I didn’t tell anyone about Daniel, convincing myself it was because it didn’t matter; seeing him changed nothing. I’d also decided I wouldn’t have coffee with him, even if he called. Which wasn’t likely. We had run into each other outside a bar—it was bound to happen at some point, wasn’t it?—and it had been the polite way to end our conversation. That was all it was, nothing more. This ran in a loop in my head for two days, and I had nearly convinced myself Daniel London would stay in the past, where he belonged. And then he called.
It was Monday and Matt had been apologizing nonstop since Sunday morning. He arrived home less than an hour after I did the night of Jake’s party, and though it was dark, I could see his silhouette framed in our bedroom doorway. I knew he was debating where to sleep. I wondered what it had been like when we’d fought before, which we inevitably had at least a few times through our relationship, and what happened next. It was bizarre not to remember these intimate rhythms between us.
I let Matt stand there in the doorway a moment longer, then sat up and turned down the duvet on his side. “Come to bed,” I said.
He stayed where he was. “I’m sorry, Lucy.”
“I know.” I patted his side of the bed and rolled back over, tucking the duvet around me. “Let’s go to sleep.”
We didn’t talk about what happened, our argument at the bar or the fact he’d let it slip to Jake about my memory. But he continued to apologize, at unexpected times: like after I asked him if he wanted grilled cheese or a turkey sandwich for lunch on Sunday; or when I was brushing my teeth before bed; and Monday morning as he stood at the front door, helmet on and messenger bag slung over his suited shoulder, ready to go to the office. And with each apology I felt worse about giving Daniel my number. I was with Matt, because at some point in my past I still couldn’t remember I had chosen Matt.
He finally left for work, thankfully taking his incessant apologies with him. Glad to have the house to myself, I pulled out the memory confidence list I’d been neglecting. I had an appointment with Dr. Kay in the afternoon and so couldn’t put off my “homework” any longer.
What’s my favorite food? Bacon, chocolate croissants, pancakes *note: eat more vegetables
Where did I go to university? University of Toronto
What was my major? Psychology and English, double major
When is my birthday? November 10
Who’s the prime minister of Canada? Justin Trudeau
Who’s the premier of Ontario? Kathleen Wynne
Who’s the president of the United States? Donald Trump
Where did I take my last vacation? Who with? California, Matt
Where do I live? Toronto (Leslieville)
Where do I work? Jameson Porter Consulting, communications director
How long have I worked there? Four years
Do I exercise? I’m a runner!
Do I have any allergies? Not sure—ask Mom and Dad
Who was my childhood best friend? Nancy McPherson
Have I ever had a pet? Yes, as a kid. Rabbit—Marshmallow
What are my current hobbies? Ask Matt and Jenny
Favorite restaurant? Ask Matt or Jenny
Did I watch Forks and Over Knives? Yes
Am I a vegetarian? No (because, bacon) *Jenny is vegetarian
Favorite TV show?
I had no idea what my favorite show was. I remembered watching Mad Men with Daniel and Breaking Bad with Jenny, but I couldn’t recall how either of those shows ended (were they still running?) or what shows Matt and I had watched together. I was still on the no-screens protocol, but a quick Netflix history check couldn’t be a big deal...
I turned on the television as my phone rang. Glancing at the screen, I saw an unknown, though local, number. For all the hoping I’d done over the past few weeks and the fact I’d given him my number a couple of days earlier, it actually didn’t occur to me it might be Daniel.
But it was, and he was wondering, Was I free for coffee? He had some time between classes and would love to see me. “To catch up,” he added. I thought back to his Didn’t we already do that? comment and cringed. But—perhaps too enthusiastically—I said I’d be happy to meet him, and he suggested Moonbean Coffee Company in Kensington Market, close to campus.
* * *
I arrived at Moonbean early and ordered a giant latte in a bowl before finding a table by the window, under the navy blue ceiling. Daniel arrived right on time, and my heart lurched when I saw him walk through the front door. There were still parts of him that felt alien—the facial hair, the fine lines across his forehead and fanning out from his eyes, the slightly unkempt look to his longer hair—but overall he was still the same Daniel.
This was a huge mistake.
Because no matter how hard I’d been working to let him go, to focus on my life with Matt, Daniel was comforting to me in a deeply significant way. I was scared by the weight of my longing when I saw him walk through Moonbean’s door, and the desire to have him recognize me in the same way.
My face must have displayed this convoluted mix of emotions, because the smile dropped from his face and he quickly sat across from me before even ordering anything at the counter. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked, removing his gloves and unzipping his coat without taking his eyes off me. I was mortified when I started crying.
Daniel took my hands in his and I stared at his ring, the tears dripping down my nose and onto the tabletop. “Lucy, what the hell’s the matter? Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?”
I shook my head, tried to speak but couldn’t. Oh, how I wanted to run out of there. Either that or to reverse time so I could avoid this scene entirely. But there was nowhere to flee. And besides, this was Daniel; he knew me. I would be okay with him, even with my mess of a life on full display.
He let go of one of my hands and passed me a napkin from the table. I took a deep breath, getting ahold of myself. “I’m so sorry. This is... Well, embarrassing doesn’t quite cover it.” I gave him a weak smile, wondered how blotchy my face was.
He smiled, squeezed my hand. “I’ll try not to take it too personally.”
“Can I get you a coffee? Something to eat?” I asked, rising from my chair, wanting to put some distance between my outburst and whatever came next.
Daniel rose, too. “I’ll get it. Want anything else?”
“I’m fine with the latte, thanks,” I said, then looked out the window as he went to the counter to order. It had started to rain, and people hurried by under umbrellas, walking around small puddles gathering on the sidewalks.
“So, are you going to tell me what’s going on or should we make small talk for a while until you’re ready?” Daniel asked, settling back into his chair with his coffee and omelet sandwich.
“Honestly, I don’t even know where to start. Things are a bit screwed up at the moment.”
“I’m getting that. How about at the beginning?” Daniel replied, stirring two sugar packs into his cream-heavy coffee. He tapped the spoon twice on the edge of his mug (a memory flash, Daniel always doing this after stirring his coffee) and waited for me to tell him why I’d burst into tears.
And so I did. About the slip and fall, the coma and head injury, about how when I woke up in the hospital my memory wasn’t what it used to be.
“Shit, Lucy, that’s intense. But I’m glad you’re okay. Or mostly okay,” he said. He hadn’t yet touched his sandwich, which had to be cold by now. “What exactly does ‘spotty’ mean?”
“Your lunch is getting cold,” I said, searching for a distraction. Unloading the events of the past two months was cathartic, but it also left me feeling split wide-open and close to tears again.
“Is it amnesia?” he asked, his forehead wrinkling with the question.
“Sort of,” I said. I suppose I could have left it at that. But then I decided I had come this far, and as Dr. Kay was fond of saying, I needed to “be true to the experience.” Skirting the realities of the situation wouldn’t help me. And if I was being honest, I was curious to see what his reaction would be.
“I’ve forgotten some stuff entirely, from the past few years in particular. Like the actual accident, for one.” I didn’t mention it extended far beyond the day of my fall. Or about Matt. That was too big of a parcel to unload right now.
“But I also have these, uh, false memories.”
“False memories?”
“I have a few memories that aren’t real, but they feel superreal to me.”
“Wow,” he said, leaning forward, sandwich hanging from his hand. “All from hitting your head?” I nodded, sipped my lukewarm latte. “Like what sort of memories?”
“Well, I remember switching to vegetarianism. But apparently it never happened.”
“You? A vegetarian?” Daniel laughed.
“I know, right?” I sighed, ran my finger around the lip of my latte bowl, a small amount of the foam transferring to my finger. “Apparently brains don’t like blank spaces. So when I was in the coma and not making new memories, my brain decided to stitch some things together and voilà. Customized, fake memories.” I shook my head, realizing how strange it all sounded once I said it out loud. “I told you, it’s screwed up.”
Daniel nodded. “You’re not kidding. How have you been dealing with everything?”
I shrugged. “I’m not? I mean, I’m trying. I haven’t been cleared to go back to work yet, and I’m still screen free. It’s a postconcussion thing,” I explained. “But I am seeing a therapist—right after this actually—who’s helping me with my ‘memory confidence.’” I put air quotes around the last two words. “Here’s hoping that helps.”
“I hope so,” Daniel said.
“Me, too.”
“How’s your family doing?” he asked. “With the memory stuff?”
“It’s been tough on them obviously, but they’ve been there for me. However, I was beginning to think my mom might move into our place permanently. Force me to drink tea 24/7. You know how she is with her tea.”
“I do remember that,” Daniel said, laughing again. He had drunk many cups of tea with my mom while we were together, even though he hated the taste of it. “So, ‘our place’...you live with someone?” He watched me without reproach, innocently interested.
“I do. Matt. He’s been great, amazing actually.” I flushed, felt terrible for being here with Daniel even though it was only a coffee. Because I knew Matt wouldn’t want me here. And he would be hurt by how much I was sharing with Daniel, whom I had opened up to more in the span of thirty minutes than I had in weeks with Matt. That didn’t say good things.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Thanks,” I replied, smiling as best I could. Then I thought about Margot, the other part of this equation, and my heart sped up. I felt hot and flustered, and before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “I heard you and Margot got married.”
“We did,” Daniel said, leaning back in his chair. “Two years ago, tomorrow actually.”
“Happy almost-anniversary.” I hoped I sounded genuine. “And please say hi to her for me.”
“Thanks. I will.” Daniel looked at his plate, fiddled with his fork and cleared his throat. He chewed the edge of his lip the way he used to when he had something to say he knew I probably didn’t want to hear, and I regretted bringing up Margot. But I still had so many questions only he could answer. What happened with us, Daniel? And how in the hell did you and Margot end up together? He’d once commented he wouldn’t be surprised if she never married—far too independent to compromise for a relationship. So how are you with her, and not me?
However, asking those questions would mean admitting exactly what I remembered, and what I didn’t. Not to mention being wildly inappropriate for a quick visit with a guy I hadn’t talked to in years, and who owed me no such answers.
“Where are you living now?” he asked a moment later, thankfully changing the subject into less emotional territory.
“In Leslieville. What about you?”
“Not too far from you actually. A block south of Danforth. Right across from Withrow Park.”
“Nice spot.” Withrow Park had a big tobogganing hill, packed with sleds and gaggles of kids most winter weekends. It was the perfect neighborhood to settle and start a family and I tried not to think about him and Margot one day holding hands as they watched their kids sled that hill.
“We love it. We’ve been slowly renovating our place, which is not something I ever thought I would do. But I’m practically a master tile layer now.” He smiled, and I returned it despite how disconcerting I was finding our conversation. It was ridiculous to think I still knew this Daniel—of course I didn’t. It had been years, and he was married and a whole different person now. For example, the Daniel I knew had plenty of skills, but home improvements would never had made the list (I had been the light bulb changer and toilet fixer and picture hanger in our relationship).
It would have been interesting to consider him like this, if I could have extricated myself from the emotional side of things. Doing his master’s in education, swapping suits for jeans, rolling up his sleeves to lay tile and replace hardwood flooring and mud drywall. I wondered how I would have adapted to these changes, if we had stayed together. And, as quickly, wondered if I seemed different to him, as well.
“What else has been keeping you busy these days? Still writing?” Daniel asked.
“I write a lot of press releases and client memos, if that counts.”
“It does. But I more meant your other stuff. The book stuff.”
“Books, like novels?” I had no recollection of ever writing anything other than essays in university and a few short stories I had tried to get published postgraduation, without success.
Daniel nodded. “You always had this notebook with you, full of first lines for novels you wanted to write one day.”
“Did I?” I shook my head. “I don’t remember.” Where had that notebook gone? I made a mental note to put it on my list of questions needing answers.
“I’m sure your press releases are impossible to put down.” He winked and I laughed.
“Oh, and apparently I’m a runner now,” I said. “I’ve done three half-marathons, if you can believe it.”
He whistled. “Impressive. And I won’t lie, it is a bit hard to believe.” We both laughed, hard, because Daniel-era Lucy hadn’t known the first thing about running. “Remember that time we tried jogging up the Casa Loma steps? I still feel bad about what happened to you.”
“I do remember actually.” I winced at the recollection of my tumble down those stone stairs, rubbed my fingers absentmindedly into the wrist I’d broken in the fall. I’d had to wear a cast for eight weeks. “It was not my finest moment.”
“Nah, you were a trouper,” he said. “I was impressed you didn’t pass out when they started the ring cutter.” Right. My engagement ring had been cut off my rapidly swelling hand in the emergency room. I looked to my finger, remembering how gorgeous it had been and how much I had loved wearing it. Felt gloomy it was no longer there.
“I guess somewhere along the way I finally figured out how to run without tripping.” I was encouraged our memories lined up, at least on this event. Glad we had this coffee date if for no other reason because it reinforced I hadn’t completely rewritten the past. “But hang on...” I was remembering something about that run and my broken wrist, and the timing of it. “That was only a week before our, um, party.” I tried not to squirm, having brought up our engagement. But there was a question I needed answered right now. Daniel nodded, confirming I had the timeline right. “Did I have a cast for the party? Because of my wrist?”
“You did.”
“Black fiberglass. I remember.” It came out in a whisper, my mind preoccupied by another critical detail: the rose petal bath with Daniel, which had made us late for our engagement party. There was no way I would have been in the bath, doing what we were doing, with a cast.
I was confused, the memory clashing with his confirmation of events. Had that bath happened at a different time? Were we late to another event, and somehow I had mashed the two things together? Or had I made it up entirely? “Um, were we late for the party?” I asked Daniel. “Like, piss-our-mothers-off late?”
He frowned, reaching back in his own memory. “I don’t think so. I met you there, because you were at your parents’ place and came with them.”
“We didn’t go together?”
“Nope. Your mom was helping you with your hair, because of the cast.” Daniel glanced at his phone, some sort of notification appearing on his screen with a gentle buzz. He looked up again and said something else, but it was as though I went underwater—I could see he was talking but couldn’t hear the words.
I tried to listen, especially because he seemed to be repeating himself. But my brain was busy attempting to reconcile my memory with reality, and as I pushed—forcing my mind to bend, to adapt—it felt as though the floor beneath me tilted. I jerked the way you do when you’re nearly asleep and have the sensation of falling and Daniel put a firm hand on my upper arm.
“Lucy!” Daniel looked as worried as I felt. He kept his hand on my arm. “You all right?”
“Yeah. I get these headaches. Sometimes they make me a bit dizzy,” I said. I waved away his concern, though I was fairly certain if I stood up now I would hit the floor. “Concussion leftovers. I’m okay.”
“You sure?”
I nodded. The floor was solid and stationary again under my feet.
“Good.” He let out a breath, relaxed his hand on my arm. “Not about the side effect, but about being okay.” Daniel glanced at his phone again, picked it up. “Hey, I’m sorry to eat and run, but I have to make a call before class,” he said, smiling apologetically.
“Of course.” I followed his lead, put on my toque and coat. “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to ask how things are going with you and your master’s. Maybe next time.” I smiled, wrapped my scarf around my neck.
He stood and put on his coat, zipping it right up to his chin. “I would love that.” Then he hugged me, and I leaned into him. Was nearly overcome again, his body so recognizable against mine. I wanted to grab hold and never let go. “Same time next week?” he asked.
“Same time next week,” I said, reluctantly stepping out of his embrace. I had to wonder if he wanted to see me again, or was simply being kind with my whole admittance of the head injury thing. Maybe I’d end up canceling next week. We could be friends, and the memory of him as anything more would fade, lose its clear edges the way memories tend to do. Or maybe (just maybe) I would tell him the truth.
Regardless, it was clear after our coffee a problem remained, one I didn’t know how to easily solve: I still loved Daniel.