Page 12 of Lotus

“I know you probably don’t remember me,” she says, folding her hands together in her lap, fingers intertwining. Her eyes are a captivating shade of blue as they implore me. They are twinkling, even. “But I remember you.”

I’m inclined to look away, inhaling an uneven breath as I try so hard not to withdraw altogether.

“You would pull on my pigtails, telling me that I looked like Angelica fromRugrats. We would make mudpies in my driveway after a rainstorm. Our families would sit out back around the firepit roasting marshmallows, while you, me, Gabe, and Clem tried to outdo each other with the scariest ghost story. We would play ‘telephone’ from window to window, we’d set up lemonade stands at the edge of the road and use the money for the ice cream man, and we’d catch fireflies in glass jars.” Sydney stops to collect herself, her eyes reflecting wet tears. “I remember everything about you, Oliver. You were real. Your life before what happened to you was real.”

Sydney touches her hand to mine, and I jerk away on instinct.

I’m not used to human touch. Bradford never touched me. The doctors at the hospital had to use sedatives on me because I was inundated by the hands and fingers and faces so close to mine, that I panicked. I tried to fight and flee.

I am no expert on human emotion, but the look in Sydney’s eyes at my reaction to her attempt at comfort tells me I have offended her. My insides twist with guilt.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers softly, inching back and wrapping her arms around herself like a one-person hug. Sydney hesitates before rising to her feet. “It’s too soon. I’m sorry…”

When she moves to make a quick escape, words tumble out of my mouth, surprising us both. “I remember a little girl,” I say, my voice ragged and worn. I don’t even recognize it. I watch as Sydney pauses her steps, turning to face me, her eyes a vibrant sea of awe and wonder. “That was you?”

She nods, a gesture that is slow and timid as she tucks a gilded strand of hair behind one ear. I’m unable to determine if her expression is pained or joyful. Her voice shakes when a query floats over to me from across the room. “You remember me?”

“I thought I created you.”

Sydney’s unease seems to wash away at my words and her body relaxes, a smile blooming to life. “I’ve always been here.”

My teeth rattle and my chest hums as I remain rigid on the bed, everything inside me wanting to tear my gaze away from the look in her eyes. I see more life and vitality in those eyes than I’ve felt inside my soul in the last twenty-two years combined. I’m envious of such a sentiment. I want to reach out and touch it… steal a part of it for myself.

But I don’t move. I finally dip my chin to my chest and listen as her footsteps walk out of the bedroom.

Sydney is gone, but she leaves a little spark behind.

I suppose she always has.

F O U R

“YOU DIDN’T TELL ME HOW HOT HE WAS.The news broadcasts haven’t done him enough justice.”

I scoff as I search the living room for my heels, poking my head up from behind the couch to glare at my nosy sister. Clementine has her face glued to the window, watching as Oliver sits on his front porch staring at the bird feeder.

He’s just sitting there, motionless.

It’s been three hours.

“He’s my friend. I think. And he’s traumatized,” I huff back, craning my body to reach the rebel shoe that Alexis must have hidden. “Keep it in your pants, Clem.”

“Well, your hot, traumatized friend is in better shape than my physical trainer,” Clem breezes, finally stepping back from the window and pulling the curtains closed. “Captivity is a good look for him. After my divorce is finalized, I’ll probably be over here alotmore.”

I feel my jaw tense at my sister’s flippant assessment. My feet find their way into the uncomfortable heels, one by one, while I adjust my tank top. “Don’t be gross.”

“Not gross. Just lonely and totally over my vibrator, and please, can you help me land a hottie tonight? I’m out of practice.”

I’m on the clock tonight at The Black Box, a trendy bar and nightclub across town. Clementine is tagging along because she “needs to put herself out there again” after a long divorce battle from her ex, Nate. Poppy, my niece, is with her father this weekend, so it’s just like old times—me and Clem, heading out to the bar in our too-tight clothes, too-teased hair, and too-high expectations.

Only, I’ll be slinging the shots tonight, and my sister will inevitably be barfing them up come sunrise.

I adjust my glasses, applying a dab of gloss to my coral lipstick. “Brant is working with me tonight. Pretty sure he’s single.” I frown in contemplation and zip my purse. “Pretty sure he’s gay, though.”

“What about your manager, that Italian stallion? Marco?”

“Definitely gay.”

She groans. “Dammit. Do you have any co-workers that would go for a thirty-something single mom with trust issues, an only slightly obscene amount of credit card debt, and a frog obsession?”

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