Page 5 of It's a Date (Again)

He looks to me, and his sharp jaw drops with surprise. Letting out a sigh of relief, he beams, revealing a set of perfectly white teeth.

“Peyton,” he says, his voice a mix of excitement and apprehension.

“She doesn’t know who she is,” Maya whispers. I’m only ten feet away, so I hear it clear as day.

“What? She knows who she is. Right, Peyton?” His gaze never falters as he crosses the room in a few large steps, placing the half-full coffees on the table beside my bed.

I shake my head.

“Do you know who I am?” he asks.

I shake my head again. Maybe if I shake it enough, I’ll rattle my memories loose. How can I not know who I am? Tears build up. They’re hot and heavy, ready to spill out at any second.

“Nurse! We have a problem,” Maya yells.

A tall woman dressed in green scrubs appears at the door. Dark circles cling to the bottoms of her eyes. She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand and exhales. “I’m not bringing you any more Jell-O, Maya.”

“This isn’t about that.” Maya tucks her chin in. “But I would like some more.” She points to me. “My friend is awake but you’ve replaced her brain with a potato because she doesn’t know who she is.”

“I had brain surgery?” I reach for my head and try to sit up, but my whole body is stiff and tender. It’s like trying to bend a wooden board in half.

“I’ll get the doctor.” The nurse bolts from the room.

The guy with the blue eyes takes a seat and reaches for my hand. “No, no. Ignore her. You didn’t have brain surgery,” he says.

“Why don’t I know who I am?” My bottom lip quivers, and those fat tears spill out.

He holds my hand, and I’m not sure he should be holding my hand because I don’t know who he is. But it’s warm and comforting, so I don’t pull away.

“I don’t know,” he says with a sympathetic look. At least I think it’s sympathetic.

“Who are you?” I ask.

“I’m your friend Robbie.”

Oh, he’s myfriend.

“And I’m your best friend, Maya. I can’t believe you could ever forget about me.” She folds her arms in front of her chest. “Brain injury or not, I’m kind of hurt.”

I can’t help but laugh. I’m not sure if she’s trying to be funny, but she is.

“At least you still have your sense of humor.” She cracks a faint smile. “And by that, I mean you find my jokes amusing.” Maya walks around the front of the bed and retakes her seat opposite Robbie.

“So, you’re my friends?” I ask.

“Yes,” Robbie says, trying to smile, but the corners of his lips quiver instead, like he feels sorry for me.

“No,” Maya says. “I’m your best friend. Robbie is your friend. I am Robbie’s best friend too. But he is my friend. Get it?”

“No,” I say. My eyes swing like a pendulum between them.

“Stop, you’re confusing her even more.” Robbie chides Maya. “And for the record, Peyton is my best friend. You’re my friend.”

She squints. “Since when?”

“Since you had me heckle you at your comedy set, and I ended up on that bar sports website.”

She lets out a huff. “That was almost a year ago, and how was I supposed to know someone was recording it and that it’d go insanely viral? No phones are allowed in the comedy club.” Maya leans back in her chair and crosses one leg over the other. “It was pretty great they called me ‘shockingly funny,’ though, right? Even though it was a dig, it skyrocketed my career.” She smirks.

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