The cocktail of drugs numbing my senses is the only thing stopping me from losing my shit. Questions race through my head like wildfire.
What the hell’s been happening in my life?
Is everyone alive?
Any catastrophes I should know about?
What if my resentment toward Taylor turned me into some nutjob, and I went all The Shining on her?
There’s a whole year’s worth of changes to process. A year’s worth of front-page news, a year’s worth of life’s merry-go-round, a year’s worth of heartaches and headaches and goodbyes.
Changes that I’m sure I dealt with in real time but now they’ll all hit me simultaneously head-on.
I can’t go there yet.
Katie leans over my bed. “Are you all right?”
It’s then that I realize the loud wailing noise is coming from me. “Er… yeah, sorry,” I say, trying to appease her. “Just a little overwhelmed.”
She pats my hand. “Of course. It’s understandable.”
There’s no way she could understand.
How could I erase an entire year of my life? The idea of being a stranger to my own life story sends chills down my spine.
“Hey, Katie?” I ask, realizing I don’t know what the 27-year-old me looks like. “Can I see a mirror, please?”
“Of course.” She hunts through the drawers and hands me one.
I take a deep breath and brace myself. A woman with wide, frightened eyes stares back.
Oh man, I look like the girl from The Exorcist.
My dark, usually wavy hair is a wild mess and deep creases are etched across my cheeks. The bandage is gone, but stitches line my forehead. I hope the scar isn’t too big.
My usually light olive skin is ghostly white.
On closer inspection, things look different. Did I get bangs? Looks like it could pass for an edgy haircut when not covered in grease. Huh.
I’ve definitely done something cool with my eyebrows. They’re all angular and dramatic. I look permanently surprised.
It’s me, but it’s not me. This other woman looking back at me has lived a year of my life that I know nothing about.
“Time for your scans, Lucy,” Katie tells me cheerily. “The nursing assistants are here to take you down to level four.”
My tired eyes stare blankly back at me through the mirror. They droop as exhaustion pulls me under…
When I open them again, I’m met with a familiar face.
“Mom,” I try to shout, but it comes out a squeak as I prop myself up on the pillows.
“Oh, Lucy.” Mom’s pace quickens, her stern features softening in an all-too-rare display of relief. “Thank God you’re awake.”
She plants an eager kiss on my cheek, triggering a sudden onslaught of tears from me. After I’ve sobbed myself dry, I gulp in air and scrub the remnants of snot and tears off my face.
It’s dark outside, so a few more hours have passed since my last bout of consciousness.
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here earlier, darling. There was an earlier flight, but it was delayed, and then they canceled it, and then I was put on standby… I managed to catch the earliest flight I could,” she spills out in a single breath.
I grapple to keep up with her, which is hard in my state.
Shockingly, Mom looks a bit of a wreck too. She’s wearing her cardigan inside out, and she’s not wearing a bra. She never leaves the house without a bra on.
“It’s fine. By the way, you have a roller in your hair.”
She emits a small gasp, patting her perfectly coiffed hair before extracting the offending roller. “I stuck a few in while you were sleeping.”
“What were you doing in England?”
Her eyebrows knot together. “Meg’s birthday. You knew that.”
“I did?”
“Of course, you did! Oh, darling, you’re all mixed up. But you’re safe now,” she coos as she sits beside the bed. “How are you feeling?”
“Dopey.”
Like the time I took the mushrooms in Amsterdam; but I leave that little nugget out.
Hauling myself up into a sitting position, I take a generous swig of water. “I can’t remember things. The doctor said I have amnesia.”
“They told me. It’s beyond me, though. How can you just forget a whole year? They must have misdiagnosed you. You know how these doctors are, making blunders left and right. Just last week, I read this horrifying story about-”
“Mom,” I interrupt before she can go down the rabbit hole of the horrors of medical malpractice. “I don’t remember the accident. Do you know why I was at the Plaza Hotel?”
She throws me a disapproving glance. “A work event. Honestly, Lucy, I can’t imagine what you were thinking. Drinking excessively and then tripping down the stairs, in public no less.”
I freeze. Was I really inebriated at a work event? Why on earth would I do that? How mortifying. Hopefully, none of the big wigs saw my swan dive into humiliation.
“Your dad wouldn’t be pleased if he were alive.”
I glare at her. That’s such a shit thing to say.
“Priya mentioned that your behavior has been rather… strange of late,” she adds, an all-knowing look in her eyes.
“Strange how?” I choke out. And why’s Priya snitching to Mom?
“She believed it was due to a guy.”
“A guy?” I sputter, water droplets launching themselves from my lips onto my chin. “I have a guy?” Where is he then! Why isn’t he here mopping my fevered brow with a damp washcloth? “Who is he?”
The cold terror of a significant person in my life that I can’t even recall sends a shudder down my spine.
“You didn’t say anything about it to me, so I can only guess it wasn’t serious,” she says with a dismissive wave. “And really, considering your history, I wouldn’t be surprised. You’ve never had the knack for finding a decent guy to settle down with.”
And there it is. The familiar sting of her unsolicited judgment, less than a quarter-hour after her arrival.
But it sounds about right. Likely, it’s one of those dating app flings that limped into a three-month stint before inevitably petering out. Either the men are too nice or absolute assholes. Like Goldilocks, I can’t find a happy medium.