It took me two days to recover from the hangover, and I still wasn’t a hundred percent by Wednesday when I got a text from Matt midday telling me to be ready to go out for seven o’clock and to dress casually, but in warm layers. Also to pack an overnight bag (we were staying downtown somewhere) and to drink as much water as I could stomach to counteract the alcohol we’d be consuming. I groaned at that last part but promised to be ready, warm and hydrated. I also texted, So which T-shirt is my fave? and then with his response packed Matt’s ancient, butter-soft Toronto Maple Leafs shirt into my bag to sleep in. I was going to do everything I could to make tonight a success, even if I had no idea what that entailed.
Dressed and waiting by six-thirty, I set a huge glass of ice water beside me and flipped through my memory confidence list (I added the T-shirt note), wanting to do some work on it before my Friday appointment with Dr. Kay. But I couldn’t concentrate, my mind on what Matt had planned for us. I gathered it had to do with this reminiscence therapy, and expected tonight would be another test I couldn’t prepare for. Like when you dream you show up to a class you aren’t registered for—organic chemistry was always the one in my dreams—and surprise! There’s an exam, but you didn’t study for it because you’re not actually taking organic chemistry and it’s worth a hundred percent of your grade, and with rising panic you realize this can’t end well.
I tried to reassure myself this wasn’t actually a test; I couldn’t pass or fail. But running alongside that mental track was one telling me Matt had probably planned a night full of things I should know—used to know. Of course, there was always the chance something would trigger a memory and I could only hope it would happen while I was with Matt—and be about Matt. The last thing either of us needed was for another memory of Daniel to expose itself, taking over valuable real estate in my mind.
I wiped my damp palms against my jeans and tried to decelerate my heart rate. I wanted—no, needed—for this to go well. By 6:50 p.m. I’d worked myself into a mild frenzy, anxious about the date but unable to stop thinking about Daniel. About how much simpler things would be if I were waiting for him to get home instead. The guilt was swift and overwhelming and I needed to alleviate it before Matt walked through our front door. And so I was downing a second glass of wine—the ice water untouched—when I heard his key in the lock.
“Luce?” Matt called out from the foyer. He stood by the front door, unclipping his bike helmet. “Hey there. Wow. You look hot,” he said, smiling at my multiple layers of clothing—jeans, ski socks and a wool sweater over two long-sleeved shirts. “And I mean that both literally and figuratively.” I laughed, more relaxed now thanks to the wine.
Fifteen minutes later Matt had changed, tossed our bags into the car, and we were on our way. “How was work?” I asked.
Matt gave me a quizzical look but kept the smile on his face. “Good. Nothing new to report since the last time you asked. Five minutes ago.”
I put my hands over my face, the wool from my mittens tickling my nose. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice muffled with my hands. “I’m nervous!” I was obviously doing a terrible job pretending not to be, so I might as well be up front about it.
He reached over, keeping one hand on the wheel, and pulled my hands away from my face, holding on to them and squeezing. “Don’t be nervous, okay? Tonight is about nothing more than having fun. I promise. No expectations.”
I smiled at him, leaned my head back and closed my eyes. “Was I this neurotic about stuff? Before, I mean?”
Matt laughed, and I turned to look at him. “Honestly? Yes. You’re a bit of a worrier.”
“Good to know.” I laughed, too, still holding his hand. A couple of minutes later we pulled into a Green P lot and I recognized where we were. “But it’s April,” I said, glancing at him as we walked near the waterfront. “The ice is gone, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Matt said. “But we don’t need it. Come on.” He pulled me toward the outdoor rink, which had now reverted back to its postwinter concrete surface, and we sat on a bench on its edge. Matt had one of those reusable canvas grocery bags at his feet, from which he brought out a tall thermos and paper cups, doubled up to protect our fingers from the heat of the beverage. Handing me the cups, he opened the valve on the thermos and poured the dark brown liquid.
“Hot chocolate?” I asked, the smell wafting into my nose. I brought a cup closer and sniffed, the scent sharp. “Ah, grown-up hot chocolate. Nice.”
“When I was a kid, I wanted to be a hockey player.” Matt sipped at his steaming-hot cup, blowing a few times across its surface. “But I was a terrible skater. Like, worse than you can imagine. ‘Two left feet,’ my grandfather used to say.”
I laughed, sipped the hot, boozy beverage. “What’s in here?”
“Bourbon,” Matt said. “My grandmother used to make a thermos of it for my grandfather when he took me skating at the outdoor rink by their house. He was determined to teach me to skate but apparently needed something to smooth out the frustration. We spent a lot of weekends on that rink, and still I never learned to skate well.”
Looking out at what used to be the ice-skating rink, I wondered about why Matt had brought me here tonight. He seemed to know what I was thinking, pointed to the left side of the rink, and I followed his hand. “See that spot right there? Over by the bench? That’s where I wiped out on our first date. I twisted my ankle and you had to help me off the ice.” He grinned and I tried to picture it. Matt grimacing with pain, me supporting his lanky frame.
“You brought me ice skating on our first date? But why? If you can’t skate?”
“Because you said you loved ice skating but didn’t get to do it much anymore.” He shrugged. “So I thought it would be romantic. Keep in mind, it was a couple months past the costume party, and I knew Jake had asked you out and I wanted to make a big impression.” He laughed, big and genuine. “And that’s exactly what I did. But not in the way I’d hoped.”
It had been February 15 and apparently very cold, but it hadn’t snowed in close to a week, so the rink was bare aside from the thousands of blade slices marking its surface. It was busy, Matt said, and so being agile was critical. Otherwise, you could take out an entire family with one wrong move. “We started with skating and spiked hot chocolate, then I’d made a reservation at Bymark so you could try that thirty-dollar burger.” I nodded appreciatively, perking up at the restaurant’s name and famously overpriced hamburger.
“Don’t get too excited,” Matt said, nudging my shoulder. “We didn’t make it to Bymark because of my ankle, so that’s not next on our agenda.”
“Bummer. I’d like to know what a thirty-dollar hamburger tastes like.”
“It’s even more now, close to forty, I think. We’ll put it on the to-do list, okay?”
“Okay. So, what happened next?” I asked, the hot chocolate warming both my belly and my hands.
“I’d been presumptuous and booked us a hotel so we didn’t have to deal with our roommates.” He paused, waiting to see my reaction to this as by now I’d figured out what those overnight bags meant—he was taking me back to the same place where we’d spent our first date night. “Because we’d missed our reservation but were starving, after you practically carried me off the ice, we grabbed a taxi to the hotel and ordered room service instead.”
“Are you that bad of a skater?” I asked, still imagining us on the crowded skating rink, me trying not to laugh as Matt stumbled but tried to appear like he knew what he was doing.
“Terrible. Horribly unskilled. I’m pretty grateful the ice has melted so we don’t have to re-create that particular part of the night.”
I leaned over and quickly kissed him on the lips, then smiled as I pulled back. We were apart for only a moment before he put his cup down on the bench and placed his hands on either side of my face—his palms warm against the coolness of my cheeks—and kissed me deeply. Closing my eyes, I gave myself over to him and to this night, to the memory of us. When we finally broke apart, both of us a little breathless, Matt asked if I was ready for part two. I nodded and let him pull me up from the bench. He tossed our half-full cups of hot chocolate in the nearby trash can, then pretended to skate across the concrete, dancing me around in a spin. I threw my head back and laughed, the stars above twirling in a dizzying pattern as I did.
* * *
The room was beautiful, luxurious, and probably cost per night about the same as our monthly rent. “The Four Seasons?” I’d whispered as we walked through the sliding glass doors—holding tightly to each other’s hands—into the opulent lobby. “You were trying to make an impression.”
“I had to go all out,” Matt said with a grin. “I knew the skating could go either way—though I didn’t plan on an embarrassing ankle injury that would land me on crutches for a week.” I cringed at this, and Matt leaned over to kiss the frown off my lips. Perhaps it was the alcohol, or the sweetness of how much effort he had put into re-creating this night, but I wanted to do nothing but kiss him. And then some, which I took as a good sign for the rest of the evening. Maybe I will remember something. Maybe I can put Daniel back in the past where he belongs.
At the thought of Daniel my good mood faltered slightly, but Matt didn’t seem to notice—he, too, was enamored with how our evening was going so far. I forced Daniel from my mind. Tonight is about Matt. Tonight is about us. “I figured a good meal and a nice hotel room would make up for my lame rink skills.”
After we ordered room service, Matt pulled out a bottle of wine and two tumblers from his overnight bag, and something in a brown paper sack. Opening the wine, Matt gave me a wink and said, “I hope you took my ‘drink lots of water’ seriously, because this is only the beginning.” I was grateful for the wine—for the idea of getting right drunk tonight—because I had discovered how nicely alcohol softened the rough edges of my current situation.
We clinked glasses and I took a long, slow sip. It was delicious—smooth and oaky, a hint of vanilla—and with a jolt I realized I recognized the flavor. “I think I know this wine,” I said with surprise, and Matt beamed. It didn’t matter whether I remembered it because of this night (which I could tell was what Matt decided to believe) or because it had been a regular go-to for years; it mattered I’d remembered it at all. “I think I love this wine.”
“You do,” Matt said. Then he seemed to make a decision, putting down his glass and grabbing the paper bag. “I’ll be right back. Sit tight, okay?”
I poured myself another glass while Matt was in the washroom. I could hear water running and wondered what he was doing—taking a shower? Waiting, I took my glass over to the large floor-to-ceiling glass window and drank it down as I gazed upon the lights of the city in front of me. A moment later the water stopped and Matt came out of the washroom. He seemed eager, but also nervous—he shifted from one foot to the other, his shirtsleeves rolled up past his elbows.
“Will you come in here with me?” Matt asked, his voice gentle—almost pleading. He held out one hand, and I took it, following him. The air was warm and humid, and it smelled gorgeous. Like walking into a blooming flower shop. The bathtub was three-quarters full of water, and there were dozens of pink rose petals floating on its surface. I froze at the sight of the petals.
“Lucy?”
I couldn’t stop staring at the tub. At the floating rose petals. At the faucet, which was positioned in the middle of the far side of the bathtub, and would have left a perfect circle of a bruise if you happened to bend your knee up hard against it. “Hey, you okay?” Matt gently put a finger on my chin and turned my face toward him. His forehead was creased with worry, and I could also see regret there. “I thought...what if we could go back to the beginning, you know? Start over.” He took in a long breath, eyes never leaving mine. “I’m sorry. This was a bad idea. Let’s go back out and drink that wine you love, okay?”
I started crying, which made him look even more desperate to cut this part of the evening short. “Please, Luce. Let’s go. Do you want to leave? The hotel, I mean.”
Shaking my head, I tried to explain. Tried to talk through my tears, which had now turned to gulping sobs. I sat down on the closed lid of the toilet and tried to pull myself together. Matt crouched in front of me, his hands on my thighs, every now and then reaching up to wipe a tear off my cheek. One stray rose petal was stuck to his forearm, and I gently peeled it off, holding it carefully between my fingers. Finally I managed to say, “I remember.”
He looked at me, not understanding exactly what I meant. “You remember...what?”
I gestured to the bathtub. “I remember this bath. The rose petals.” I didn’t tell him that when I had previously remembered this moment it had been Daniel in the bath with me and not Matt, because that detail was only important for me to know. What mattered now was I was finally remembering this moment as I should have from the beginning—as it really was—a memory of an intimate and romantic experience shared with Matt. I had not taken a bath full of rose petals with Daniel, and definitely not the night I originally believed—before our engagement party—because as Daniel had confirmed, my arm had been in a cast. Also—and I couldn’t believe I was only now realizing this—the faucet on the bathtub at Daniel’s place had been at the end of the tub, not in the middle like this one.
So, it had been Matt I rested back against in the bathtub, the warm, rose-scented water lapping at our skin as he kissed my neck and then some. My memory had righted itself—it had always been Matt. He had booked a hotel room at the Four Seasons, asking them to fill a tub with rose petals one day after Valentine’s Day, which was both a little cheesy and a lot romantic. Matt had done that for me, not Daniel. “I ended up with a bruised knee, right? From the faucet?” Now I remembered Matt gently running an ice cube over my knee and the blossoming purple mark, later, as we lay naked in bed.
“That’s right. You did.” He sounded breathless, understanding creeping into his expression. Then he buried his face in the tops of my thighs, where his hands still rested, and I wrapped my arms around him. I remembered.
We stayed like that for a moment before I wordlessly moved his arms, stood and pulled him up with me, undressing and keeping my eyes on his as I did. He followed suit and then we slipped into the warm water, the petals clinging to our naked skin, the water cresting over the side with our slow and purposeful movements.