Make me remember (to forget)

Prologue

Logan

"That's it, Logan. You missed your last chance! You're going back to Lebanon!" Her loud voice amplifies my migraine. 

My dad sends a sympathetic smile my way while massaging her shoulder, which is his way of calming her down. My parents have been happily married for twenty-five years. If you're wondering about what is their secret for a long-lasting happy marriage, it's pretty easy: just agree on everything that your wife says or does.  

In case your wife is proposing something as ostentatious as sending your youngest son to a war zone in the Middle East because she caught him with weed, try to massage her temples instead and pray that she changes her mind (which is exactly what my dad is doing right now).

"Or he could stay here, and we confiscate his phone?" His voice is low, almost as if the suggestion of confiscating my phone is too absurd to say out loud. 

My mom pushes him away before grabbing the joint again. "This is what he was doing! And you want me to take his phone away? I'm trying to protect our son from ruining his future, and you think that taking away his phone is the solution? I can't believe you right now." 

Dad winces before covering his lips with his hand. "You're absolutely right, my love. That's exactly what we need to be thinking about, protecting him from making any further stupid decisions. Because that's what it was - a stupid decision, right, Logan?"

I gulp, having no other choice but to agree with him. Fuck, I've never cursed my girlfriend more. Did she really have to forget her weed splattered on the kitchen table?

"I can tolerate parties, drinking, and girls. But this-" She pauses, pointing to the weed again. "Drugs? This is too much, Logan. I won't watch you waste your future away!"

Did I mention that mom's voice keeps getting more high-pitched by the second? My migraine is only getting worse and I probably shouldn't have drunk so much yesterday. 

"Mom, he could stay with me in my dorm. I'd look after him," Noah, my brother, murmurs from the other side of the room. Noah is the golden child: second year pre-law student at Columbia, straight As, full scholarship, and zero social life. 

Don't get me wrong, I adore my brother to death. We have a good relationship: we watch soccer games on Fridays and he helps me with school sometimes. 

I quickly shoot him a small smile. Mom would do anything for him. Hopefully, not shipping me to Lebanon is one of them.

Her eyes soften when she looks at him. "Noah, sweetie-"

"Who the fuck is screaming this loud?!"

Shit. 

Shit, shit, shit. 

I wince at the sound of my girlfriend's voice coming from behind me. I might as well start packing my bags to Lebanon right now, because all hopes of my mother not shipping me to the middle of nowhere will fly out of the window once she sees my girlfriend, who is hungover and definitely not a morning person, standing in the hallway. 

I slowly turn towards her. Her curly blonde hair is sticking in every direction. The mascara is running a bit down her blue eyes. Even when she looks like this, she's still gorgeous.

However, this moment of appreciation for my girlfriend's beauty is short-lived when I notice that she's still in last night's lingerie.

I never thought that I'd say this, but Mar in her lingerie is my worst nightmare coming to life right now.

"Jesus Christ," My dad mutters before awkwardly staring at the window as if it's the most fascinating thing.

Noah, on the other hand, is trying to bite back a smile. Glad you find this funny, asshole. 

As for my mom, she's fuming. Actually, fuming is an understatement. They already don't like each other. Mom thinks that Mar is a bad influence on me. Mar thinks that mom is too controlling. They're both controlling alphas who have a thing for controlling my life. I think you get the picture of why this is probably going to lead to a third world war. 

My hands fumble my hair nervously, trying to telepathize with Mar to make her go back to my room. However, my stubborn girlfriend has other ideas that are one-hundred-percent going to ruin my life. Especially that Mar is unapproachable before ten in the morning, and right now it's-

It's eight-fifteen. I close my eyes, mentally saying goodbye to my life. 

"Excuse me, Ms. Emerson, but this is too much. Your son is a nineteen-year-old college student. You should respect his autonomy and privacy-"

"Mar, sweetheart," I mumble, trying to at least make eye contact with her. Please shut up, I'm begging you.

"It's unacceptable to have you barging in on us at eight fucking fifteen in the morning-" Oh my God. 

"Mar, it's okay, please just-"

"No, she needs to know that she can't treat you this way! This is not the middle east, where parents can bully their kids and get away with it. We are in 2011, in Upper East Side Manhattan!"

The Russian monster has been unleashed, ladies and gentlemen. 

Mom is standing silently, holding intense eye contact with Mar. I can tell that she's on the last verge of self-control. Hell, I can even see smoke leaving her ears.

"Are you done?" Mom asks.

Mar sighs before shaking her head. "Never mind, why do I even bother?" She turns to me, and I internally cringe when I realize that Mom, Dad, and Noah all have a first-class view of her butt.

"Logan, babe, when you're done dealing with your crazy family, call me."

She. Did. Not. Just. Say. That.

I refrain from saying anything because I know that what I say will be held against me. My parents are both lawyers; they're really good at it too, so there's no way out. I just give Mar a quick smile as she wears her coat. Yes, she's going to leave this apartment with nothing but lingerie and a coat—definitely wife material.

Once she closes the door behind her, my gaze meets my mom again.

"Noah, buy him a ticket in the soonest airplane leaving to Beirut."

Jesus Christ. 

A/N

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