CHAPTER 21

LIAM

The restaurant I had chosen was a quaint little Italian spot located in Brooklyn, just over the bridge. It was the type of restaurant that had been owned and operated by the same family for as long as that family had been in America.

The inside was run down but clean. The chairs and tables looked as old as the octogenarian that served us, and the menu was written on sheets of stained, yellow paper that smelled like they had been in use since the day the restaurant opened its doors.

Despite all that, the food was divine. Clint had shown me this place years earlier. And he had been shown it by an old girlfriend whose family used to live in the area and swore by the place. It was the best in the city, they claimed. The food really was the best. It was as authentic Italian as one could find this far from the old country, and I had no hesitation in taking Kate there.

"Quaint," she said as I led her through the doors and into the dusty room.

I had booked a table for lunch, but as we entered and I saw how empty the place was, I realized that was a pointless precaution.

"Just you wait and see," I responded with a smile.

I knew that Kate actually liked little holes in the wall like this. I knew that because I had brought her here before, and she had fallen in love with the place. And, on top of that, I knew that once she bit into whatever she ordered, her opinion would do an instant 180.

"I put my faith in you," she responded as we took our seat at a table.

The man who served us was in his late fifties, with a bushy mustache and a charming smile. Although he was clearly American in every sense of the word, he spoke with a thick and often exaggerated Italian accent.

"To drink?" he asked, keeping that big smile on me and Kate.

"The house red will do," I answered. "And we'll probably be ready to order in a few minutes, too."

"Of course," he said as he gave us a bow and hurried away.

"A few minutes?" Kate scoffed. "You know I take hours to pick. Call it a weakness of character."

"You? A weakness of character? I didn’t know you had any. Besides. This place is so good that you can pick anything, and you'll come out on top."

"And you're getting?" she asked as she looked down the packed menu.

I hadn't even picked the menu up. I always got the same thing when I came here. Boring, maybe. But it was both a safe option and just happened to also be my favorite meal of all time. So I could never really see the point in changing. "The spaghetti and meatballs," I answered. "The best I've ever had."

"Oh," Kate responded in what sounded like surprise. "I forgot that was your favorite food."

"It is," I answered. "Although truth be told, the meatballs aren't cooked quite the way I like."

"And how is that?" she asked, abandoning the menu as she focused all her attention on me.

"It's silly, but I prefer when the meatballs are cooked in–Oh, here we are," I said, spotting the waiter.

He had returned with the bottle of red, making me completely lose my train of thought.

"How? I mean, how do you like your meatballs cooked?" Kate ignored the waiter as he poured our glasses for us.

"What? Oh, never mind. I'll tell you later. Come on, let's order."

It was probably my imagination, but I could have sworn that Kate let out a soft sigh as I dodged her question. I didn't dodge it on purpose, obviously. I just didn't think it was important. I wanted to order so we could get our food straight away. I was more than a little bit hungry.

There was actually a reason for having lunch that day, and I had taken the day off work especially for it. I had been taking more and more days off work since meeting Kate. I just couldn't help myself. Not only did I want to spend as much time with her as possible, but I also didn't want to make the same mistake I did the last time we dated.

And that was kind of the point of the lunch, too. I had a question that I wanted to ask her. One that I hoped she would say yes to. I had been thinking that our relationship needed one more strong kick in the right direction. Once I gave it that, then I was sure I would be able to tell her about our past, and she would forgive me. But first, it needed that kick.

"Kate, I've got something I need to ask you," I began. We had just finished our food and had also polished off the bottle of wine. I figured that to be a more perfect time than any.

"Oh, can I duck to the bathroom first? I had one too many glasses I think." She slowly got to her feet. I nodded a yes, not wanting her to be thinking about the bathroom while I asked her the big question.

Once I was alone, I leaned back in my chair, trying to stretch myself out. For some reason, I was actually a little nervous. I didn't think she would say no, but I couldn't be too sure. It was because I was leaning back, stretching my legs out that I accidentally kicked Kate's handbag over.

"Shit," I muttered, leaning forward to scoop it and its contents back up. As I did that, I picked up the lipstick that fell out and other bits and bobs. I distinctly noticed the corner of a small book sticking from the inside of the handbag. Not just any book either, but one of her journals.

My breath caught in my mouth when I realized what it was. Why did she have that on her? Had I not taken them all? I quickly looked up to the bathroom across the room, making sure that she wasn't coming. When I was sure that I was clear, I grabbed the journal from the inside of her handbag.

I knew it was a shitty thing to do, but I’d already stolen the other journals. There was no going back now. This was just one more morally gray act in the service of true love.

Judging from the dates, it was the last journal that she had written in before we broke up. I flipped to the last entry, skimming what was written. As predicted, the journal chronicled up to just after the two of us had broken up.

I looked to the bathroom door again, making sure that she still wasn't coming before going back through some of the earlier entries. I wanted to know if she had been reading them, and if she had, what she had found out. Was there a chance that she knew who I was? Was my full name or anything else mentioned in these pages?

It was as these thoughts built in my head that my eyes fell on one sentence in particular. It was probably because the page was bent that I had it opened in the first place. But by some form of divine intervention, I noticed a line that distinctly indicated my favorite meal as being spaghetti and meatballs with the meatballs cooked in coconut oil.

My stomach dropped out from under me as the gravity of that single line sunk in. I hurriedly put the journal back before she came back out, all the while thinking about what that meant.

She knew. She knew what was going on and what I had done. And if she didn't know, then she at the very least suspected as much. That was why she was so insistent on talking about my favorite food earlier. Shit! This was not good.

But as Kate came back from the bathroom and made her way toward the table, she offered me a warm smile, which made me realize that she most likely didn't know anything, at least not conclusively. Maybe she suspected, but luckily, she was still in the dark. I had to act fast.

"What was it you wanted to ask me?" she asked as she sat down at the table.

"Oh right," I said, shaking my head and forcing myself to concentrate on the moment. "Well, first I want to say that the last two weeks have been the best in my entire life. That cannot be overstated enough." I reached forward and took her hands in mine. She took them back and gave them a squeeze. "And I was thinking that maybe it was time that we took this relationship further. I think it would be a good idea if the two of us went away together. Like a weekend trip? What do you think?"

Again, if I even thought for a moment that she knew who I was, then that possibility was shattered by the reception of my question. She broke out in a big smile, lifting my hand to her mouth and giving it a soft kiss. "That sounds like an amazing idea."

"Really?" I said, letting off a sigh of relief.

"Of course! I'd love to go away with you. If you can get the time off work."

"I actually already have," I said, smirking. "I asked for it off a few days ago in the hopes that you would say yes."

"Wow, that's pretty presumptuous of you. What if I had said no?"

"Then I would have taken Clint. He loves the Niagara Falls."

"Niagara? You're taking me to Niagara Falls?" She was unable to hide the big cheesy smile that was forming on her face. I knew that she had wanted to see the great falls for the longest time. It was a perfect date spot.

"Only if you'll let me."

In response, she threw herself across the table and pulled me into a big hug, further dispelling the possibility that she might suspect something. But either way and despite the reception I received, I was still nervous. She was getting closer to figuring it all out. And every day that passed only brought with it the possibility that she might wake up with her memory fully intact.

It was as a result of all of that that I made a sudden, somewhat impulsive decision. It was time that I told her the truth. Not there at lunch, but on our getaway weekend. The setting was perfect, and as we would be so far away from anywhere else, she would have no choice but to hear me out.

But when it all came down to it, really, I was also sick of lying to her. Every time I did, it made my stomach churn. She deserved better than that. My only hope was that her love for me was as strong as mine was for her.

If it was then maybe, just maybe, she would see it in her heart to forgive me. And if not, well, I preferred not to think about that. I really didn't know what I would do if I lost her again.