“I miss him. Daniel, I mean.” I took a deep breath, fiddled with my watch. Saw our hour was almost up. “I have to keep reminding myself it didn’t happen, because...it still feels so real.”
Dr. Kay handed me the box of tissues and I took one. “Do you wish you could talk with him?” she asked.
“Daniel?” I said, wiping at my eyes. “All the time.”
She paused for a moment, considering this. “Then why don’t you try to contact him?”
“But...I thought that wasn’t a good idea. I’m supposed to be focusing on my ‘memory confidence’ and talking with Daniel, seeing him...” There was a flutter in my belly at the thought. Excitement. “Isn’t that going down a rabbit hole I should stay away from?”
“It’s possible seeing him will help your brain reconcile the missing pieces,” Dr. Kay said. “One of our goals in spending time together is to help you develop coping skills. And if you’re able to talk with Daniel and understand firsthand he’s not the person your memory wants you to believe, it may be easier to compartmentalize that particular issue.”
While I liked the idea of remembering things as they were, I was somewhat panicked at the thought of no longer recollecting Daniel as my husband. I was unsure what to do with Dr. Kay’s suggestion. On the one hand, getting permission to contact Daniel made me feel lighter than I had in weeks. It is doctor recommended, I could say, leaning heavily on this justification. She thinks it might help, I would add, and of course no one would question it then. They all wanted me to get better.
But on the other hand, what if I saw Daniel and all the memories I had of us together—being in love, being husband and wife—disappeared? Then I would be left without the safety that came with thoughts of Daniel. Because even if the memories were false, they were all I had.
“Apparently I haven’t spoken to him in four years,” I said. “Since we... Since I ended our engagement.”
“You don’t have to do this, Lucy,” Dr. Kay said. “But I understand your desire to track down the truth about things. To not have to rely so heavily on your family and friends to fill in the missing pieces. I think that’s a great instinct and you should see where it takes you.”
“But what would I say to him? I mean, this all sounds so...”
“Crazy?” she said, and we laughed. I was shaking, the thought of seeing Daniel, of talking with him, causing adrenaline to course through me. “Reach out however’s easiest for you, whether it be via email or phone, or even with someone else’s help,” Dr. Kay continued. “Just see what happens.”
In my mind I was already writing the script of what I would say to him, how I would say it. As if reading my mind, Dr. Kay asked, “To finish up today, why don’t you tell me what your expectations are for this meeting, if you decide to go through with it?”
Good question. “I honestly have no idea,” I said. “There’s a tiny, irrational part of me that wishes he’ll tell me I am remembering things right. That this has all been one big misunderstanding.” Dr. Kay smiled gently at me, though not in a pitying way. “And there’s a big part of me that hopes I get the closure I need. That seeing him will wiggle something in my mind and I’ll remember everything right and things will go back to normal.”
“What is that for you? ‘Normal.’”
I paused. Even if I was scared to shatter the connection I felt to Daniel, to accept we were not together and lose everything that came with that awareness, I realized I was more scared to stay in this wacky bubble where I couldn’t trust my own mind.
“I think normal is what life looked like five minutes before I slipped on that ice.”
“I have to tell you something,” Jenny said, shaking cinnamon into her latte, her eyes on her mug. We were at my favorite café, Bobbette & Belle, only a few blocks from my place, indulging in a lunch of salted caramel macarons and raspberry scones with clotted cream, and milk-whipped coffees. Caffeine had proved to be an asset for helping with my concussion headaches, so the two shots of espresso in my latte practically felt medicinal.
I stopped slathering the clotted cream onto the warm scone and looked up at her as prickles of anxiety filled me. I had no idea what she was about to tell me and for a moment considered maybe it had nothing at all to do with me. How glorious that would be! To not be the center of attention. But then she said, “And I don’t think you’re going to be happy about it,” and I knew for certain I was wrong—it had everything to do with me, after all.
“What’s up?” I asked, trying to appear stress free as I continued layering the cream onto my scone. Relaxed, like whatever she had to tell me would be just fine. I took a bite and chewed, waiting.
“So, I know you’re thinking of getting in touch with Daniel,” she said, now stirring the cinnamon into the frothy milk. She took a sip and the milk left a thin foamy mustache above her upper lip. “And I think that’s great. Brave, even.”
Hmm. Brave? “Okay. And?”
“And here’s the thing,” she said. But then she stopped and looked at me worriedly.
Now I was irritated. “What is it, Jenny? Spill it. You’re making me nervous.” And she was, my heart rate up and my palms sweaty.
“He’s married, Lucy.”
It was as though she’d sucker punched me. Even though no one had ever slammed their fist into my gut—as far as I could remember—this had to be what that felt like.
“Oh,” I managed, trying to catch my breath. The first shock waves dissipated and then I felt stupid. Naive for not having considered such a scenario. Why wouldn’t Daniel be married? We were approaching thirty; this was when people coupled off in a more permanent way. And we hadn’t been together for over four years. Of course he would have met someone else and fallen in love.
Jenny was speaking fast now, clearly wanting to get it all out as quickly as possible. It made me dizzy, trying to hold on to all the details as they arrived rapid-fire from her. “He got married two years ago. I wanted to tell you. Said we had to tell you. But, well, it was suggested maybe you weren’t quite ready to hear that.”
I wondered, flickers of anger moving through me, who had made that suggestion.
“And honestly, we all thought things would have settled by now. That you would have, you know, remembered everything.” She cringed at this last part, tried to say it quietly as though my memory lapses were less significant if discussed in hushed tones.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” I finally said, hating how high and squeaky my voice was. “To be honest, I’m an idiot for not considering that.” Do not cry, Lucy. Do not cry. I dug my fingernails into my palm, relished the pain there because it shifted my focus from the pain elsewhere.
“No! Don’t say that,” Jenny said, grabbing my one hand still resting on the table. “How could you have known? I should have told you.” Her mouth turned down in a scowl. “It wasn’t right to keep it from you for this long. I’m sorry.”
I let her hold my hand, pressed my other hand harder against my stomach as I tried to take a few deep breaths. “So, who did he marry?”
Is this what it feels like to be cheated on? A sense of sickness spread out from my belly, threatened to take over my whole body. It was quickly followed by the trifecta of doom, embarrassment and regret for any decisions that had led me to this place. Whatever I was experiencing in this moment, I never wanted to