I stared into my coffee, watching the steam curl up like the fragments of memory that had been teasing me lately. “Maybe? It's... weird. Like trying to remember a dream, but the dream belongs to someone else.”
“But you are remembering?” The hope in his voice made my chest tight.
“Flashes. Nothing solid.” I traced the rim of my mug, searching for words.
Liam leaned forward, abandoning all pretense of casual conversation. “Like what?”
“Like knowing you take your coffee with exactly two sugars, no cream. Or that the third step on the back porch creaks unless you step on the left side. Little things that feel familiar without actually being memories.”
“That's progress though, right?” His smile was genuine, warm. “Better than last week when you tried to feed Martha strawberries and nearly lost a finger.”
“In my defense, how was I supposed to know she had a vendetta against red fruits?”
“Because I told you. Three times.” But his teasing held no heat. “You're starting to trust your instincts again. That's huge, Jimmy.”
I watched Gary and Ethan through the window, their figures now distant dots on the horizon. “Yeah, but whose instincts am I trusting? Past Jimmy's or Current Jimmy's?”
“Maybe they're not as different as you think.” Liam's voice turned serious. “The way you still automatically save the chocolate muffins for Nina because they're her favorite. How you knew exactly which horse blanket Melody prefers without anyone telling you. Those aren't memories – they're just... you.”
The observation hit something deep. “It's scary sometimes,” I admitted quietly. “Finding pieces of myself I didn't know were missing until they click back into place.”
“Scary good or scary bad?”
“Both? Neither?” I shrugged. “It's like... imagine walking through a familiar room in the dark. You know where everything should be, but you still have to feel your way around. Sometimes you bump into things you forgot were there, and sometimes the furniture's been rearranged but your body remembers the old layout.”
“That's... actually a pretty good metaphor.” Liam grinned. “Look at you, being all poetic. Though Past Jimmy would have probably made it about music somehow.”
“Current Jimmy needs more coffee before attempting musical metaphors.”
His laugh was warm, familiar in a way that transcended memory. This – this easy friendship, this understanding – felt more real than any recovered memory could be.
“You know,” Liam said after a moment, “you might not remember how we met or why we're friends, but you still trust me enough to tell me all this. That's not memory – that's just us.”
“Yeah, well, you make good apology muffins. I'm easily bribed with baked goods.”
“Some things really don't change.” He stood, heading for the oven. “Though if you tell anyone I stress-bake, I'll deny everything.”
“Your secret's safe with me.” I paused. “I think. Unless I forget again, in which case all bets are off.”
His answering laugh carried years of friendship I couldn't quite remember but somehow felt in my bones. Maybe that was the real gift – not recovering what was lost, but discovering what had been there all along.
“I never told you how we actually met.”
“Didn't we meet here?” I gestured vaguely at the ranch. “Something about music management?”
His grin turned mischievous. “Not even close. Picture this: New York City, some dive bar in the East Village. I'm three whiskeys deep, trying to convince the bartender I should definitely perform an impromptu concert on their very sticky bar top.”
“Oh no.” I could already see where this was heading.
“Oh yes. And in walks this guy in a wrinkled suit, looking like he'd just escaped a corporate prison. Takes one look at me about to embarrass myself spectacularly, and you know what he does?”
“Calls security?”
“Walks right up and says, 'Your pitch is sharp, but your business sense is definitely flat. Want an agent?'” Liam's impression of what was apparently Past Me was terrible. “Just like that. No fear, no hesitation. Just straight-up approached a drunk stranger and offered to manage his career.”
“Did it work?”
“Are you kidding? I thought you were crazy.” He laughed, distributing muffins onto a plate. “But then you started talking about music industry statistics and venue networking strategies,all while helping me down from the bar without falling on my face. By the time you got me into a cab, you'd somehow convinced me to sign a preliminary contract.”