Page 57 of Your Love

Kerri points to a specific cabinet, and I retrieve a tall, cylindrical vase and fill it with water. As I begin to trim the stems of the freshly cut flowers with a pair of kitchen scissors, Kerri watches intently. “Did your mother teach you that?” she asks with a hint of amusement.

I chuckle as I pour a dash of sugar into the vase before arranging the flowers neatly inside. “No,” I answer, meeting her gaze. “You did.”

A flicker of emotion crosses Kerri’s face, too quick for me to fully grasp. If I had to guess, I’d say it was a hint of sadness.

We settle onto the plush tan sofa across from the fireplace, and my eyes are drawn to a photograph on the mantle. I would guess she was in middle school at the time it was taken. It’s one of those amazing photos from the 80s where the parents are posed behind the child, each with one hand on her shoulder. She grins widely, braces glinting, and her reddish hair is teased up to the sky.

Kerri notices my gaze and chuckles. “Can you believe the hair?” she asks.

“It’s pretty rad, actually,” I reply.

“Ah yes, the bigger the hair, the closer to Jesus,” she jokes with a twinkle in her eye.

I release a soft chuckle. My favorite thing since I got here is when I catch glimpses of the Kerri I know. When she’s relaxed and she uses her Texan sayings, or when I catch her checking me out. Those are the things that give me hope that we’re going to make it back to each other one of these days. But that hope is dashed when she starts talking.

Kerri twists her hands together, her knuckles turning white with nervousness. She takes a deep breath and meets my gaze. “I’ve been thinking a lot about this,” she says. “We’ve spent quite a bit of time together, and I can’t express how much it means to me that you dropped everything to come here for me. You’ve told me all about Merrimack, our friends, and our relationship, but it’s not helping. I’m not remembering anything.”

“The doctor said it might take time,” I argue.

She places her hand on mine. “Please let me finish.”

“Of course. I’m sorry.”

“It makes me feel worse that you have your life on hold here for something with no guarantee.” It hits me that she used the word “guarantee” before when we talked about taking our friendship further. She asked for a guarantee. She asked if we could always be friends.

I tell her the same thing I told her then. “I’m not looking for a guarantee. Spending time with you, whether you remember or not, isn’t a hardship for me. It’s exactly where I want to be.”

“I can’t shake off this feeling of guilt, knowing that my presence in your life is holding you back from experiencing new things.” She hesitates before speaking, taking a deep breath. “Maybe it would be best if you went home,” she says softly.

My mind races, wondering if this is about the other day. “Is it because of what happened?” I ask cautiously.

“I thought so at first,” she admits. “But as I’ve thought about it more, I don’t think that’s the real reason.”

“Are you still afraid of me?” I blurt out, fear creeping into my voice.

Her response surprises me. “No, I’m not scared of you hurting me,” she clarifies. “I’m scared of not knowing who I am anymore and who we were together. It’s like constantly being at a disadvantage because you know so much about me, and I barely know you. It doesn’t make much sense, but that’s the only way I can explain it.”

“I’m here to answer any questions you have,” I say. “I don’t mind. I swear.”

“But I’ll still never remember what we were. No matter how much I learn, I still won’t know everything about us that you do. It’s just too hard. It’s adding too much stress to me right now.”

That’s it. That’s the one thing she could’ve said to make me leave—my presence here is hurting her. I lean forward, placing my forearms on my legs, and let my head hang between my arms, completely defeated.

Her body language shifts as she speaks, her shoulders tensing up and her gaze fixed on the ground. “I think I know what triggered my reaction the other day.”

I raised my head to meet her eyes. “Do you remember?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

She shakes her head slowly. “Not in the sense that I remember him specifically. When I saw you at first, it was your face that came to mind when I thought of him. But then it changed, and it wasn’t your face anymore. It was just some guy with no face. When he approached you, it took a minute, but it clicked.”

No matter how much I hear her talk about that moment when I walked into her room, it shatters my heart into pieces.

“When I saw him approach you at the diner,” she continues after a moment of silence, “something in me knew it was him. Somewhere deep down, I knew without really knowing.” She took a deep breath, her eyes filling with tears. “The memories are still a bit cluttered, but that much is clear. Does that make sense?”

“Intuition plays a huge part in our lives.” I think back to the day I first met her and how I knew she was such a kind person by the way she treated Paisley. My intuition was right. Even now, when she’s about to crush my heart into dust, she’s still the best person I’ve ever known.

“Can I ask you what he said to you?”

I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter.”