Vacant Heart

Chapter Forty-One

"I'm going out for a few hours. I will be back."

After three weeks of dipping out for late lunches, for private early dinners, I've grown used to Samantha's recurring gleefulness, considering she knows who I'm sneaking off with. I've tried to keep as much as possible from her simply for that reason.

Her gleefulness makes me uneasy.

I don't want questions, because I truly have no answers. I'm attempting this feat—to push aside my usual fears, my usual reluctance—to give Aidan the chance he deserves. Because he truly does deserve it.

Three weeks, and he's come when I've called, made himself available to me. We have lunch all the time, even occasional dinners. He doesn't push when I choose not to confide him, and offers me completely transparency when I have my own questions. Mostly, light topics, ones we can get through without a repeat of the night I spent in his apartment, a night spent in his bed while he took the couch, a uncomfortable circumstance for me considering I rarely stay over men's homes, even more so when we haven't slept together.

I've tried to remember that he's not like the rest of them, that the woman I was when I met him obviously found a way to get over the proximities.

"Also, Bradley wants to speak later," I say. "He'll be showing up here, so I wanted to give you ample warning since you've sworn him off for good."

"You should do that too," she replies sternly to my teasing. "You've got something good right now."

"I don't have anything, Sam," I tell her, pointedly. "I am trying this out, but it's not a relationship. We don't kiss. We don't really touch that much either."

"Yeah, that's not by choice for him, I can assure you that."

She's right. I'm holding back, big-time.

Normally, I'd have sealed the deal by now. I'd have fallen into the sheets with him, and just enjoyed the pleasure. However, Aidan Hughes is not a man I've picked up from the bar. He's in love with me, and he wouldn't be fucking me—he'd be making love—and I'm not ready for that.

I'm not ready for those emotions.

"How did the appointment go?" she asks as I remove my umbrella from behind my desk, noticing the darkening sky outside the windows.

"Well, the stupid left lobe is doing me no favors." I shake my head, trying to shake off the unfortunate news. "No progress. They suggested therapy."

No progress and it's been almost five months since the accident.

She sighs. "Are you going to do it?"

"And say what? I have no trauma, not that I can remember. It would be for no reason."

"It'll get better, Jo. Easier."

"Maybe."

I squeeze her hand on my way out, not sure if it's to comfort her or me. It's getting to the point where I have to begin to prepare myself for the fact that I may never recover the memories I lost, because statistically, by this time, I should have already recovered.

Glad I brought my umbrella when I see that the heavy clouds have broken open, prompting chaos in the busy streets, I immerse myself into it, enjoying the slightly warmer weather, the fresh smell of rain. The business district is swarmed with stiff suits off to lunch, trendy hipsters carrying around their iced coffees with friends.

The restaurant I suggested was smack dab between our buildings, tucked between a historical movie theater and artisanal ice cream shop.

Aidan is standing underneath the building cover, his umbrella folded back in to dry.