by Dani Irons
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I wish there was something more. What we can do right now is run additional tests.”
Everyone deflates at her words.
* * *
I’m back at home, with everyone staring at me like I’m a fossilized dinosaur butt—interesting and confusing all at once. I’m sighing and sipping lemonade while sitting on the couch and sweating. Not talking. Not making eye contact. I wonder what has happened in the last few weeks and if I’m acting weird about something I don’t remember. I hope we made up, that they forgive me for stealing from them. But I doubt it. The room is filled with tension.
It’s weird being in this house again after all the time away, but I’m glad I am. It looks the same, smells the same. Makes me feel nostalgic. I haven’t been home since my mom told me not to come back until I had the money to make things right. Wyatt is breathing loudly next to me, so I turn to him. “I’m sorry,” I say, trying my best to sound sorry. “I don’t remember dating you, so I think...we’re going to have to break up for now. I need to figure out what’s happening with James and me first. You understand.” I can’t ignore the fact that my voice is completely void of all emotion.
His jaw sets and I ready myself for a mean reply. My words didn’t exactly come out sugar-sweet. They never do when I’m talking to Wyatt. He stands and paces the room. “We all lied to you,” he says, stopping in front of the couch where I’m sitting.
“Who did? About what?”
“Your parents, your sister, Chloe...me...we all lied to you. When you woke up in the hospital, you couldn’t remember any of us. I pretended that I was your boyfriend and your parents went along with it.”
“Why would you do that?” I ask, equal parts hurt and pissed. I shoot angry looks at my parents and they exchange looks of guilt.
Wyatt looks at my parents, but they aren’t about to say anything. “Your relationship with James is destructive. You deserve better than that.” His voice is careful and slow. “You are better than that.”
I open my mouth to argue, but I don’t feel like I have to defend my relationship with James to anyone. “That’s none of your business.”
“We all thought it would be a good way to give you an opportunity to start over, Olivia,” my mom says finally.
“A second chance? Like, for a better life?” I laugh. “A better life with an overgrown Cub Scout?” I laugh harder, even though I know it must hurt his feelings.
He kneels down in front of me. “You don’t understand.” He says this so sternly and with so much conviction that I surprise myself by being interested in what he’ll say next.
“What part don’t I understand?”
“We were...” he says, flicking a finger between himself and me.
I shake my head, not understanding. He grabs my hand and I think I get it. He’s telling me that we had real feelings. My body wants to laugh at him, but I don’t let it. He’s being dead serious and I have to at least consider the possibility that he’s telling me the truth. I look to my parents, who are watching this scene unfold. “You’re saying I fell in love with you?”
He nods. “I think so.”
“What? You don’t even know for sure? I didn’t tell you?” I’m trying to believe him, but the closest I get is believing that he thinks what we had was real.
He shakes his head. “No, but—”
“Then there you have it. Must be some kind of misunderstanding.” As he continues to shake his head, I wonder what I could have done to lead him on. Maybe I couldn’t remember anything after the accident, maybe I couldn’t remember James or how I practically detested Wyatt growing up. “I was never yours, you were never mine.”
“I was always yours.”
My brain doesn’t register his words. He sounds like he means them, but there’s no way Wyatt could ever really like me after how I always treated him. “What?”
“I was always yours.”
I am so taken aback by his vulnerable honesty that I can’t say anything back. Realizing that he’s still gripping my hand, I pull away.
“Let’s talk outside,” I say, giving my parents the evil eye over my shoulder for hanging around.
We sit on the sidewalk—me staring into the sky, him staring directly at me.
“Have we kissed?” I ask.
“Yes.” He squirms on the concrete below us.
“Did we...ya know?”
“Not...all the way.”
I gape at him and watch his face turn a familiar shade of purple and his tongue flick between his lips. “Oh, my God. How far did we get? Have you seen me naked?”
He draws in a huge breath and cocks his head back, as if asking the clouds for strength.
“Oh, my God,” I say again, hugging my elbows.
His next rush of words comes out all in one breath, “We went to L.A. so you could see the place where you were hit and we ended up getting a hotel because of the pain in your ribs and everything made you tired then we kissed and got naked and I got on top of you and then I left.”
Air catches in my chest but I force out, “Why did you leave?”
“I wanted to stop.”
“Why?”
He thinks about this. “Because even though I could tell your feelings for me were changing, I knew they started with a lie and I couldn’t keep going.” He pulls a hand through his unruly, very Wyatt-y hair. He’s the same boy I remember from all those years ago, just in a more filled-out body. He looks good, I admit. “I didn’t want you to share something with me and then find out later that I’d lied to you. I would hate it if you regretted doing that with me.” He sighs and looks down my street. Usually there’s at least a few people hanging out on their front lawns or walking up the street or something, but no one is out today. As if they all knew we needed privacy.
When I don’t say anything in reply, Wyatt continues. “Oh, fuck, Olivia. I’m so sorry. I didn’t think it would get that far but I’ve loved you for forever and you were finally starting to look at me the way I was looking at you and it was too much. It took everything I had to peel myself off of your naked...your naked...”
I put a hand up, silencing him. “I get it. Sheesh.” I can’t handle this. I don’t feel the same way. I know I’m being hard on him, but I can’t help it. I don’t remember our time together. And it was such a short time. How could our bond be that strong already?
“I don’t know if I can trust you, this, everybody. I mean, you all admitted that you were lying to me in the first place, how do I know that you aren’t lying now? To get me to go out with you or something?”
His expression changes dramatically. His mouth tightens and his eyes grow hard. “If I had a choice who I fell in love with, it sure as hell wouldn’t be you.”
My mouth falls open.
“I mean, don’t get me wrong, you, as a person, are great. You saved that little boy. You distracted me from that scary movie so long ago.” It was my turn to grow red. I could feel the heat of the blush. “You manned me up. You care, when you want to or not. But...and I mean this in the best way possible...you’re indecisive, rude and the most difficult person I’ve ever met.”
“Wha—?” I begin, but he keeps talking.
“You can’t decide about what you want to do in life, your career, your major. You can’t decide how you feel about me. It was so back and forth, it drove me insane.” He squeezes his kneecaps, his knuckles turning white. “And then, when you’ve nearly settled into loving me back, you figure out we all lied to you. And then, to top all that off, instead of being given a chance to apologize, to see if you’ll forgive me, you fucking forget me instead.” He stands suddenly, spinning around, like his feelings are too much for him to take. After he shoves his hands into his pockets, he looks to the sky.
At first, I don’t know what to say. If my heart
didn’t completely belong to someone else, I might give him a chance. I mean, who wouldn’t? What kind of girl could resist someone who is that in love with her? I stand, take a step toward him. “I’m so sorry,” I say, the words coming out like razor blades up my throat. I try to make them as sincere as I can. “I don’t feel the same way about you. I have some serious history with James and I owe it to myself to see if that road is still open. He’s the only person I remember loving.”
Wyatt meets my gaze but he says nothing in return and I walk away.
Chapter Three
Inside the house, in the sanctuary of my room, I call James.
In typical fashion, he doesn’t pick up. Did I talk to him at all while I was out? Does he know about Wyatt? Or could he be back with Megan?
I text him, Hey. Got my memory back. Would like to see you. I hit Send and laugh at the weirdness of the text. I mean, that is a weird friggin’ text message. I analyze the last sentence, almost worried that Megan will see it or how James will react to it, but I don’t care as much as I usually would. I’ve been through hell in the last few weeks and even though I can’t remember much of it, my body feels it. It feels as if I’ve been dropped from a cliff or hit by a truck—which I guess is what really happened—but also more than that. My mind is exhausted; my spirit feels like a fire that has been snuffed out. I’m too tired to care about the Megans of the world or if I’ve crossed the too-intimate line with James.
I just need someone. I need him, I guess.
But he doesn’t text or call back all morning, all afternoon.
Wyatt does, and at first, I’m glad to have someone to talk to. He asks how I am. The only thing I can think to write back is, okay...you?
I want to keep talking to him, to ask him questions and have a friend who understands what went on in the last few weeks, but when he texts back, You already know that, I’m too flustered to reply. Wyatt is going through his own stuff too. Stuff that I don’t understand.
I sigh and turn off my phone for the rest of the day.
Chapter Four
Later that evening, my parents decide they want to take Natalie and me out to dinner.
Apparently, she’s been updated that I have my old memory back but not any memory of what happened over the last few weeks. She says she is both glad and disappointed at the same time. I know that I haven’t been the best sister to her in years but maybe I’d been decent to her in the time I don’t remember. I hope I was, anyway. I should start being better to her now.
When we sit down at the table and the waiter hands us menus, I can feel the now-familiar tension around the table. It’s tangible, like I can reach out and touch it while it’s floating around us. Whether it’s because of what happened months ago or something that might have happened only days ago, there’s no way to know. I must have had a reason to be at a hotel. If the past with my parents is anything to go by, my mom got angry at something I did, shouted at me, and told me to move out. But that doesn’t explain why I had close to a thousand dollars on me or why I wasn’t talking to Chloe. I mean, yeah. I should be mad at her—at all of them for lying—but I can’t stay mad at Chloe. We used to tell each other that we were soul mate kind of friends. Nothing can break that.
“What was I like?” I ask, barely glancing over the menu. I already know what I want. I’ve been here lots of times before. James took me here once and, in a dark corner booth, told me he’d probably propose here one day. Just thinking about that day—the way he kissed the tips of my fingers so gently—sends goose bumps to my every pore. “I mean, was I any different?”
“Nope,” Mom says, laying down her menu. “You were pretty much the same person.” She says this with a touch of bitterness.
“She was different!” Natalie adds. “She was nicer. A little, anyway.”
“A little nicer,” Cora echoes. “Hmm.” She takes a sip of her water.
Dad puts a hand on my shoulder. “Same as ever, to me, kitten.” He laughs lightly and it warms my heart. I do love my family, even when things are rough. I was such a shit to them.
* * *
That night I dream of Wyatt. Him kissing me and putting his hands on me and tracing his fingers over my collarbone scar. His bare chest and his smile. Are these memories or dreams? They leave me feeling confused but also a little friendlier toward him. Not that I would jump his bones or anything the next time we meet, but enough to open up to him a little.
After a breakfast of egg whites and wheat toast, my parents take me up to the office. I sit down in front of a brand new computer that was delivered that morning to help with the Cub Scout website and Christakos Creatives’ financial stuff. I don’t think Mom understands that Wyatt is supposed to do all of this, but now I feel bad that they splurged on the computer and I have no idea what to do with it. Mom shows me the website I guess I created. She tells me about our fight, about what Papa Joe wanted, but how she’s decided that saving the business would be more important to him than anything. So she’ll do what she has to, even if it is by expanding and modernizing.
The site is friendly and cute. Wyatt did a nice job. Then she shows me the website that Wyatt has been working on for the Scouts and hands me the contract, which states I must update the website weekly to show how the Cub Scouts are being active in the community. But Wyatt seems to have already done that. “Hey,” I say. “If the business is doing so well, maybe you guys can keep paying my tuition.” This comes out of my mouth without thought—like the worst knee-jerk reaction ever—and I know what’s going to happen: Mom volcano time. She’s going to blow up. I have absolutely no right to ask her that. I’m the one who owes them thousands.
Mom sits on the desk, next to my elbow. Instead of her face getting all hard like I’d expected, she’s frowning. “I know you stole the money, Olivia. And got the cards in our name.”
She pauses, waits for me to say something. After the longest minute ever, I nod, finally admitting my theft.
“And you’re going to pay us back.”
I nod again. I kind of already knew that much, but her telling me is like a slap to the face. “Well, I am doing work right now, aren’t I?” I point to the computer. “Do I get paid for this? I mean, I am a big part of the reason that you got this contract, right?” Which is kind of another lie. It was my idea, sure, but all of Wyatt’s work.
Mom looks at me like she hasn’t even thought about it.
“So how much money do you get from the Scouts? Will you be able to save the business?”
“A good chunk,” she says, crossing her arms, “but not enough to erase all the mistakes you’ve made.”
“Then what are we going to do?”
She sighs a little, but it isn’t too heavy. “We’ll work together, do what we have to do for the business this summer. I’m going to work you ragged. Then, we pay everything off.”
“Together?”
“Together,” she confirms. “We’ll pay off the credit cards first, then get the ten thousand saved and put back into the safe.”
“You’ll trust me? To be around the business’s money again?”
Her smile is small. “Well, we’ll see how it goes. You have to earn our trust back.”
“Ouch,” I whisper, but know I deserve that.
Mom jumps back in. “Also, UCLA is probably not an option for you anymore. Unless a miracle happens and we win the lottery—which isn’t a possibility since we don’t gamble—or you get a loan or something. You’ll have to start considering other options.”
I suck on my teeth, thinking. I still owe thousands for last semester. Maybe I could sell one of my fancy purses or something to pay for it. It would break my heart to get rid of a Louis Vuitton bag, even if I’d used my parents’ money to buy it in the first place.
Cora shuffles uncomfortably. “I’ll leave you to your work. I’ll bring yo
u up something to eat.”
She leaves the room so my thoughts can bounce around my head spastically. School. Website. Selling fancy purses. Wyatt. It’s too much, so I concentrate on one thing at a time—the website. I read over everything Wyatt has done, feel pretty useless that I can’t add anything, and right when I’m about to click off I see, Created by Wyatt Rosen and Olivia Christakos on the bottom of the webpage.
Both names are hyperlinked, so I click on mine first. It’s a static page, with my picture as the background. I don’t remember him taking this picture of me, and it must have been in the last few weeks. The only things on the site are two poems. The first one is short:
One had a lovely face,
And two or three had charm,
But charm and face were in vain
Because the mountain grass
Cannot but keep the form
Where the mountain hare has lain.
—William Butler Yeats
And the other was a bit longer:
So shuts the marigold her leaves
At the departure of the sun;
So from the honeysuckle sheaves
The bee goes when the day is done;
So sits the turtle when she is but one,
And so all woe, as I since she is gone.
To some few birds kind Nature hath
Made all the summer as one day:
Which once enjoy’d, cold winter’s wrath
As night they sleeping pass away.
Those happy creatures are, that know not yet
The pain to be deprived or to forget.
I oft have heard men say there be
Some that with confidence profess
The helpful Art of Memory:
But could they teach Forgetfulness,
I’d learn; and try what further art could do
To make me love her and forget her too.
—William Browne
I wasn’t about to try to decipher their meaning—I suck at poetry, big time. But the first poem makes me feel nostalgic, though I can’t say why, exactly, and the other makes me sad.