Don't Forget Me

Chapter 11

The next day, I walk through the screen door out onto our back deck to find my mom reading a paperback in the afternoon sun.

"You're still reading smut, I see," I say, trying to hide my smile.

"It's a romance!" she says defensively, holding the book closer to her chest.

"I'm sure. Let me see the cover," I insist, knowing it's going to be some scantily dressed lady in the arms of an oiled-up beefcake. I don't get the appeal, but she always says one day I will.

"No." She laughs as she closes the book and sets it facedown on the armrest of her Adirondack chair. I kick my Birkenstocks off and plop down in the one next to her. "What have you been up to? How's your head feeling today?" she asks.

"It's pretty good, actually. I took an Aleve this morning, but it's definitely feeling better every day. I was just looking through my laptop, trying to learn something about myself."

"Oh? Anything interesting?" she asks, shielding her eyes from the sun.

"Not really," I reply. I was disappointed to find that my search history had been erased. I can't imagine why I would do that, unless I was trying to hide something. "It's weird scrolling through my Instagram, though. Seeing myself doing things that I don't remember doing."

"Yeah, I imagine that would be a little unsettling."

"So since that didn't really help, I think the next step is starting back at the coffee shop," I tell her.

"Really? You don't think it's too soon?" she asks.

"The sooner I can get back to normal life, the more likely I am to get my memory back. That's what the pamphlets say, anyway. Sitting around here, looking at old photographs... it's not enough."

"I just don't want you rushing into—"

Ding dong. Ding. Ding. Ding dong. Ding...

Someone is going ham on the doorbell, and they're not stopping. We look at each other for a second and then behind us inside.

"I'll get it. You just get back to your steamy romance," I tell her, and she smacks me on the butt with it as I squeeze by.

When I open the front door, I'm greeted by two somewhat-familiar faces grinning back at me.

"Oh my God!" is all I can say as I look back and forth between my two best friends.

Hannah's hair is... so perfectly straight now. I always thought her curls were so beautiful, so her. They were an entity entirely on their own. She seems... smaller now. Her makeup has changed too. It's heavier, thick black eyeliner against her pale skin, her freckles painted over with foundation. If I hadn't known her my whole life, I honestly might be a little intimidated by her.

Grace lost her braces and well, she, uhh... filled out. The deep V of her thin Tshirt really accentuates her ultimate victory over puberty.

I'm still having trouble forming words so I just lift my arms up, and they both step into me for a hug, all of us holding on to each other tight.

"You guys look different." I laugh, giving them one more squeeze before letting go.

"Roseanne, don't speak to Grace's cans like that," Hannah says, dodging a slap in the arm from Grace.

"Oh my God! Do not call my boobs cans, Han."

Han? That's new.

Hannah cocks her head at me. "So you like, really don't remember anything?" she asks, brushing her silky red hair backward.