An Unexpected Engagement

Chapter 96

Steve

After taking a shower, I feel more human and not a chicken full of herbs ready to go in the oven, but no less confused.

I get dressed and I'm leaving the closet still not sure which way to go now and I find Penelope jumping on the bed.

— Papa! - She smiles ignoring the babysitter Irina who appears at the bedroom door with a stern look and asks the girl something in Russian.

'Did you speak Russian to her?'

The woman smiles.

- Yea. You yourself encourage her to learn a second language. Apparently it will be something that will add to the girl's curriculum.

Yeah, sounds like something I would say.

“Penelope, come on, honey.

- No!

“It's time for your afternoon nap.

- No! — The girl is quick and runs from the nanny, laughing and amused when the woman trips over her own foot falling on the bed in the effort to grab her.

— Okay, enough. I reach out and manage to grab Penelope. "I already told you you can't disobey Irina, didn't I?"

The girl stops laughing at once, shaking her little head seriously.

- Yea.

— Looks like you haven't forgotten about that — Irina catches my eye and I realize what I've just done.

And I have no idea where she came from.

“I… I don't even know why I said that.

- Of course you know. It's who you are, her father. She knows it and deep down you know it too, you're just a little confused, Mr Rogers. Why don't you take Penelope to her room and put her to sleep?

- I?

“I'm sure you'll know exactly how to do that.

The woman leaves the room leaving me alone with the child who is now yawning sleepily and lays her head on my shoulder.

Is Irina right?

I think as I walk with the girl until I reach her room. I stroke the back of the now relaxed child in my arms wondering how many times I've done this before.

I expect a beginning of panic and revulsion, but it doesn't come. I just feel like I'm right. Normal. And I realize I like it. I like the weight of Penelope in my arms, her little hand playing with the buttons on my shirt, the sweet smell of baby shampoo in her hair. Maybe I like this girl. Much. Maybe something inside me remembers that.

I deposit it in the crib sometime later, when it sounds quiet. And for the first time I feel like I belong there. That it's not completely absurd to be there. But what will I do? Will it be possible for me to remember everything at some point? Should I go on like this, even though I can't remember how I got there?

I leave the room, still not knowing the answer, and find Natasha standing by the door of the house with a suitcase by her side.

'Are you going somewhere?'

- You go.

I am surprised by your answer.

Is Natasha sending me away?

- What you mean?

“Steve, something's happened.

“Yes, I fell and lost my memory. “I'm suddenly defensive.

I should be relieved that Natasha was releasing me from staying here, in a place I don't recognize as mine. With a wife I don't recognize as mine. But I remember Penelope and the feeling I had of belonging, even if it was weird. Could it be that somewhere inside me I don't also know that Natasha belongs to me?

“No, something happened for you to forget about.

"Do you think I'm doing it on purpose?"

"No, but... What if you don't like me anymore?" What if... you wanted to divorce me?

“How can I know? I do not remember!

“Then I think you'd better go.

She opens the door.

I want to tell you that I don't know if this is the solution, but what do I know? Maybe she's right.

- Are you sure about that?

“No, I don't. But I think it's the best thing to do now.

"I thought you were going to try to remind me...

"And if you don't remember?"

“That's what I wonder.

“I think you should do what you want now. And clearly your wish is not to remember me. So I think you should go.

'And when should I return?'

“When you remember me. From Penelope. Of us.

"And if you don't remember?"

"Then maybe there's no reason to go back."

There's a sadness in her eyes that makes me feel very guilty. And sad too. I get the suitcase and the car keys.

- I'm very sorry.

“Steve, I want you to know how hard this is for me. You don't know what it's costing me not to take you to the basement and tie you there. Or wreck your car. Scratch all your vinyls, or take that saleswoman's card and ask them to...

“Okay, I get it,” I interrupt her.

“Then you better go.