upset better than anyone.

  “It wrings me dry, the back-and-forth shifts, Jen. Sometimes I forget who likes what and who I’m supposed to be when I’m with them, and mostly, what I want.”

  I pressed a hand to my forehead, closed my eyes. “Jenny, the way Matt looks at me. It’s how...” I paused. “It’s how I think I look at Daniel. But it’s not real with Daniel, and I don’t know how to stop—” My throat closed and I gulped noisily. “I don’t know how to stop all these feelings.”

  Jenny watched me for a moment, then sighed. “I don’t know if you can.”

  “So what does that mean for me and Matt?”

  She shrugged, which was answer enough.

  “What were we like?” I asked. “Before, when I remembered everything and life was good and normal.”

  “You were happy,” she replied. “Like, really happy.” She sipped her tea, gave a small smile. “You two brought out the best in one another. And I know that sounds supercheesy and like a Hallmark card, but honestly, it’s the truth.” Jenny looked as though she was considering whether to say more, then made her decision. “You once told me Matt proved you’d never been in love before.”

  I nodded, then burst into tears.

  31

  Alex was licking peanut butter from a spoon and dipping it back into the jar. I scowled at her because it was Jenny’s peanut butter and I was sure she wouldn’t be happy about what Alex was doing. But I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to argue about something else. We’d already had words about the separation, and her failure to fill me in�
�she joked Mom had bribed her with a new lens before admitting she agreed with my parents—so adding one more log onto a raging fire probably wasn’t wise. “You know, I miss the days when you used to create a better version of the truth,” Alex said, her mouth thick with the peanut butter. “Whatever happened to that Lucy?”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I asked, scowling more deeply now. “And stop double-dipping. It’s disgusting.” I was irritable and my back hurt from sleeping on Jenny’s futon. Mom had also been calling incessantly, and when I wouldn’t answer (or respond to the emoji-filled texts she sent immediately after each call), she sent Alex to talk with me. And so here we were, in Jenny’s apartment while she was at work, eating peanut butter on Ritz crackers. But I didn’t want to talk about what had happened. Or what I’d done to ensure no matter how fiercely Matt loved me (or how much I’d loved him) there may no longer be a relationship to cling to. No us to fight for.

  “You used to be all about the silver lining. Like, remember when we got to pet those baby sharks at that aquarium in Sarasota, and I refused because I thought it was so sad they were locked up in there and you told me they were probably happier because they didn’t have to fight for their food like they would in the wild?”

  I frowned, remembering the smooth, rubbery feel of the shark’s skin but not my comment about their happiness.

  “Or when your bike got stolen and you told Dad it was probably some kid who couldn’t afford a bike, so it was okay because they needed it more than you did?” I nodded, remembering that one. I’d known if I used that reasoning on dad he would buy me a new bike without too much fuss (he was a bit of a bleeding heart, my dad) and I would never have to admit I had left it unlocked, ripe for stealing.

  “That’s not creating a better version of the truth,” I argued. “Silver linings go with the territory when you’re a kid. Besides, I’m sure someone else did get a lot of joy out of my bike.” It had been a great bike.

  Alex nodded and licked her peanut-butter-coated lips. But she wasn’t done with me yet, had a point (Alex always had a point) to drill into me whether I wanted to hear it or not. “Then there was that time your bestie, Nancy McPherson, stole your date in eighth grade. Remember what you said then?”

  I paused, thought back, rejoiced quietly for a moment about how clear and secure my memories were from my childhood. “That it had been my idea,” I said softly.

  “Exactly,” Alex said, dipping her spoon in one more time. “Silver-lining-Lucy.”

  But it hadn’t been my idea at all. I had said that because I was embarrassed and hurt by what had happened, especially considering Alex had warned me and I chose to ignore her.

  Nancy McPherson and I met in second grade, on a playground close to my house, and after finding out we lived two blocks from one another, we begged our mothers for a playdate. We both loved the color green and wanted our own pet rabbit one day and thought Tiger Tail was the only ice cream flavor worth eating. In fifth grade we took a best friend blood oath (using one of my mom’s finger prickers for her blood sugar testing) and Nancy barely even flinched, impressing me to no end. We were inseparable, and I believed Nancy would be my best friend forever. Then came the eighth grade, and a boy named Jordan Riggle.

  I liked Jordan, and based on what I was hearing from mutual friends, he liked me, too. Nancy and I had brainstormed what to do. Sure, I could ask him to the dance, but the middle school rumor mill said he was planning to ask me, and so why not wait? It will be epic, Nancy had said, her voice swoony. Being asked to the dance by Jordan Riggle! I had agreed (I always agreed with Nancy) and decided to wait for Jordan to ask me. Though when I had broached it with Alex, looking for the older sister perspective, she told me to “Buck up, princess, and ask him first.”

  I had expected Alex to see things from Nancy’s point of view, because I idolized both of them and thought they were the smartest people I knew. So I had argued with Alex—it was traditional for the boy to ask the girl, like Nancy said—and Alex had snorted her disdain and told me that was ridiculous. “You’re going to regret giving Nancy McPherson so much power over you,” she had said.

  In the end Alex was right, having always been better at reading people than I was. I came down with the flu and missed three days of school. But Nancy came by every day to drop off homework and fill me in on “Operation Dance”—she said she was sure Jordan would ask me when I was back. By Friday I was well enough to go to school, and it was then I heard rumblings Jordan and Nancy were going to the dance together. I wondered if my delirious flu fever had returned.

  But I wasn’t sick, just a fool. Turned out Jordan asked Nancy if she thought I might go to the dance with him, and Nancy, my best friend for the past seven years, said I thought dances were stupid. So Jordan asked Nancy instead, and she said yes.

  That was the day Nancy McPherson stopped being my best friend, and the moment I realized how horribly people could let you down and break your heart.

  “You know, that dance fiasco might have been the last time you doctored the truth with your special brand of positivity,” Alex said, pointing her spoon at me. “Until Daniel.”

  I sat up straighter at the mention of Daniel. “What do you mean?”

  Alex shrugged. “Well, I could tell you weren’t a hundred percent in, even though you were going ahead with the wedding.”

  Now I felt confused. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because it’s the truth. It was little things, these small clues. Like, you wanted to keep Sparks as your last name.”

  “But you didn’t want me to change my last name. You told me that!” I sputtered, then added, “Hang on. I did change my name, so it’s a moot point.”

  Alex’s tone was direct, but not unkind. “No, you didn’t, sweets. You didn’t end up getting married, remember?”

  “Of course I remember,” I grumbled, then almost laughed at how ridiculous a statement that was. I had gaps in my memory from this time of my life, and some of what I did remember was a fabricated version of reality. “You know what I meant. So what else? Why would you think I didn’t want to marry Daniel? Did I tell you that?”

  She shrugged. “Not in so many words. In the beginning you seemed happy. But the closer you got to the wedding, the less you talked about it. About him.” She licked a drip of peanut butter off her thumb. “And you’re not exactly the type to go mute on something when you’re excited. You used to drive me crazy as a kid because you never shut up when things were going your way.” She smiled, but I found I couldn’t return it.

  I didn’t talk about the wedding? Everything slowed down then. I wound back her previous words: In the beginning you seemed happy. But the closer you got to the wedding, the less you talked about it. About him. I took a deep breath and asked, “Alex, do you know what happened between me and Daniel?”

  She stared at me for a moment. “I have an idea.”

  I was prepared to respond with “Oh, it’s okay. No one else seems to know, either, especially me!” but then her words hit me.

  “What do you know? Why haven’t you said anything? Have you known this whole time what happened? Tell me. What do you know?”

  She spread peanut butter on a cracker with the back of her spoon and held it out to me. I shook my head and she shrugged, bit it in half and chewed before saying, “I know Daniel London was an asshole.”

  Now I stared at her and waited for her to explain. She didn’t. “Oh, give me a break, Alex.” I tried to imagine it—thought back to everything I remembered about Daniel, how it had felt to see him recently. That kiss... I shook my head. “He isn’t. He wasn’t.”

  “I assure you, Lucy, he was. And probably still is.” She dropped the spoon into the peanut butter jar, smacked her lips. “Hell, he was engaged, nearly married, when you met him, right? So I would say Daniel London is someone who always has one foot out the door, know what I mean?”

  �
�No, I do not know what you mean.”

  Alex sighed and brushed a few cracker crumbs from her sweater. “The night of your engagement party I got there early. To ‘oversee’ things,” she said, using air quotes, sounding like our mother, “because Mom was helping you get ready—you had a cast on your arm, but you probably don’t remember that—and she was worried about the catering.” I tried to control the small shake overtaking my body, afraid of what Alex was going to tell me but also afraid whatever it was wouldn’t answer all my questions. “Daniel was already there, and he was at the bar, drinking and talking up a very attractive bartender.”

  “And so what?” Daniel had been flirting with the bartender. Big deal. It didn’t explain anything.

  “And so I confronted him—they were supercozy, Lucy, like inappropriately so. He had his hand on her arm. Left it there too long.” Alex gave me a pointed look. “I cornered him and asked what he thought he was doing, being all flirty-flirty with the help, and he laughed. Said, ‘Alex, calm down. I’m not married yet.’ And then he winked at me and walked away.”

  I felt like I’d been turned inside out, but I also struggled to imagine the scenario she was describing. It sounded like an entirely different Daniel from the one I knew. And suddenly I was furious with Alex for only telling me this now. For tarnishing a memory I thought I could count on. “What the hell, Alex? Why now? Why didn’t you tell me that night?” My cheeks flushed with frustration, and I let my anger toward everything—everyone—seep out at my sister. She took it without complaint, her voice calm.

  “I did, Lucy. You just don’t remember.”

  “Oh.” The fight inside of me extinguished. “What did I say?”