Page 40 of A Pretty Fixation

“Is she hot?” Noah questions before stuffing hisface.

“Hey.” I give him a stern look.

“Just kidding, bro.”

Settling down, I tell them, “She goes by Jordynnow. I don’t think she’ll be comfortable meeting you guys yet. She doesn’t evenremember me.”

“What do you mean?” Dad asks, blue eyes filledwith confusion. “How does she not remember?”

“Maybe you annoyed her so much she wanted toforget you,” Noah jokes.

“Shut up,” I hit back. “Jordyn went throughsomething in therapy that blocked her memories.”

Mom hums, the green of her eyes darkening as shesquints in deep thought. “You mean she suppressed them through hypnosis?”

“I don’t know how, but Jordyn says she can’trecall her time in the foster home.”

“That’s kind of sad,” Noah sympathizes. “Sheliterally cannot remember you? Like at all?”

“It’s a total blank slate. Jordyn treats me as ifwe’ve just met.”

Confusion veils their faces, and they’re no longereating.

“Repressive memory therapy,” Mom explains. “It’smostly used on people with PTSD. While many individuals create the walls ontheir own as a form of defense mechanism, others do it with therapy.”

“Jordyn suffered a lot,” I say in a close whisper.“There were nights she couldn’t sleep. Maybe her adoptive parents thought itwould help her. But is there a way to remember some things, Mom?”

She sighs. “It’s not something I know well,considering that’s not my area of expertise. I do know therapists who areagainst that method, though.”

I peer down at the table and toy with my fork.

“You’re positive Jordyn is your friend from thefoster home, son?” Dad asks. “A lot burned in the fire, and accessing filesisn’t easy. But maybe I should keep trying.”

I shake my head. “It’s fine, Dad. I’m sure it’sher.”

“Her heart might remember,” Noah says, picking uphis fork again. “If she cared about you, she will.”

“I agree,” Mom adds in a hopeful tone. “Give it sometime.” She motions to my plate.

I relax the tension in my shoulders and continueeating.

At least Jordyn is warming up to me. I’ll keepworking on her until she lets me in completely.

Somehow I thought leaving a little earlier wouldhelp me avoid Caleb. Yet, there he is, sitting in his car with a sly smirk onhis face.

He gets out as I enter the parking area withScarlett.

“Morning.” His tone and demeanor are as cool asalways.

“Did you sleep here?” I mock.

“I’m a morning person. I woke up at dawn for mySunday run. Been waiting for an hour or so.”

Scarlett passes a curious look between us, asking,“Are you driving home with him?”

“No, he invited himself to my house.”

She snorts. “A guy eager to meet the parents.That’s a good sign.”

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