squeeze in for a half-hug, the bouquet of tulips awkward between us. “How are you?” she asks, her usually chipper self, just like we’re old friends, life-long acquaintances.
A middle-aged woman shoots us a quick glance, and hastily returns to her magazine. Old friends — I’m sure that’s exactly what this woman sees — something far from the truth. She could never imagine what we’ve all shared.
“Thank you,” Bridget says as she takes the flowers from me. “I’m sure he’ll love these.”
I am floored by Bridget’s demeanor. All seems to have been forgotten. I can’t quite wrap my head around it. I don’t understand why she doesn’t hate me anymore.
She speaks to the woman at the desk briefly, and we follow her down the hall to the elevators. She towers over me as we walk in step, her heels clicking against the hard floor.
“Thank you for coming,” she says as we make our way up in the elevator. As we step out, she turns to me and stills me with her hand. “Did Gabe tell you about his memory loss?”
I nod. “Yes, I heard he doesn’t remember the accident.”
“That’s right.”
I hope he remembers the events of that day because I really don’t want to do the whole break-up thing again. “What else does he not remember?”
She doesn’t seem too upset when she tells me, “Quite a big chunk of time, I’m afraid.”
I mull this over for a second.
“You should know,” she goes on, her words measured. “He may not remember you.” She says this so casually, like it’s no big deal at all.
I catch my breath.
How could he forget me?/
I don’t believe it.
She glances over at Gabe who has stopped to wait for us. “Could we have a second?”
He bends his head, hands in pockets. “Sure,” he says as he steps away and gives us some space.
Bridget swallows hard. And she suddenly seems nervous, edgy, like I’ve never seen her before. She seems emotional. “I know he loved you,” she says. And I’m taken aback by the past-tense she uses. “And he could love you again. This is your chance to do the right thing.”
I’m left speechless. I don’t quite understand what’s she’s telling me. She turns on her heel, and the clicking of her shoes bounces off the corridor halls. Gabe falls into step with her, and they chat as they walk down to Weston’s room. I scurry to catch up to them, still confused as hell.
Gabe tells me he prefers to wait outside. I fully understand, there’s no love lost between him and Weston. Obviously, they’re not really friends. I hesitate as I follow Bridget into the room, a nice big open space.
Weston sits up on the hospital bed, just as I had imagined him, surrounded by bouquets and cards. And a few balloons too. He is buried in casts, surrounded by machines and quite bruised up, but seems in good spirits as he writes in a notebook.
As we walk into the room, the clicking of our heels is loud. But he doesn’t look up at us. He keeps scribbling in his notebook, biting at his bottom lip as he does so. I study his face; one side looks worse than the other. And he’s wearing one of those standard, not so fashionable hospital gowns. But somehow, he still manages to be beautiful.
He finally shoots a look up at us. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I just had to follow my train of thought.”
“He’s been writing a diary,” Bridget explains. “It helps keep things in check. Things are still very fuzzy.”
He smiles at the both us. “Well, it’s not so much a diary, as it is a list of observations and reminders.”
He finally rests his eyes on me.
There’s nothing in his gaze but curiosity.
Nothing else.
Not a flicker of recognition, happiness, excitement, longing…just a little curiosity.
Bridget walks around the bed, adjusts his pillow and kisses him on the cheek. He smiles up at her with a certain expression in his eyes, an expression I recognize. It’s the way he’s looked at me so many times.
“This is Mirella,” she offers. “A new friend of ours.”
I venture a little closer as he smiles up at me. His smile is courteous, polite.
He really does not remember me.
My hearts sinks. How could he forget?
Bridget pulls a chair for me and sets it beside the bed. I slowly take a seat, still trying to digest all this. She did warn me but I refused to listen.