The next morning when I woke up, cold and uncomfortable because the quilt was on the floor, I lay still for a few moments so the events of the prior evening could load into my brain.
I met Daniel for a late-night drink, which turned into a few too many. I need to stop drinking so much.
I kissed Daniel and told him I remembered us being married.
Matt knew I went out with Daniel, and that I’d lied to him.
With a sigh I ran a hand over my face, tried to clear the sleep from my eyes. Everything hurt—my head from the booze, my chin from where I tripped and fell on the stairs, my body from an uncomfortable and restless sleep. But I could hear footsteps outside the guest room, the sounds of Matt moving around in the kitchen, and then my nose picked up the smell of brewed coffee and something frying.
I swung my legs to the edge of the bed and stood carefully, hanging on to the wall for support as things spun a little before settling into place. The sickly sweet flavor of ginger beer coated my tongue and mouth and I desperately wanted to brush my teeth. Pushing the door open as quietly as I could, I padded to the washroom—saw Matt in the kitchen standing over the stove, his back to me—and brushed my teeth while I peed. Then I looked at myself in the mirror, frowning as I did. There was a purplish-looking lump on my chin, my mascara had spread beyond my eyelashes and I was pale. With a quick scrub of face wash and some tinted moisturizer and blush I looked better, but still not great. But I couldn’t do anything about my insides, which felt a thousand times worse than how I looked on the outside.
Despite my lingering nausea, the smell of pancakes and bacon frying on the stove piqued my appetite. A full pot of coffee sat waiting to be poured, and Matt was in his sweats and a T-shirt, his hair still shower-damp, a dish towel thrown over his shoulder.
I paused a moment longer, taking in the scene and wishing, again, that things could be different. Only months earlier I had been in love with this man. I had no relationship with Daniel and, from everything I had been told, had completely walked away from him when we broke up—never looking back. It must have been so nice, to be confident about and content with my life, and to have no doubts. The pain of what I’d lost hit me hard as I watched Matt, and I held back the sob trying to burst from my lungs.
Clearing my throat so he would know I was there, I walked into the kitchen. “Morning,” I said, heading to the fridge to pour a cold glass of juice.
Matt looked up from the pan, a spatula in his hand. “Morning.” He smiled, the same smile he had been giving me every morning since I got home—warm and reassuring—and for a brief moment I wondered if I’d imagined everything. Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me again. But then I touched my chin and the shot of pain from the bruise reminded me last night had been real.
Matt took the coffeepot and held it over a mug. “Coffee?”
“Uh, yes, please,” I said, my voice croaking. I took the mug and held it tightly in my hands. “Thanks.”
“Hope you’re up for some breakfast.” Matt still hadn’t looked at me except to give me that brief smile, and I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be doing. So I stood where I was, in the middle of the kitchen with my mug in my hands. “Did you sleep okay?”
Did I sleep okay? Again, I considered maybe my memory of last night was a bizarre confabulation, but then Matt said, “Your phone is charging, in case you were looking for it.” He plated our pancakes and bacon, licked a bit of grease from his thumb. “Let’s eat while it’s hot.”
At the mention of my phone my stomach flipped over, making it entirely possible I would vomit up all of last night’s rum into my plate of pancakes. But I sat beside him at our kitchen table, pulled up my chair and tucked into my breakfast. My stomach didn’t revolt after the first bite, or the second, which was a relief. “This is great.”
He smiled, continued chewing his breakfast. Still said nothing about last night.
I wondered if this would be how things would go for the next while. Matt and me being excessively formal, tediously polite, as we tried to coexist in this new state where I had lied and he had found out and nothing was how either of us hoped or expected it to be.
Matt polished off his pancakes first, then worked on his bacon, dipping the strips into the pool of maple syrup on his plate. “I need to go into the office. But I’ll be back for dinner.”
I glanced at the clock; it was already ten in the morning. “You aren’t going for a ride today?”
He dipped another piece of bacon into the syrup. “Already did,” he said. “I went early.”
Nodding, I swallowed the bite of pancake in my mouth and felt it stick in my throat. I needed to explain things now. I hated how the air around us felt—tense and strange, despite Matt’s seemingly fine mood. But that was exactly the problem. He wasn’t fine, couldn’t possibly be, and the fact he was working so hard at pretending broke my heart.
“Listen, Matt,” I began. He looked at me, holding the other half of the bacon strip in his hand, waiting. I looked down at my plate, hated myself for not being able to hold his gaze. “So that night at Jake’s party? I...I ran into Daniel outside the bar as I was leaving.” I was nervous, unable to cover the tremor in my voice. I still couldn’t look at Matt, was afraid of seeing his expression. “We talked for a couple of minutes and then I went home.”
Matt put the bacon down on his plate and sighed. “Yeah, I know.”
I frowned. “You know? How?” I tried to remember if I’d told Jenny, or Alex, and wondered if they’d passed this information along to Matt. Maybe under the guise they were worried about my state of mind. But no, I had told only Dr. Kay. So how did Matt know?
“I saw you.” He said it nonchalantly, like it was no big deal. Then he gathered his silverware and set them on his plate, then took it all over to the sink to rinse them.
“You saw me? Where? How?”
He dropped his plate into the sink, the silverware clanging so hard against it I thought the plate might have cracked. Then he whipped around and the look on his face slayed me. His eyes were wide, his cheeks puffed out, his hands clenched in fists even as they held on to the counter edge behind him. “I saw you, Lucy! I followed you outside because I wanted to make sure you were okay, and then...” He shook his head and then let it drop forward, his chin to his chest.
“I saw you talking to him,” he said, looking back up at me with red-rimmed eyes. “I saw you laughing. With him.” His voice was hollow, like he’d given up.
I stood quickly, walked around the table to stand in front of him. “I didn’t plan it, Matt. It was a total fluke.” I didn’t dare touch him, though my instincts told me to. I wondered what that meant. Was it a desire to comfort Matt because he was upset and I cared about him? Or did my body, my reflexes, remember I loved him even if my mind didn’t? “Honestly, we talked for a few minutes and then I came home.”
“Did you see him again? Before last night, I mean?” he asked.
I wished I could lie, but instead I paused, and that was enough.
“I don’t think I can do this anymore,” Matt said, now openly crying. I was both anxious at his tears and sad in a way I couldn’t quite reconcile. It was different from the grief I felt about Daniel—the realization that despite believing he was my husband, he didn’t feel that way about me anymore—but it was still intense.
“Please, Matt, can we talk about this?” I grabbed for his arms, but he shoved off the counter and away from me. Opened the dishwasher, loaded in his plate, fork and knife.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” He no longer sounded angry, or hurt. He sounded indifferent and that scared the hell out of me.
“So, what now? This is it?” My breath came out in strange little gasps I was unable to control.
“This is it.” Matt left the kitchen, me right behind him.
“Matt, stop.” He didn’t, headed into the bedroom. With a frustrated sigh I followed him again, then stood with my hands on my hips, trying to quell my too-fast heartbeat. Since I’d come home from the hospital Matt had been perfect and present—kind and patient, accommodating at every turn. And so for him to give up like this terrified me, because despite how screwed up everything was with our relationship, I needed Matt. He was the anchor I would be lost without. How could I have been so stupid to not see that? To jeopardize things like this? I knew it wasn’t fair, to need him so selfishly, but it was the truth.
“Please, Matt. Stop,” I repeated.
He did, paused with his jeans and sweater in his hands, his face holding none of the warmth I was used to. “What, Lucy? What do you want from me?”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I let out another frustrated sigh. He shook his head and started to put his jeans on. “I’m going to work,” he said. “Then I’ll pack up some stuff when I’m back.” He pulled his sweater over his head, grabbed his phone from the nightstand.
“Pack up some stuff? You’re leaving?” My voice was thin and high-pitched. I was untethered and coming apart fast. “Shouldn’t I be the one to leave?”
He ignored my question, and my reaction. “We’ll talk later.” Then he left me standing in the bedroom, staring at the empty spot where he had stood a few moments earlier.
A minute later the front door closed with a resounding click, and I sat down hard on the floor and tried to figure out what I was supposed to do now.
* * *
I had my legs tucked up under me on Jenny’s couch—a futon that would also be my bed for the next while as I sorted out the mess I’d made—and was nursing a cup of tea she’d placed in my hands when I’d arrived with tearstained cheeks and an overnight bag. I had considered going to my parents’ place but, still angry they’d lied to me, decided I couldn’t deal with them right now.
When I’d texted Matt to say I was going to crash with Jenny for now so he could stay at the condo, I got a one-word reply (Okay). I’m not sure what I’d hoped for, because I certainly didn’t deserve anything more. Matt had, over these past couple of months, been solid and selfless, and what had I done to show him my gratitude for his commitment? I kissed my ex.
“More tea?” Jenny asked, standing to fill her own mug.
I shook my head, stared into my still-full cup.
“So, what do you want to do?” she asked, adding water to her mug from the steaming kettle. She dipped the tea bag a few times, then settled back into the chair across from me.
“I don’t know.” I sighed and put my mug down, my hands shaking. “I screwed up, Jenny.”
She took a tentative sip of her hot tea. “You sure did.”
I laughed then. “Thanks a lot.”
“Well, you did!” We laughed together, but it petered out quickly.
“Maybe you guys should try couples therapy,” Jenny said.
“And talk about what?” I asked. “I’m not sure what a therapist would do with ‘My girlfriend thinks she’s someone else’s wife... Any strategies for such a conundrum?’” I rolled my eyes and Jenny chuckled.
“You’re right. Bad idea,” she said. “Look, Lucy, I didn’t have the chance to say this yet, but I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about your mom and dad. And full confession, I agreed with them it was the right thing to do. Not telling you right away, I mean.” She frowned. “You were dealing with so much and I think we all expected things would get back to normal. With your memory.”
“Yeah, I think I expected that, too.” And as I said it I realized I had, despite the warnings from my doctors and Dr. Kay about the possibility of my memory challenges being long-term. “It’s okay. I get it, and I probably would have done the same thing.”
She smiled gratefully at me, and we relaxed into a moment of silence.
“I’ve hurt Matt. Badly.”
“You have,” she said, then quickly added, “But it wasn’t intentional, Lucy.” True, I hadn’t intended to hurt Matt. But even though my memory was in chaos, there was nothing wrong with my free will. Yes, I’d had too much to drink and my judgment was impaired, but I’d still made the choice to kiss Daniel. That was on me. “This is hardest for you.”
“Is it? Is it hardest for me? I don’t think I’m suffering any more than he is,” I said. “But it feels impossible to transition from the Lucy who loved Daniel to the one who’s happy with Matt.” To box up what I connected with Daniel—that he took cream and sugar in his coffee, liked ginger beer and basketball but not hockey, how he shivered when I kissed a spot right below his ear—and shift to Matt, who liked his coffee black and was obsessed with the Toronto Maple Leafs and cycling and owned more shoes than I did and who knew how to make me laugh when I was upset better than anyone.
“It wrings me dry, the back-and-forth shifts, Jen. Sometimes I forget who likes what and who I’m supposed to be when I’m with them, and mostly, what I want.”
I pressed a hand to my forehead, closed my eyes. “Jenny, the way Matt looks at me. It’s how...” I paused. “It’s how I think I look at Daniel. But it’s not real with Daniel, and I don’t know how to stop—” My throat closed and I gulped noisily. “I don’t know how to stop all these feelings.”
Jenny watched me for a moment, then sighed. “I don’t know if you can.”
“So what does that mean for me and Matt?”
She shrugged, which was answer enough.
“What were we like?” I asked. “Before, when I remembered everything and life was good and normal.”
“You were happy,” she replied. “Like, really happy.” She sipped her tea, gave a small smile. “You two brought out the best in one another. And I know that sounds supercheesy and like a Hallmark card, but honestly, it’s the truth.” Jenny looked as though she was considering whether to say more, then made her decision. “You once told me Matt proved you’d never been in love before.”
I nodded, then burst into tears.