A Part of My Memory

Elliot

As soon as Zara entered the car, she buckled her seatbelt and made the seat lie down.

"Tired?"

She nodded. "I'm so used to doing nothing all day that now that I've done something, I'm drained."

"But you liked it?"

She smiled, "I did like it. Thank you."

I felt a burst of what felt like satisfaction at her gratitude, and I felt a corner of my lips tug up into a smile. The car was silent as I started it and drove, and I assumed that Zara had fallen asleep, at least until she suddenly asked, "tell me about myself."

I glanced down at her, "what?"

"Tell me about myself," she repeated, adjusting the seat so she sat up.

"What do you want to know?" I asked tentatively.

"Anything," she shrugged.

I racked my brain for something, thinking back to the first time we met and the days that followed that meeting. I thought about her weird quirks and funny behaviours. Her protectiveness and innocence. The way she was confident yet timid at the same time. The way she always resorted to jokes to cheer someone up. The way she said the most random things when she was nervous. The way she didn't care much about what people thought of her. The way she was always willing to listen. The way her whole face lit up whenever she smiled. I thought about it all. And I told her about it all.

When I was done there was silence then she said, "you should write that down."

I glanced at her, "why?"

"It would make a great speech at my funeral."

I knew she was only joking, but the words hurt me a lot more than I expected. Just the thought of Zara dying pained me. I had already almost lost her and I didn't want to think of losing her again.

She must have read something on my expression because she said, "whoa, I was only joking, Elliot." I didn't know what I looked like, but it must have been concerning because she placed a hand on my knee and gave it a little squeeze. "Your cousins not going anywhere."

My hand closest to her moved of its own volition, releasing the steering wheel and landing on her hand instead, "She better not be."

****

"Zara!!" Harley shouted as soon as the front door opened. She appeared before us holding a tray and panting. "Guess what's under here?"

"Umm, judging by the smell," Zara considered, "a baguette?"

"Yep, the baguette we made together. It's still fresh," Harley said and lifted the tray lid before handing it to me. "Now, can you tell me what's wrong with the baguette?"

Zara analysed it, and so did I. It looked normal to me.

"Break a piece and tell me," Harley instructed.

Zara had to use two hands to break the bread, and once she had I snagged it from her fingers and tossed it into my mouth before she could taste it.

"Hey!" Zara nudged me but I only grinned and then faced Harley.

"It's chewy."

"Exactly, and what does it mean when it's chewy?" Harley asked, and when the only response she got was silence she answered her own question. "It means ze dough waz overworked," she said in that horrible French accent of hers.

Zara broke another piece and tasted it. "It still tastes good, though."

"It does, doesn't it?" Harley smiled. "Ze texture waz ruined, but ze taste iz still good."

"I am not surprized, since you waz ze baker," Zara said in her own French accent which was almost as horrible as Harley's.

"Not you too, Zara," I shook my head.

They both turned to face me but Zara was the one who said, "you iz a hater."

****

A knock sounded on my door and Harley walked in without bothering to wait for my response. She closed the door behind her and sat on the bed.

"What's up?" I turned on my chair to face her.

Harley didn't meet my eyes, her attention on a loose string on my bed cover, "can I ask you something?"

"What is it?"

She looked at me then, "can we keep her?"

My brows furrowed, "keep who?"

"Zara, you idiot," Harley sighed. "Can we keep her? Even after she regains her memory, can she stay with us?"

"Harley..." I leaned back in my chair. "I thought this was something serious."

"This is serious!" Harley stated and leaned forward. "She's nice, she's funny and I want her to stay."

"That isn't our decision to make, you know that right?"

"Yeah, but if she decided she wanted to stay, would you be fine with that?"

"You're asking the wrong person, Harley," I made to turn around in my chair but she stopped me.

"Mom and dad like her, and so do I," Harley said. "And you like her too."

I shifted in my seat, "I don't like her."

"If you don't then you are, in fact, an idiot." Harley got off my bed and made her way to the door but stopped with her hand on the handle. "I like her better than Jess. Zara doesn't get all emotional when I tease her. She tastes my food no matter what it looks like. She doesn't mind getting her hands dirty. She buys me chocolates—"

"With my money."

"That's not the point!" Harley turned around and faced me, but she had a slight grin spread across her lips. "She still gets me chocolates."

"Whatever you say, Harley."

"So can she stay, even after getting her memory back?"

"Not my choice to make," I repeated.

Harley lowered her eyes for a second before meeting my eyes again, "Then is it a bad thing that I don't want her to get her memory back anymore?"