Page 27 of Nineteen Letters
A sad expression crosses her face. “Really? And that made you feel …”
“Uncomfortable.”
“Poor guy. Oh, don’t get me wrong,” she says, holding her hands up in front of her, “I feel for you as well … for both of you. I can understand how it would make you feel uncomfortable, but you’ve got to remember that those feelings are still well and truly alive for him. You were his life.”
“I know.” My gaze moves down to my lap. “Everything’s such a mess. Hopefully one day we’ll both find some normality again.”
“You may not want to hear this, but you loved him just as deeply once. I envied what you guys had. I’m pretty sure everyone who knows you did. Together you were … spectacular.” She ends her sentence with a sigh, which only enhances her words.
We fall quiet. I have no reply, and she probably doesn’t know what else to say.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” I ask, trying to divert the conversation away from me. She’s supposed to be my best friend, so it feels weird that I don’t know that already.
“Nope. I don’t have time for relationships.” My eyes scan her dark hair, her face; her almond-shaped hazel eyes, her delicate facial features, her flawless skin. I really study it. I’ve done the same thing with Braxton, and my parents. I’m always on the lookout for a sign, a flicker … anything. Each time I experienced exactly what I’m feeling now: absolutely nothing. It’s like looking at a stranger, someone I might not even recognise if I passed them on the street. Will they ever feel familiar to me again?
“That’s silly,” I say with amusement in my voice. “You spend your days sitting around here. It’s not like you are time poor.”
“When I’m in New York working, I am. My job is demanding and doesn’t allow time for a personal life.”
“That’s sad. Braxton mentioned you worked overseas. What is it you do again?”
I see sadness and disappointment flash through her eyes before her gaze moves down to the comforter on my bed. I study her hands as she traces a figure-eight pattern with her finger. It’s the same look I get from everyone when I simply can’t remember.
“I’m a fashion designer. We used to joke that when we were finished uni, you would make the interior of people’s homes beautiful, and I was going to do the same for the occupants …” Her words drift off when she realises the joke is now lost on me.
“Tell me about us—about our friendship. How did we meet?”
Her gloomy expression is quickly replaced with a smile. If I can’t remember these people, maybe it’s time I let them remind me.
“We met through the university. We’d both applied for off-campus accommodation, and we were assigned as roommates. We clicked from day one …”
Just because I’ve been stand-offish with Braxton the past few days doesn’t mean I haven’t been eager to ask him more questions, or enthusiastic to receive another letter. I hope there’s one on its way. They’ve sparked a curiosity in me. A thirst for knowledge. I wasn’t sure I would like to be reminded of my past, but the more I find out, the more I need to know. Who is the real me? What was I like? All I know is the shell I’ve become.
Things have been off with Braxton. He’s still his sweet, gentlemanly self, but he has pulled back from me. It’s funny because sometimes in the beginning that I wished he would stop trying to communicate with me, but now that he’s not, I don’t like it. I miss his meaningless chatter.
“Your splint?”
I bet the smile I see on Braxton’s face is mirrored in my own. He stands from where he was seated in the reception area andcloses the distance between us. My slight limp is still present, but the physio said in time it should go.
“I’m so glad to be rid of it,” I say as I look down at my feet. I’ve been carrying my spare sandal in my handbag all week, hoping each time I come here it would be the day I was rid of that damn thing for good.
My right leg appears to be slightly thinner than my left one, or maybe it just looks that way because it’s lighter in colour. I’m glad the dress I’m wearing is long enough to cover the hideous scars. My body is riddled with them. My arm, my hip … the side of my face. They’re a constant reminder of the accident. An accident I don’t even remember having.
I can deal with those, though. It’s the scars on the inside that I’m not sure about.
“He said my leg has healed well, so I don’t need it anymore. I’ll still need ongoing physio, but it feels good to be finally free of it.”
“That’s great news.” His arms reach towards me before pausing mid-air. When he takes a step back and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, I know he was about to hug me but thought better of it.
“I was wondering,” I say as we walk towards his car, “does your offer to show me the beach still stand? I’d love to go when you have time.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
The happiness I see on his face makes my heart smile. I don’t want things to be so weird between us. I’d like to work at being friends, but that’s all I can offer him at this stage.
“Do you feel up to going now?”
