Chương 11
“Then maybe someday.”
He nodded again.
“Okay.”
Two weeks later, Emily found him in the kitchen at two in the morning trying to make coffee.
“You know that’s a bad idea.”
Daniel did not turn.
“I remember this machine.”
“Congratulations.”
“I mean I remember buying it.”
Emily became fully awake.
He opened the cabinet.
“You hated the silver one.”
“I still do.”
“You said it looked like a robot toaster.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
He turned toward her.
“We bought it after we moved in.”
“Yes.”
“You wanted the expensive one.”
“Yes.”
“I said no.”
“Yes.”
“Then I bought it for your birthday.”
Emily smiled.
“You ruined the surprise because you left the receipt on the counter.”
Daniel laughed.
The memory was small.
Almost stupid.
It mattered enormously.
He made coffee anyway.
They sat at the kitchen table at 2:17 a.m. drinking something neither needed.
Daniel looked around the room.
“I remember more here.”
“That makes sense.”
“Does it?”
“Smells. Objects. Habits.”
“You sound like Shah.”
“I’ve been trapped with doctors.”
Daniel stared into his coffee.
“I remember fighting with you here.”
“Which time?”
“Encouraging.”
She waited.
He rubbed his thumb over the mug handle.
“You said I only apologized when I thought you were actually going to leave.”
Emily’s smile disappeared.
“I said that.”
“Was it true?”
“At the time.”
Daniel nodded.
“What did I say?”
“You told me I was dramatic.”
He closed his eyes.
“Great.”
“You were scared.”
“That doesn’t improve it.”
“No.”
He looked at her.
“Did I change?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
Emily considered.
“Enough that I said yes when you proposed.”
“That’s evasive.”
“It’s true.”
“Was I still selfish?”
“Yes.”
“Defensive?”
“Yes.”
“Late?”
“Constantly.”
He almost smiled.
Emily continued, “You were better at coming back after fights. Better at saying what you were actually afraid of. Better at not treating love like a problem you could solve alone.”
Daniel looked down.
“Maybe I don’t want all my memories back.”
The sentence frightened her.
“Why?”
“Because everybody keeps waiting for the old me. What if I don’t like him?”
Emily was quiet.
Then she said, “You don’t owe him loyalty.”
Daniel lifted his eyes.
“You loved him.”
“I did.”
“Do.”
She took a breath.
“Do.”
“That sounds like loyalty.”
“It isn’t the same thing.”
“What’s the difference?”
Emily looked at the ring hanging from her necklace.
“I loved who you were becoming. Not every person you’d already been.”
Daniel leaned back.
The refrigerator hummed.
A car passed outside.
Someone upstairs dropped something heavy and swore.
Daniel smiled faintly.
“Still choosing.”
Emily touched the ring.
“Yeah.”
Three days later, he remembered the proposal.
It happened in a grocery store.
They were arguing about yogurt.
Daniel stopped with one hand on the cart.
Emily was comparing two containers when she noticed he had gone pale.
“What?”
He looked at her.
“The river.”
Her hand tightened around the yogurt.
“What river?”
“You had the sign.”
Emily forgot the grocery aisle.
Daniel stared past her.
“It was cold.”
“Yes.”
“You were wearing the green coat.”
“Yes.”
“You knew.”
“I knew.”
“You were laughing before I even asked.”
Emily put the yogurt down.
Daniel’s eyes filled, though no tears fell.
“I remember being terrified.”
“You were.”
“I remember thinking if you said no, I had no backup plan for dinner.”
Emily laughed.
Daniel’s mouth shook.
“I remember you.”
The words nearly destroyed her.
She stepped closer.
“Which me?”
“You.”
He touched her cheek.
Slowly.
Questioningly.
Emily covered his hand with hers.
Daniel closed his eyes.
“I remember loving you.”
She did cry then.
Not dramatically.
Two tears.
One after the other.
Daniel wiped the second with his thumb.
“I think you’re supposed to say something.”
Emily laughed through the tears.
“You want a speech?”
“No. God, no.”
“Good.”
He looked at her.
“Can I kiss you?”
She nodded.
The kiss was brief.
Careful.
Not a recovery of anything.
A beginning.
When they separated, Daniel rested his forehead against hers.
“Did I do that right?”
“You were rusty.”
He laughed.
A woman trying to reach the yogurt cleared her throat.
Emily stepped aside.
“Sorry.”
The woman took a container without looking at either of them.
They laughed all the way to produce.
Recovery did not become smooth after that.
Some memories returned.
Some did not.
Daniel developed headaches that could flatten an entire day. He became overwhelmed in crowded places. He tired quickly. He once forgot a conversation with Emily from the same morning and accused her of changing plans they had never made.
She yelled.
He yelled back.
Then both of them stopped because the fear underneath the argument was too obvious.
“I don’t know what’s real sometimes,” Daniel said.
Emily stood near the sink.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
She flinched.
Daniel closed his eyes.
“I did it again.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Okay.”
He almost argued with okay.
Then didn’t.
That was new.
His employer extended medical leave.
The acting promotion became permanent.
Daniel pretended not to care for almost a week.
Then he threw a coffee mug into the trash hard enough to break it.
Emily watched from the doorway.
“You liked that mug.”
“I hate that mug.”
“It says World’s Okayest Employee.”
“Exactly.”
“You bought it.”
Daniel stared at the trash.
“I don’t know who I am if I don’t go back.”
Emily leaned against the doorframe.
“You’re unemployed with excellent taste in mugs.”
He looked at her.
She raised one shoulder.
“Too soon?”
“Probably.”
He smiled despite himself.
Then his face collapsed.
Not crying.
Just tired.
“I worked for that.”
“I know.”
“I remember working for it.”
“I know.”
“That’s one of the things I remember perfectly.”
She crossed the kitchen.
This time she did not ask before touching him.
He leaned into her.
“I hate Mark,” he whispered.
“I know.”
“I hope his promotion makes him miserable.”
“That’s healthy.”
“I’m healing.”
She laughed against his shoulder.
May you like
In October, three months after the accident, Daniel returned to St. Anne’s for a follow-up scan.
The chapel was on the same floor as radiology.
