Siri, Who Am I?
Page 16
“Max, you can’t come to the airport to pick up JP with me. That’s just not going to work.” I don’t mention that his house-sitting services won’t be needed anymore either. That should be obvious.
“Mia, you might not realize it, but you could be in danger.”
“Max, I told you. I remember who pushed me into the ice sculpture. It was a woman. I’m sure of it.”
He sighs and shakes his head. “Recovered memories aren’t always accurate. And right now, you’re just believing it because it’s convenient. If you believe it, you get to have a fairy-tale, happily-ever-after ending with a billionaire Prince Charming. But maybe he’s not the right one for you.”
I pause to let him fill a suggestion for who might be the right one, but he’s quiet.
I kiss Max on the cheek. “Can I borrow a few bucks? My new credit card hasn’t come in the mail yet.” I don’t want to lie, but what else can I do? I have to fill up the Ferrari after two straight days of driving it all over LA. A little voice in my head says, Tell the truth but I tell it to shut the F up.
“Umm, aren’t you supposed to be paying me?” Max points out.
“As soon as I get access to my money. I promise.” Assuming I don’t go to jail. “Max, I know this whole situation is weird, but I really appreciate you standing by me. Are you going to stick around for a little while longer?” I put on a dramatically oversize sun hat from the front closet while I wait for him to respond.
“You’re stuck with me. Someone needs to have your back. Besides, I have to be here when JP gets back. Remember, you’re not the only person I’m working for here.”
I give him another peck on the cheek. “You’re the best intern ever, Max. I’ll see you when I get back.”
“No, I’m vice president,” he says lamely.43
* * *
On the way to the airport, I get gas. Because I only have cash like it’s 1999, I walk into the station.
God, I want a fucking slushie.
Just as I think that, I know the impulse is true and honest. I love slushies! I grab one. If JP loves me, maybe he loves slushies too.
I count out a few dollars and change for the slushie, slap it down on the counter, and head back to the car.
The Ferrari looks like I’ve been living out of it. Fast food bags with muddy footprints on them are shoved into the corners of the footwells, and the previously pristine cup holders are starting to fill with the debris of life: straw wrappers, change, and crumbs. It even smells like Friday’s tacos. When I stepped into it a couple of days ago, it looked like I just drove it off the lot. Is JP a neat freak or does he have an army of people sweeping up taco lettuce and coffee cups behind him?
Traffic isn’t bad for LA, surprisingly. I drive past billboards for all the important shit, like new Netflix specials. A giant billboard of JulesBrand underwear dominates the view just past the Carson exit. Jules stares over the 405 toward Compton like he has a secret.
If my investment in him doesn’t pan out fast, I’m going to jail. That’s my secret. Well, one of them.
Does JP know this? How much of my life have I shared with this man?
I follow the directions to Terminal 7 and pull up behind a line of Ubers, which reminds me that I probably should have made JP take an Uber. Why did I volunteer to drive to the airport? Because that’s what you do for the man of your dreams, I remind myself.
I tap out a quick text. I’m here. Baggage claim 7.
I haven’t felt this nervous since two days ago when I turned the key to the door of the pink house on Ocean Boulevard. I’m about to meet the person I chose: a guy with a too-clean car, a perfect house, and a square jaw. I feel like I’m floating above the world, watching my life unfold. My hands are on the wheel, my foot is on the gas, and I can hear myself breathing too fast. The AC blows too cold on my face and I open the window.
Immediately, the sounds of car horns honking angrily in an enclosed space and the smell of exhaust assaults me. I can hear people yelling at each other to get out of the way. A cop motions for me to move along and I manage to push the gas pedal down and drive a couple of car lengths ahead.
I can’t get Max’s voice out of my head. Am I really picking up a man who might’ve smashed my skull in less than a week ago? Both Max and the cop I talked to thought JP was the prime suspect. But my memories of that night tell me he isn’t the one. Sure he showed up in that memory, but it seems like some angry chick did it. But WTF do I know? Do I only pay attention to things that validate my theories and opinions? That’s basically what Max accused me of doing. That’s probably how people live fairy-tale lives, though—they only see the good things. Fairy tales only exist if you keep your rose-colored glasses on, like in that movie with Amy Adams, which, come to think of it, was all about confirmation bias.
Shut up, Mia. My mind is racing in every direction now.
I don’t think I’m hyperventilating but I don’t feel good. I lay my forehead against the steering wheel and shut my eyes. Someone behind me honks but I don’t even lift my head. If I don’t move, I can’t get into more trouble. Just stay put, Mia. Don’t move.
I hear a knock on the passenger-side window. If it’s that goddamn cop, I’m going to tell him to move the car for me. I need help. But when I look up, I see JP.
JP.
When he sees my face, his smile changes to genuine concern. “Mia, are you okay? What’s the matter?” His voice sounds far away, and I can see his mouth moving, but I can’t understand anything. What am I even doing?
I’ve been wearing the same dress for days and I’m wearing a hat to cover the staples in my head. JP wants to kill me or marry me, and I just made out with Max in a science lab.
JP hurries around the car to my door and opens it, grabbing my hand and pulling me out. I stand as tears well up in my eyes. My legs feel like jelly. I open my mouth to talk but I’m just breathing. I can’t say anything and I can tell that I’m making a hideous face. I’m in the throes of a light panic attack.
“Oh my God, what happened to you?”
He puts his arm around me to prop me up and basically drags me to the passenger side. I’m done. I know it. I don’t know what I’ve been doing, but I can’t do it anymore. He opens the door and helps me into the low-slung seat. I lean my head back and shut my eyes tight. This is the weirdest introduction to the man who is going to propose to me, assuming I understood his text correctly.
While I shut my eyes, too freaked out to confront the first person from my real life, JP quickly loads his luggage in the trunk and runs to the driver’s side.
“Mia, are you okay?”
I nod. There aren’t many places to pull over and rest on the way out of the airport, but he takes the first exit and turns into a parking lot.
“Mia, you’re not okay. What happened?”
“I’m sorry,” I say, “I started feeling so…sick all of a sudden.”
He takes a long breath and rubs my back. “Have you eaten anything?”
I can’t remember if I’ve eaten anything. He looks around, sees the slushie, and picks it up. He reads the 7-Eleven logo like it’s written in a foreign language. “Did you buy this?” he asks.
I start breathing harder. The slushie was the only thing I knew to be true so far today, but JP seems shocked to see it in the cup holder.
He repeats, “Did you buy this?’
I nod.
He peels off the plastic top and inspects the contents. The slushie is unnaturally blue and starting to melt. He takes a sip and makes a smacking noise like he’s tasting a slushie for the first time in his life.
With a nod, he says, “You need the sugar. Take this.”
I’m crushed that he doesn’t know what a slushie is. He’s never met me the real me. I know it as deeply as I know that I love slushies. I take the drink, though, because he’s right. The slushie will help.
“It’s okay, sweetie. Let’s just get you home.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
After ten or so minutes of normalcy, JP says, “You’re not pregnant, are you?”
A laugh burbles out of me, loose and messy. The idea is absurd.
“No,” I answer with the confidence of someone who was recently hospitalized.
“Are you sure?”
“I really doubt it.”
He nods. “Low blood sugar can hit you hard. Maybe you should have your thyroid checked.”
I nod. “Good tip.” I look at his face, and my panic has subsided enough that I can see how blue his eyes are. He looks like he’s been filtered and photoshopped into the driver’s seat of a Ferrari, but he’s sitting next to me. He’s worried about my thyroid. What planet am I living on?
I blink and JP’s eyes are just as improbably blue as they were before. His hair is just as jet-black.
“I think you were right about my blood sugar. I think I skipped breakfast.”
“All coffee and no calories, if I know you.” He leans over the center console. Before he kisses me, he pauses to let our breath mingle and let the heat build and sizzle for the briefest of moments. When he closes the gap, pressing his lips to mine, I let my eyelids close and drift off to wherever this kiss is going to take me. Suddenly all I want is for him to fuck me senseless. I want to forget everything. I want to forget that I’ve forgotten everything important, and I want it now.
I can feel him smile through the kiss and he says, “Down, girl” in the kind of voice that tells me he’s feeling it too.
When he pulls away, a semi rushes past and the wind rocks the car just slightly. “We have to get home first at least.”
He turns on the radio and I lean back against the black leather bucket chair.
JP didn’t bash my head in. I just know it. He’s caring and thoughtful and sexy as fuck. Pre-amnesia Mia was smart and chose him. Her choices should trump everything that I’ve done in the last few days.44
I don’t think Max is going to like him.
As we pull back onto the freeway, Jules stares down from his spot on the billboard overlooking the 405. See ya soon, buddy. Suddenly everything seems a little more possible.
“So how was Switzerland?” I ask, suddenly remembering that I’m not the only person in the world.
“Amazing. There’s so much history there. Everything just feels so much more…real.”
I almost laugh.
“Next time you should come with me, if you’re not too busy with work.”
I nod enthusiastically, picturing myself sliding into a chalet on skis in body-con ski pants and a fluffy jacket trimmed with fur. I know enough about myself to know that I don’t give a shit about bunnies. I’d happily sip a chocolate martini wearing at least two dead animals and then let JP fuck me with his big dick. I assume he has a big dick. I mean, everything else about him is perfect. I need to get fucked hard, no gentle lovemaking that I might be able to remember my name through. I want to feel nothing but a technicolor orgasm, over and over.
Drugs would be fine, too. I wonder if I do drugs?45
“So how did the trip to Sonoma with Mackenzie go? Did you check out that little cottage you had your eye on by the vineyard?”
I look at JP like he’s crazy. A house by a vineyard? Is that really what I was into? And who the hell is Mackenzie?
“Umm, it was a no-go. The…bones weren’t good.” JP nods like I just said something reasonable. Thank you to whatever HGTV show I watched in my former life.
JP revs the engine and shoots into the left lane to pass someone without signaling. I find this kind of sexy, even though I don’t have health insurance or money to pay my medical bills if I break my whole body in a car accident.
“It’s good to be home.” He looks over at me meaningfully. “So, Mr. Chow’s tonight?”
“I would.” I smile weakly at him. “But I have a work thing tonight. Can I take a rain check?”
Looking a little deflated, he lets out a small “Oh.”
I need to pick up Crystal and get her ready for her date with Jules—and at this point, I’m going to have to hustle.
“You rest up,” I say. “I bet you’re super jet-lagged.”
I am about to say, I’ll see you when I get home but I realize he might not expect that. I only have a couple of things at his house, which must mean I’m not living there full time.
“You want to come to my place tonight?” I ask instead. It’s risky but he’s my best chance of figuring out where I live.
“What?” He looks at me with complete disregard for traffic, like he’s in an old movie and the passing cars are on a green screen.
“Careful!” I yell, feeling every staple in my head.
“I’m so sorry, Mia, I just never expected you to invite me over.”
I stare at him, dumbfounded. He’s never been over to my place?
He grabs my thigh and squeezes. “I’m so glad that you’re finally ready to share your life with me, though.”
My heart sinks. JP doesn’t know me any better than I know myself…but whose fault is that?
43 Ugh. Come on, Max.
44 I think…
45 Should I be worried that I want to forget my life so badly when all I’ve been doing is trying to remember?
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
As we pull up to JP’s pink house on Ocean, the world gets fuzzy and I feel all floaty and disconnected. Another memory is coming. I can feel it.
We’re in the Ferrari. It’s drizzling outside and rain is splattering on the windshield. I’m wearing the same yellow dress and holding an invitation. It’s for the opening of the MySelfie exhibit.
JP is in the driver’s seat but he hasn’t shifted the car into gear. His expression is irate. “Who does that sort of thing?” He’s practically yelling.
“I had to, JP. Do you know what my life was like? Do you know how my boss treated me? I had to get out of there. “My voice is firm. “I did what I had to do.”
“I don’t care. There are rules in society. You broke the law, but more than that…you’re just messed up.” He looks me square in the eye. “You’re a fucking head case. And you used me.”
“I didn’t know you. I met you after I took all of the GoldRush material.”
“I don’t know, Mia. I’ll go to this opening with you and then I need to get out of here for a few days. I’m going to Switzerland. To clear my head.”
At that, I step out of the car and slam the passenger door shut. JP rolls down the window and tells me to calm down and that he’ll still drive me, but I’m already pulling Uber up on my phone. My destination: the Long Beach Museum of Art.
I snap back to reality.
“It’s good to be home,” JP says, completely calm. We’re in exactly the same position in the car as when we argued. He seems fine now, like he forgave me for whatever horrible, messed-up thing I did, but I study him carefully. If we just had a huge fight less than a week ago, and if he called me a head case, why is he potentially proposing to me? Something isn’t right here—and his calm demeanor is throwing me off. Is JP the kind of guy who can go from 0 to 100 and back again? I still don’t want to believe that he attacked me, but I can’t take him off the board yet.
“I hope you don’t mind that I’ve been staying here. My place is being repainted,” I lie again. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that be
fore. It completely explains almost everything.
“Sure, it’s no problem. I know you’ve been renovating your house for quite some time. I assume that’s why I haven’t been invited over until now,” he teases.
Ah. Apparently I’ve gone to this well a few times.
As we get out of the car, my sense of dread increases. I don’t want to hang out with JP and Max together. When my phone rings, I don’t even mind that it’s the cops. Officer Denise is preferable.
“Meet me at the bank,” she says. “I got a warrant to look at your bank statements.”
“Right now? I’m kind of busy.”
“Right now.” Officer Denise is taking this assault and robbery very seriously. I’m not so sure I want to find out anything else, though. My haters gonna hate mantra is starting to feel a little thin.
“JP, I’m so sorry but I have to run. I’m having a money problem—major fraud on my account—and the bank is calling me in to answer some questions for their investigation.”
“Okay, I’ll settle in and see you in a few.” He looks disappointed but I bet he’s dying for a shower and a nap.
“And then don’t forget I have that GoldRush thing, so I’ll just be stopping by for a moment to get ready. You won’t even see me—I’ll be in and out like that.” I snap my fingers.
He nods. “Handle your business and I’ll see you tonight.” He kisses me on both cheeks, European style, and I step back into the Ferrari. JP doesn’t even blink; he must be used to me borrowing his car. I wave as I pull out of the garage. I look totally carefree but my heart is racing.
* * *
At the bank, Kumar is waiting for me. “Good morning. Would you like some coffee?” he asks.
Coffee? It’s almost like I’m here for fun. “Yes, thank you,” I say.
“Would your fiancé like one as well? I assume he’s coming, too?”
I give him a funny look before I realize he’s talking about Max. “No, he won’t be coming.” I assume he’s having an awkward moment with JP and brooding about the kiss. In that way, this little visit to the bank is a blessing—if you count one disaster as a good distraction from another disaster.