Kinsley fell in love with Phoenix Maverick, an NHL player for a team she never imagined supporting. But when Kinsley suffers from a head injury and forgets the last six years of her life, she struggles balancing being the person Phoenix fell in love...
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Late August 2016
Kinsley made it easy to love her. There were moments where she drove me up the wall, red with anger and frustration and in those same moments, I would look at her and think, there is no one else I would rather do this with, than her.
She couldn't answer a text to save herself, despite having her phone attached to her palm. She made it her mission to open every cabinet door in the house and not close them. She consistently left coffee cups on the bedside table until there was no room for her phone and by then, the cups were growing their own eco systems.
But those things were signs of her living here, with me, in this apartment. As often as I tipped my head back and sighed at all of her habits, I smiled and thought about how little character this house had before Kins moved in and made her mark. I couldn't imagine the place without her.
After a shower on Sunday morning, I walked down the hall, noticing a small trash pile on the floor. That was another thing.
She liked to clean and instead of taking a bag around with her, she made little piles of garbage and how fast she got rid of them, depended on whether or not another task distracted her.
I picked up the little pile and took it with me to the kitchen trash can.
The counter was covered in dishes from the night before, coffee pods were sitting next to the espresso machine and the sunlight was coming in from the window and illuminating the grime on the benchtop. Pushing on the plug in the ceramic sink, I flicked the tap on and started rinsing and loading the dishes into the dishwasher.
I wasn't here last night and I know Kinsley would usually have done this before I came home so whatever kept her busy must have been important.
The fridge beeped, announcing a new hour. It was eight in the morning. Kins must have been at the gym or in the spare bathroom. She wasn't in bed when I woke up.
Three minutes and a mental note to get the windows washed later, I heard the familiar footsteps of an excited girlfriend. Not to get confused with her angry footsteps, or bored footsteps or hungry footsteps. She had a walk for all of her moods.
Twisting over my shoulder, I watched her bounce into the room with a laptop resting on her forearm. She was dressed in a bra and a pair of sweat pants.
The best part about living with this woman was that she felt comfortable in her own skin at all times and I hardly ever saw her fully clothed unless we were expecting guests.
"Babe, babe," she skidded to a stop, wearing red socks. Tapping on her laptop screen, she jostled on the spot and bit that pretty lip. "I have mocked up the most beautiful interior theme for our house."
Fuck me. Our house. That was something I could get used to. She'd almost ripped me a new one when I took her to the land I bought a few days ago but I have some real suspicions about the IKEA box I saw sitting in the hall when I came home last night.
