She shuts the door behind her, and I peel off my jean shorts and underwear, folding them and placing them on a chair. I sit on the paper-covered exam table, pulling the paper gown over me like a shield. The paper is scratchy, and my bare legs are cold from the air conditioning.
Instinctively, my fingers feel for the scar on my right knee, circa fifth-grade recess. I used to love playing basketball with the boys … until sore loser Tom LaRusa shoved me on a fast break layup. I fell hard, splitting my knee open on a jagged rock. I needed three stitches. Whenever I’m anxious, my hand gravitates toward the scar, rubbing its smoothness. It’s a small dimple—nobody else would notice it—but it comforts me. It reminds me of the power within all of us to heal.
Only right now … I don’t feel the scar. I lift up the papery cloth, looking down at my right knee. A normal, average knee. Identical to the left one.
Where is my scar?
I’m pulling my knee up to my face, to study it more closely, when there are two brisk raps on the door. I let my knee fall back down and arrange the cloth over my legs. “Come in!”
The door opens, and a middle-aged woman with Kai’s crinkle-eyed smile enters. Curly hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun. She’s wearing a white lab coat and bright, crazy-patterned socks. I like her immediately.
“Hi there. My name’s Sarah,” she says. “And you must be Tegan?”
“Yep, that’s me.”
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Tegan. I’ve heard a lot about you from my nephew.” Her eyes twinkle.
She reminds me of my mom, whom I miss with a sudden and fierce ache. Where is my mom? Where is my dad? How did I get here?
Sarah must notice the panic on my face. She places a gentle hand on my shoulder and squeezes it. “We’ve tried calling your parents, but we can’t get through to them. We’ll keep trying, and in the meantime I’d like to do a quick examination, if that’s all right with you?”
I nod.
“Don’t you worry one bit, honey. Everything is going to be okay.”
I let myself believe her. I would remember. I would remember. For the first time since I walked through the doors of this clinic, my anxiety eases its grip a little.
Sarah does a thorough examination of my entire body, her fingers gently prodding my bare skin. She doesn’t find any cuts, scrapes, bruises, or, as she puts it, “anything that would signal physical distress.” She also doesn’t find any evidence of head trauma, which would have explained my amnesia.
“Sometimes we can have selective amnesia,” Sarah says. “The brain blocks out what it doesn’t want to deal with. Has anything happened lately to upset you?”
Well, Kai and I had an argument, but I don’t want to talk about that with his aunt. Plus, he and I seem fine now. I don’t remember anything happening between my parents that would have upset me. I shake my head. “Sorry, I … I can’t think of anything.”
“That’s okay, hon. Here, let me listen to your heart.” She slips her stethoscope under my tank top. The metal is cold against my skin, and I shiver.
After a few moments, Sarah pulls away. “Good. You sound perfectly healthy,” she says. “I’m sure you hear this all the time, but I really like your tattoo. What does it mean?”
My tattoo? I don’t have a tattoo. My expression is undoubtedly pure confusion, because Sarah taps my chest and says, “This one. Over your heart.”
I look down and push aside my tank top. Right where Sarah had placed her stethoscope, there is a simple black ink drawing of an hourglass. Most of the sand is up in the top half, but a few grains have slipped down into the bottom.
What the hell? I have no memory of getting this tattoo and no clue what it means.
“It’s, um, just a reminder, you know,” I fumble. “Time is always ticking away, and you better make the most of every second.”
Sarah nods. “You are a wise young lady, Tegan Rossi. I can see why my nephew is so infatuated with you. Oh, and one more thing.” She gives me a white paper bag, the top folded over twice.
“What’s this?”
She smiles. “A little something we give to all the young women who visit the clinic. I call it our ‘women’s health packet.’ Listen, sweetheart—” She glances meaningfully at the door. “Never let anyone, including my nephew, pressure you into doing something you don’t want to do, okay?”
Understanding dawns. I blush deeply. “Oh, we’re not—”
“Sex is a perfectly wonderful and healthy part of the human experience. Just make sure it is consensual and make sure you’re safe about it.” She hands me the bag. I feel so embarrassed that I take it without a fight. I just want this conversation to be over.
Sarah leaves the room so I can get dressed. When I return to the waiting room, Kai immediately stands up, worry painted over his features. “Hey,” he says, his voice hesitant. “Are you … is everything … all right?”
I am flooded with this overwhelming desire to protect him. To wipe that worry from his face and bask in the warmth of his smile.
Which is why I do what I do next.
“Yes—everything’s perfect! Sorry for freaking you out. I’m totally fine.” It’s as if by saying the words out loud, I can force them into truth. And once I begin, the lies keep coming. “Sarah said it’s likely that I was disoriented from the jet lag, and I also got a little dehydrated, which can make anyone confused. But I’m much better now.”
Relief lights up Kai’s face. “So your memory came back? Are you here with your parents, or … ?”
“No, I’m, um—I came to surprise you. After graduation. I lost my phone at the airport, so I couldn’t call you.”
“How did you lose your phone?”
“My purse was stolen. I mean, I forgot it on the plane, and when I went back, it was gone. My wallet and phone were inside.”
“That’s terrible! Let’s head back to the airport—they must have a lost and found.”
Already my lie is becoming unwieldy. “I, um, checked the lost and found when I first realized, but my purse wasn’t there.”
“What about your suitcase?” Kai asks.
“What?”
“Where’s your suitcase?”
“Oh, I, um—it didn’t make the connection. I waited and waited at Baggage Claim, but it never came down the conveyor belt. So I left my name with the airport. I gave them your phone number. I hope that’s okay. They’ll call if they find anything.”
“Of course that’s okay, T.” I can’t tell if he believes me or not. “I’m sure your suitcase will turn up soon. And your purse too. We can go shopping to get you new clothes.”
“That would be great! Thanks. Anyway, that’s why I went to the lava tubes—I was hoping to find you there. Then I fell asleep, and when I woke up I was jet-lagged and dehydrated, and it made me super disoriented. But everything’s fine now!”
I’m overdoing it. My voice sounds too cheerful. Too forced. There’s no way Kai is going to swallow this load of crap. He’s going to see right through me.
For a long moment, he stares into my face. Then he beams, pulling me into a hug. “I can’t believe you surprised me like this! Best present ever!”
Maybe it’s easy to hear what we want to hear, to believe what we want to believe. For the past three years, Kai has been trying to get me on a plane to Hawaii. Now that I’m here, he must desperately want to accept my explanation without question.
I do too. I almost believe my hastily cobbled-together story. I want to believe it so badly.
“So how long are you here?” Kai asks.
“Until Sunday.” I don’t know where the answer comes from. But these feel like the truest words I’ve spoken all day.
“Great!” Kai says. “We have a whole week!”
On the drive down the two-lane road with Kai and Theo, away from the clinic, the mood in the Jeep is buoyant. I hate lying to Kai, but it was the right thing to do. Soon, I’ll talk to my parents and fig
ure out what happened. For now, I want to enjoy being here in Hawaii with my best friend. Windows down, warm breeze blowing. Palm trees nodding their heads along the roadside. Off in the distance, sparkling turquoise water blurs into blue horizon.
We drop Theo off at his friend’s and continue down the road to Kai’s house. He tells me his parents will still be at work—his mom’s working in the tourism office, and his dad’s leading a dolphin snorkel group—and his kid brother Paulo is at soccer practice. I am grateful. This day has been such a whirlwind that having some quiet time with Kai sounds perfect.
His neighborhood is peaceful. Unassuming houses, grassy lawns studded with palm trees and hibiscus bushes. He pulls into the driveway of a house painted sunflower yellow with teal trim.
“Here we are,” Kai says, cutting the engine.
“Wow. I like it!”
“My mom has a thing for bright colors. Wait till you see the inside. My room is the only one with white walls—my form of rebellion, I guess.”
“I can’t wait to see your room,” I say. “In person, I mean.” I’ve glimpsed his bedroom when we video-chat, but my mental image is composed of puzzle pieces that don’t quite fit together.
I follow Kai up the concrete path, lined with blue stones and white seashells, to the glass-paned front door. A furry head lifts up from the floor and gazes at us through the glass.
“Oh my gosh! Olina!” In all the craziness, I’d forgotten about Kai’s family dog.
“That’s her,” Kai says, unlocking the door.
Olina gets up, tail wagging. She is a Labrador mixed with something else—Kai’s family got her at the animal shelter a couple of years ago. Apparently, she loves the water and swims in the ocean when Kai goes surfing. When I talk to her on FaceTime, she always barks at the sound of my voice.
“Hey, Olina. Hey, sweetheart.” I scratch her head. She barks her friendly bark and slobbers all over my hand.
“She likes you,” Kai says. “Usually she’s kinda scared of new people.”
“But I’m not a new person. Leen and I go way back, don’t we girl?”
“Leen?”
“It’s my nickname for her. Obviously.” I bend down to Olina’s face and roll my eyes. “Some people just don’t understand, do they girl?” Olina wags her tail.
Kai laughs and leads me down the hall, through the kitchen and family room. Olina follows us, her nails clicking on the wooden floors. Kai wasn’t joking about the walls. They’re painted bright colors: sunset orange, jade green, deep purple. The house reminds me of what my house was like before my parents got divorced. Just the right amount of cozy messiness. Everyone’s belongings swirled together. The kind of house that makes you feel comfortable kicking off your shoes and staying awhile. After the divorce, my parents sold our house, and my mom got really into interior decorating. Dad moved into an apartment, and Mom and I moved into a condo. Mom threw herself into fabric samples and color coordination and organization bins, and now it’s like we live inside a magazine. It’s beautiful, but it doesn’t really scream “home” to me. We eat with linen napkins, and Mom dusts the carefully arranged bookshelves every week, and if I make myself scrambled eggs for breakfast, I wash the pan right away instead of leaving it in the sink. My room is the only place in the house that collects any clutter.
“This one’s mine,” Kai says, opening a door partway down the hall. “Sorry, it’s a bit messy.” He flicks on the light switch.
After the bright energy of the rest of the house, his room is serene and quiet. White walls, simple wooden furniture. Dresser, desk, bookshelf, nightstand. Comfy-looking bed covered with a blue quilt. Sunlight streams through a big window. On his walls hang a couple of surfing posters and a black-and-white Ansel Adams print of the moon rising over a dark silhouette of mountains.
“I love it,” I tell him. “This space is so … you. It’s perfect.”
Kai scurries around picking up dirty clothes off the floor. “Well, thanks. It’s not anything special, but at least it’s my own space.”
I think of my bedroom at home: the bulletin board covered with overlapping photos and sketches and ticket stubs, the stuffed animal dolphin I got on my family’s first trip to Hawaii that lives deep under my covers, the stacked piles of paper on my desk with a precise organization system that only I understand. “I know exactly what you mean,” I say.
Kai tosses his dirty clothes into a laundry basket. “You must be exhausted. Are you hungry?”
“No, not really. But yeah, I am a little tired.”
“Why don’t you take a nap?”
I sit down on the edge of the bed. Turning back the covers and snuggling up inside sounds heavenly. “Are you sure?”
“Of course! You need to rest up, Rossi. I’m taking you out to dinner later.”
“Dinner? Really?”
He winks. “We need to celebrate our reunion!” He turns off the lamp so the only light in the room is the late-afternoon sunlight filtering through the gauzy curtain. “If you need anything, I’ll be right down the hall in the family room.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t drool too much on my pillow. C’mon, Olina!” She follows him into the hall. He grins and pulls the door shut behind him.
hey t,
me again. i didn’t hear back from you, so i’m assuming you’re still mad at me. but i’m gonna write to you anyway. i took a nap and had the most vivid dream about you, and when i woke up, it felt like our fight had never happened because in my dream we were good again. it was like the old days, but better, because we were the ages we are now. you and me, together on the island, savoring the summer. no worries, no curfews, no responsibilities. paradise. just like i always said it would be if you ever came back to visit.
sorry. didn’t mean to bring that up, and honestly i don’t want to start that whole argument again. what i meant to say was, the dream was really wonderful, and you looked absolutely radiant, and i hope you are as happy as you were in my subconscious. it’s crazy that even hanging out with your dream self makes me happy. i woke up smiling, and i can’t remember the last time that happened.
write back? please?
—kai
Slamming into something hard. A sharp intake of breath. A scream lodged in a throat.
I wake up clawing at the covers, my heart beating wildly. The room is dim. It takes me a few moments to place where I am: Hawaii. Kai’s bedroom. The clock on the nightstand reads 5:47.
I clamber out of bed, wishing desperately for a toothbrush, a shower, a change of clothes.
Kai had pointed out the bathroom, Jack and Jill–style between his room and Theo’s. Maybe I can rummage around in the drawers and find a new toothbrush. I cautiously open the door.
There, in the middle of the tiled bathroom floor, is a suitcase.
A large floral-print, red-zippered suitcase.
My suitcase.
I got it three years ago when there was a sale online and Mom told me to pick something out because I needed my own suitcase. The subtext being: to schlep between this place and Dad’s apartment, but neither of us had mentioned that part. I picked this suitcase specifically because it was such a unique pattern. No one else will have this suitcase, I thought. And, in all the times I’ve used it, no one else has.
Gingerly, I approach the suitcase. I’m half-expecting it to disappear or to fly open on its own like something out of Harry Potter. But when I reach out and touch it, nothing happens. I slowly unzip the red zipper.
My stuffed animal dolphin stares back at me with glassy eyes.
There’s also my favorite pair of jeans, my comfy fleece pajamas, and a tank top I got last summer that Andrea always said brings out the flecks of green in my eyes. My two best bathing suits. My toiletry bag. Mom’s gray sweater that I always borrow. I bring it to my face and breathe in; it smells like her perfume. Tears fill my eyes.
I can’t remember ever missing my mom this much. Where are you, Mama? D
espite our ups and downs, my mom always has my back—and she always has answers. If she were here, or if I could talk to her, she would explain what’s going on. She would be able to fill in the blanks I’ve forgotten.
Suddenly, I remember my scar—my absence of a scar. I bend down and study my knee. It is smooth and flawless. The scar is gone. Maybe it’s been slowly fading away, and I’ve been too busy to notice? I turn my wrist and study my arm, searching for the scar I got from the lava rock the night Kai and I tried to run away as kids. It’s a bigger scar, a narrow raised white line—it wouldn’t have faded.
But it’s gone. My arm is smooth, the skin unblemished.
My stomach flips. Something is going on. Is this magic? Am I dreaming?
I dig farther down into the suitcase. Along with my favorite clothes, there are also some items I don’t recognize. Brand new, the tags still on. I didn’t buy these. Or maybe I did, and I don’t remember. A pink surf shirt with a tag that reads “built-in SPF.” Shorts made out of athletic, sweat-wicking material. Yellow sandals. And—I pull it out with a little gasp—a gorgeous red sundress, studded with tiny white and yellow flowers.
I check the suitcase pockets, nearly shrieking with joy when my fingers touch smooth pleather, and I pull out my little black purse. Inside are my wallet, keys, and phone. Yes! I try calling my mom again, and then my dad. When neither answers, I text them, hoping beyond hope that they will write back, Glad you’re okay, sweetheart! Have fun! Hoping beyond hope that my lie is actually truth, that I really did hop on a plane to Hawaii to surprise Kai, that soon everything will make sense again.
I search my email for a plane ticket purchase, but nothing comes up. Stalking myself on social media doesn’t help jog my memory. My last post is from graduation: a photo of me and my mom, and a separate photo of me and my dad. Kai had commented on the post: woot woot, congrats t! can’t wait to celebrate with you soon!
The Best Week That Never Happened Page 5