A Part of My Memory

Elliot

Despite my efforts, I still hadn't found Zara a job.

Judging by the way she answered the phone when I called, she had either worked as a receptionist or a PA or something along those lines, but because she didn't have a CV it was difficult to find her a job.

After work, I decided to visit Reed at his café—Reed's Café—since I didn't need to pick up Harley from school. Usually, the café was almost empty when I visited after work so I was quite surprised to see as many people as I did when I entered.

"Try not to look so surprised would you?" Reed said when I reached the counter.

"Business is going well," I commented. "Surprisingly."

Reed smirked, "the usual?"

"You know it," I said and, seeing that more people had walked in, I decided to wait at a table for Reed rather than talk to him by the counter like I usually did. I slouched in the chair, leaning my head back. It was a long day at work from having to respond to all the emails that had piled up for me, which was another reason why I was here. I was in desperate need of a cup of coffee.

Bridget, Reed's only other employee, brought me my order before tending to the other customers. Only once everyone had been served did Reed take a seat.

"So," he began. "How's it living with Zara?"

I took a sip of my latté before admitting, "It's not as bad as I thought it would be."

"Any progress with her memory?"

"Not really," I said, then rethought. "She remembers some things we spoke about at the beach, but she doesn't remember ever going there. So I guess she remembers certain things, not others."

The topic of conversation moved from Zara to Reed's Café, to my fiancé, and then back to Zara as I told him about the job situation.

"She worked as a PA," Reed suddenly told me.

"And how would you know?"

"Serena brought it up once," the mention of Serena's name changed the mood, and I could see the shift in Reed's demeanour, but he continued. "I forgot the name of the organisation, but they worked at the same place. Zara was a PA, and Serena was an assistant director."

"Come to think of it, I don't know why I didn't ask Zara those kinds of questions," I reflected. "But even though I know she was a PA, I can't easily find her a job without a reference or a CV."

"Let her come work with me then," Reed offered.

"Here?" I asked. "In your café?"

"I wouldn't mind the help," he told me. "It's just Bridget and I and an extra hand would help, what with the sudden increase in customers."

That would probably be the best job for Zara. Even if she didn't have experience, it was a simple enough job to do. And it had to be better than sitting at home all day every day.

I thanked Reed before leaving.

****

"I'm home," I announced my presence, leaving my keys on the table in the entryway.

"Nobody asked!" Zara shouted, and despite my exhaustion from the long day, I found myself chuckling.

I followed her voice to find her in the kitchen with Harley, and judging by the way they were both covered in flour and the quality of the kitchen, they were baking. Harley was in the middle of mixing something and Zara was in the middle of... well, I had no idea what she was trying to do.

"Zara, what are you doing?" I asked, my brows furrowing as I tried to figure it out.

"What does it look like?"

"It looks like you're playing with dough."

"I'm kneading it, thank you very much."

I snorted, "Harley, why didn't you correct her?"

"Because it's funny watching her try," Harley chuckled.

Zara whipped her head in Harley's direction and narrowed her eyes at her, "is that why you've been chuckling this whole time? Because of my baking skills, not a funny video you said you had been thinking of?"

"Maybe," Harley grinned and returned to what she was doing.

"I'll show you," I offered. I slung my bag around a chair and hung my jacket over it, rolled up my sleeves and washed my hands before approaching the counter. I stood on the opposite side so that Zara could see, the counter between us. "So you've already got flour on the counter, which is good as it stops the dough from sticking." I gathered the dough into a pile on the counter. "So, basically what you start by doing is you use the heel of your hand to press into the dough, then back out," I illustrated for her as I spoke. "You keep doing that until you've got all the sides, then you fold the dough in half toward you and press down."

"Press down, got it," Zara said.

I looked up at her then and a chuckle escaped my lips, surprised to see how attentive she was.

"You use the heel of your hand to push down and outward, lengthening and stretching," I continued. "If the dough starts to stick, you add more flour to the counter but that's basically it. You continue to knead, folding and turning the dough until it is smooth and supple. Got it?"

"Got it."

"Wanna try?"

Zara took control of the dough, kneading. Or at least trying to. I clenched my jaw and brought a fist to my mouth to stop myself from laughing, but as soon as Harley looked over her shoulder at Zara she started laughing.

"You're a great teacher, aren't you, Elliot?" Harley laughed.

"Still?" Zara asked. "But I'm pressing and stretching like you said."

I chuckled and made my way around the counter to her side, "you're using more of your palm than your hand. It's supposed to be like this." I stood beside her and illustrated, but when she tried again she still wasn't doing it properly.

"Not like that, like this," I stood behind her, took her hand and placed it onto the dough, using my hand to press the heel of her hand into it. "In and out," I said as I directed the movement of her hand. "You do all sides," I turned the dough and continued kneading, her hand under mine as I guided her movements. "Got it?"

Only when I turned to face her did I realise how close she was, and only then did I realise how still she had become. Zara turned her head slowly and her chestnut-brown eyes locked on mine.

I suddenly felt myself go still.

Neither of us blinked. Neither of us moved. Neither of us—

I heard a camera shutter click and only then did I look away, only to see Harley standing in front of us, her camera facing us.

"Say cheese," she said and snapped another picture. "First kneading lesson since memory loss, that belongs in the books."

When did she even cross to the other side of the counter?

I looked back at Zara to find her eyes still on me. She took a breath and suddenly stepped back. Right into me, her back colliding with my front. She stumbled and, reflexively, my hand found its way around her waist to stable her.

My heart staggered again.

Another camera shutter clicked.

"Sorry," I apologised and stepped back.

"That's enough kneading lessons," Zara said before mumbling, "I'm going to change now," and scurrying out of the room.