Page 38 of Mangled Memory
The dog woofs as if she were waiting on the offer but doesn’t bother to get down.
I look at my brother who smiles at me and whistles to his pup. That’s all it takes. Eleanor immediately runs to sit between his spread legs, as if she were a military dog on orders. The only difference is her tail sweeps the ground furiously as she holds her seat.
Christian rounds the hood of the car, but I pull slightly ahead, not walking beside him. I hug my brother but notice his brow furrows. I enter the house and hear the two men greeting one another as they follow behind.
Cian’s house is unassuming from the street. The longer driveway hints at the cost, but I’m not prepared for what I experience inside. The whole back of the house is a wall of windows. It backs up to the foothills with a low stone wall that boundaries the property. Just beyond it are a row of evergreen fir trees that would give lumberjack vibes if the house weren’t so modern in comparison. The stonework before them creates the perfect terrace. It has groupings of furniture just made for cozy evenings by the fire. Where ours—ifoursis even the right word—is European and formal, his is cozy and comfortable.
The lighting from the story-and-a-half peaked windows is perfect. I bet snow days are magical.
The door clicks closed behind me as Cian says, “Okay.” Eleanor is immediately next to me, bumping her nose under the hand hanging at my side.
“Hi, girl. I promised you we’d play, but give me a minute, okay?” I stare around the light-colored room. Creams and grays offset with rich deep blue and black. Pale floors and blonde wood kitchen. It’s so light and airy where mine feels rustic and heavy.
“Ci.” It comes out as a breath as I take in his house. “I love this. It’s so you.”
“Thanks.” The answer comes out half as a question.
I turn back to witness my brother and Christian exchange a look.
“What?” The question explodes out of me, my earliermelancholy replaced with anger. “What?”—I repeat, pointing between the two of them—“Was that look for?”
Cian looks stricken and throws his hands on his head. It’s the international sign for defeat… Every sports fan has seen it or done it.
“I— I forgot, okay? I forgot. The memory stuff is easy to forget at times. You’re so… you. And then I forget that you’ve never been here or met Eleanor. Even though you have.” His speech is getting faster and faster, like he wants to get it all out before I cut him off. His hands leave his head to flop at his side. “I haven’t forgotten, Ayla, but I forgot. I’m not proud of it. It just hit me again is all.”
“Oh.” All that and I have exactly one word for him.Oh.
I turn my gaze to Christian. He hikes a brow, saying nothing, as if he wasn’t one half of their silent communication. I’m sure my eyes slice to slits before I decide not to poke the bear and, instead, turn to Eleanor. I slide a hand from her nose to her spine. “Where are your toys? Boys are stupid, and we need to stick together.”
She doesn’t answer me, but I’ve made my point with the men. I walk fully into the living room almost to the wall of windows and plop into a deep wide chair and swivel it to the view.
It takes an extra second or two before a chocolate fur missile launches for me. It is graceful on her part, but not mine, and I squeal as she soars. Kisses to my chin and a few circles over my lap and hip, and Eleanor settles at my side, her sweet face on my lap, in perfect position for receiving pets.
“You’re a good girl, aren’t you?” I stroke her fur and watch the shadows dance as the Firs sway in the fall breeze. It’s downright hypnotizing.
Soon, the light snores from my lap tell me the dog is asleep. I’ve allowed the sound to lull my frustration, letting it seep out of my body. I’m angry. I’m sad. I’m frustrated as hell. And maybe worst of all, I’m confused.
Emotions I can handle.
The unknown, the unknowable—that’s a wholly different matter.
Are people always talking behind my back? Am I always the butt of some unknown joke? Worse, am I in danger and don’t know it? It’s too much. Being scared isn’t my thing. It’s never been my thing. I’ve watched horror movies since I was a teenager and never struggled. I read psychological thrillers and sleep just fine. But the unknown in my life, wondering if Ishould be afraid… well, that’s a whole other matter.
I watch the shadows dance on the stone outside the window. They retreat, and the sun pushes through the tree limbs to erode the darkness. The constant tango of light and dark plays before my eyes and in my heart.
“Ayla?”
Cian plops in the chair at my side, and Eleanor raises her head to look at him, her tail slowly brushing the inside of the chair.
I hold his gaze and pet her once more. A satisfied huff comes from her as she curls back into her nap.
“Lunch is almost ready.”
“Already?”
“It’s been almost an hour. Look, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to—” He looks at the floor before lasering his gaze on mine. “I wasn’t making fun. I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I just forgot that you wouldn’t remember being here before when you arrived. I’m not proud of it. And I’m sorry.”
My brother is incredible. He’s kind and funny and genuine. But he’s also my sarcastic big brother, so this sincere apology surprises me.
