Page 60 of My Almost Ex

Aweek after I moved back into the cabin, I wake up in my spare room and instead of going downstairs, I sit on the edge of the bed for a moment and stare out the front window. The noises downstairs must be from Lucy making breakfast. She’s been trying different foods this week. Since she loved Frank’s soufflé at the inn, she’s “rechecking her palette,” as she likes to say. I chuckle. The old Lucy never tried anything she didn’t already know she liked.

The same question that’s been plaguing me for the past week resurfaces—how can she be the old Lucy but be so different at the same time?

Along with testing every food she can get her hands on, she’s been reading her journals and looking at pictures, but if any more memories have come back, she hasn’t told me. Still, last night I pulled in the driveway and stood outside the house, looking at the lights glowing from within. Knowing she was in there tugged at my heart like it was warning me, “you’re invested now.” Sadly, my heart is right.

I knew when I agreed to help her, the line separating us would get hazy and blurred. But instead of yearning for the old Lucy to return, I’m enjoying getting to know the new one.

I shrug on a shirt and head downstairs to eat breakfast. I’ve made an appointment with her old principal to bring her in early this afternoon to visit her old classroom and kids. Principal Richards said all the kids have cards and are eager to see her, so I think that will make her happy.

“Oh damn,” Lucy says as I enter the kitchen, putting her finger in her mouth.

“Pancake day?”

She nods with her finger still in her mouth. I pull at her wrist and lead her over to the sink, where I turn on the cold water.

“I want to see which fruit I like on my pancakes,” she says.

I glance at the counter to see strawberries, blueberries, bananas, and raspberries.

“Don’t tell me what I used to like,” she rushes out, and I chuckle.

“Doesn’t look bad.” I turn off the faucet. “Watch it for a blister though.”

“It was just the butter on the pan.”

“Want me to?” I say, reaching for the spatula.

“No way. You sit and I’ll feed you.” She points at the breakfast stool.

She’s wearing a pair of pajama pants and a T-shirt that reads, “I had amnesia once, possibly twice. Maybe three times. (I don’t exactly remember having it)!”

Her vision follows mine down to her shirt. “Oh, Zane got it for me. He thinks it’s funny.”

I grab a cup of coffee and sit on a breakfast stool. watching her. “And did Susan think it was funny?”

She chuckles. “What do you think?”

“My guess is no.”

“Give the man his prize.” She points the spatula at me as though it’s a magic wand and she’s the fairy godmother.

“Have you talked with her?”

She shrugs. “She texted me and I texted back that I’m fine.”

“Did you tell her you were here?”

She flips the pancakes and doesn’t say anything for a moment. “No. I’m not sure she’d understand.” She stacks the finished pancakes on a plate and turns off the stove.

“Did you remember how to do all that? Like how to use a stove and drive a car and things like that?”

She hands me a plate. “Yeah. The technical term is retrograde amnesia. So I remember things before the accident, but my doctor said usually in cases like mine, my memories closer to the accident are less likely to come back. That’s why I remembered my parents and you, although there’s still so much missing.” She frowns with disappointment.

“Have you driven a car yet?”

She laughs and serves me four pancakes before putting two on her plate. “I was with Susan, remember?”

I chuckle. “Well, maybe we can change that.”

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