A/N
Here's where things pick up! Hope you're ready for your ship to sink... I mean, did you ever for a moment think I'd let it float...?
Happy reading!
x Noelle
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
+ 3
m y o s o t i s
For fidelity.
(now: +3)
THE POT OF shasta daisies on the windowsill has started to wilt. In all the chaos over the past few days, she's forgotten to water it. Dylan had bought it for her as part of his 'housewarming gifts' when they moved in together, and it's one of the things she loves most in this house.
It's one of the things she loves most in their little house. It reminds her of late spring, dew on the grass and baby blue skies. But most of all, it reminds her of them: she, the pot of daisies, always looking out for him, the sun, to bloom and grow.
But now, there's a small, vindictive part of her that wants to let it wilt away. Why should she care for it when he's forgotten all about her? She stares at the daisies for a long moment, before she gives in with a sigh and waters it anyway.
As she wanders down the empty hallway back to the living room, she finds that every little thing reminds her of him. He's in all of their photos on the mantelpiece above the fireplace; he's in the polaroids she's hung up on the wall. There's a ring of coffee stains on the table where he usually leaves his mug; the post-its he leaves her are scattered everywhere; Google home still recognizes his voice.
This house is him. It's her. It's them. He's like ivy that grows along the walls, entrenched so deeply that his mark is everywhere, and if he were to be removed, things will no longer be the same. She will never be the same.
"Emma." The voice breaks her out of her thoughts. She looks up, only to find her best friend staring at her in clear concern. Scout frowns a little and pushes the box aside. "You okay?"
Briefly, Emma considers lying, but she knows that her friend will see through her anyway. "No," she admits with a sigh, and wanders over to settle down amidst the pile of boxes. "I'm just...really sad, that's all. He remembers everyone but me, and I don't know why."
"That's not true," Scout points out gently. "It's not just you he doesn't remember. It's also everything that's happened in recent years—his job, his newer friends, even his years in college. Wasn't that what the doctors said? Something about post..."
"Post-traumatic amnesia," Emma recites—she can practically say this in her sleep now. "Or retrograde amnesia. He's suffering from a brain injury, and he just can't remember."
Doesn't want to remember, a little voice adds in her head. The look on his face when his family had told him who she was had been nothing but confused. Then frustrated. And then downright hostile, especially when Morgan kept calling him an idiot and a liar for not remembering who Emma was.
It really wasn't his fault. Half his mind was like a slate wiped clean. It just so happened that that part of the slate was her. But he didn't know that, and so he'd gotten so worked up that he'd upset the drip attached to his arm. She'd immediately left then, after giving her statement to the police and politely excusing herself to his worried parents. She'd promised to come back another day.
It's another day now, and she still hasn't summoned the courage to go back. According to his parents, Dylan is still volatile and suspicious whenever her name is mentioned. Morgan being Morgan doesn't help matters either. And Emma would much rather Dylan treat her with the polite indifference of a stranger, than the cruel hostility reserved for someone he hates.
"This is so wild," Scout remarks, shaking her head. "Retrograde amnesia is a trope straight out of every cliché novel."
Emma's lips twist in a bitter smile. "Except this novel is now my life, and it's kind of awful."
Scout offers her a sympathetic smile and pulls her into a brief hug. "If you're rock bottom now, you can only go up from here," she says softly, before she pulls away. "So, what's the plan?"
"What?"
"The plan. You always have a plan, even when things are at their worst. I'm sure you've already thought of something to fix this situation."
Emma's face brightens a little at that—Scout really does know her. "I do, actually. That's why we're going through all this stuff," she explains, gesturing to the boxes around them. "I mean, yes, I have to put together a few things in an overnight bag for his parents to bring to the hospital. But I'm also looking for...reminders."
"Reminders?"
"Just little things that might seem insignificant to anyone else, but were once important in our relationship." She points to the small pile of things she's set aside. "Like that chemistry textbook from the class we took together in college. Or that gift card from the first time we met, and I kept it as a memento instead of using it. I hope that whenever he sees these things, he'll know that they're from me. So that even if he can't remember me, he'll know that I'm still here."
"What about this?" Scout straightens out a crumpled piece of paper and begins reading off it. "Eggs, milk, chicken, ramen... Is this from the first time you guys went grocery shopping together?"
Emma's lips twitch. "No, that's just from last week's grocery shopping."
"Whoops." Scout crumples the paper back up and tosses it into the wastepaper bin across the room. It falls in with a silent swoosh, and Emma breaks into a small smile. Not for the first time, she marvels at how the down-to-earth, a little tomboyish, rough around the edges girl she'd befriended in college has matured to become the wise and caring woman she knows now, with a husband and a baby, and a knack for basketball tricks using the most ordinary things.
Scout's come a long way since college, but then, so has she.
"I can't believe you still have this!" Scout says, as she pulls out a stack of Denver high school yearbooks. "I've not seen these in forever—Dave doesn't keep anything from our high school days because he doesn't have many good memories from then. He says I was his only good memory."
"That's really sweet of him."
"You'd think, but then he said that vanilla cupcakes are his one true love, while he had our baby on his lap, so, you know. Pinch of salt and all that." Scout flips through a couple of pages, and then lets out a small sound of delight. "Oh, look! That's me!"
Emma immediately leans over to get a look. Seventeen-year old Scout has short brown hair, tons of freckles and looks plainly nervous in the picture. A few pages later, there's young Emma—with black hair framing wide eyes and a shy smile. Dylan is in the year above them, and his picture comes first as president of the senior year. Bright eyes, relaxed features and a confident smile.
There's something both nostalgic and strange about seeing old photos. She can barely recognize her young self, so different from the person she is now. It's almost like staring at a stranger—is this what Dylan sees when he looks at her now? Is this what it's like to forget? To have your memories distilled, dismantled and distorted through the passage of time, until you can no longer remember, with crystal clarity, what once was.
It's not quite the same as retrograde amnesia, of course, but suddenly, she feels a strong pang of sadness for him. He must be feeling so lost. And without her to guide him, he would be so alone.
She takes a deep breath and resolves to visit him as soon as she can. Her little reverie is broken when Scout lets out a small laugh beside her. "This is so weird," her best friend muses, now on a new page of the yearbook. "Dave in my mind looks exactly how he does now, but my ex doesn't. In my mind, he looks just like how he did at eighteen."
Emma stares at the picture that Scout's pointing to. Wild hair, dark eyes, and not a hint of a smile. "How did you know?" Scout asks. Emma glances at her in confusion, and she adds, "How did you know that Callum Wright would get into trouble from the very beginning?"
The difference between retrograde amnesia and the passage of time is this: the passage of time can be bridged in an instant. Sometimes, all it takes is a single word or two for the memories to come flooding back, with a crystalline clarity as though it happened just yesterday.
In this case, the words are Callum Wright.
"I had a hunch," Emma says softly.