Blank Slate Kate

Chapter 13

At eight-thirty the next morning, as I nervously discard yet another outfit, my phone makes a 'bong' sound. Ryan has sent me a text message.

Is the Starbucks at King and Yonge okay instead? I'll explain when I see you.

It's a little further away but not much, so I send back that I'll be there no later than nine-fifteen and try on another three outfits before settling on jeans and a simple dark teal sweater. I want to look good, but not like I tried too hard. Even though I did.

Jake smiles when I eventually come out of his room. "You look nice. Relaxed."

"Yeah, right."

His smile widens. "Okay, fine. You do look good, though. Tense, but good. By the way, I'll stay out for the day so you and Ryan can come get your stuff any time after ten or so without me here."

I hug him hard. "You don't have to do that, but thank you."

He squeezes me. "You're welcome. Please keep in touch, okay?"

I look up at him, surprised by the nervousness in his voice. He could be taking this opportunity to get rid of the weird amnesiac but instead he's afraid I'll get rid of him. "I promise. You can't get away from me that easily."

He laughs. "Glad to hear it. Now get out of here."

When I arrive at Starbucks a few minutes after nine, I see Ryan standing outside waiting for me, holding a briefcase and wearing tan pants and a button-down shirt nearly the same color as my sweater beneath his open black leather jacket. We smile at each other and he says, "You wore lots of beige before, but I think I like this color better on you."

I'm wearing the beige bra and underwear I was wearing the night I met Jake, but I don't think Ryan and I are at the 'discussing lingerie' stage yet. "Thanks. Shall we go in?"

We order a bagel each for breakfast, and the coffee he says we always get. He adds two sugars and a small dash of milk to his and tells me I usually add one packet of sugar. I do that, and once we've found a table we both take a sip at the same time then give the same satisfied sigh together.

Then we laugh together.

He sobers first. "It's so weird, you know. Sometimes, like right then, you're so perfectly Donna, and then you do something like tell my mom you're calling her Claire which Donna never did even though she desperately wanted to, and then I guess you're Kate instead."

"I guess so."

I want to ask him which one he likes better but I'm sure it won't be me. How could it? So instead I say, "Why did we come here instead of the other Starbucks?"

He gives me a twisted smile. "Promise you won't tell?"

"Of course."

The smile straightens out and his eyes sparkle as he says, "My mom won't be able to find us here."

I laugh at his obvious pride in sneaking away. "I thought she said she wasn't coming."

"No, I said she wasn't. I wouldn't put it past her to show up, and I wanted it to be just us today."

Just us. Just me and my husband. My. Husband.

"Is that okay? I thought it would be better."

His words tumble over themselves and I realize he's taken my silence for disapproval. "I think it's a great idea. It just kind of hit me again, that we're married. Even though I don't remember you."

He nods slowly and reaches into his briefcase. "Why don't we try to change that?" He pulls out a wedding album.

Nervousness spills through me but I say, "Good idea."

"We had a small wedding. Just family and a few friends. I went through this last night and figured out a good order."

He pulls his chair around beside mine and flips back and forth between slips of paper he's put in the album's pages. He's obviously trying to ease me into the whole thing, and I appreciate it. There are my parents, looking proud and happy although of course older than I remember, and his mother with an expression like someone's stabbing her with a pin but she's trying to smile through the pain. Ryan tells me his father died when he was a teenager. Then he shows me Ethan, so terrifyingly grown up. And this was six years ago. He'll be even older now.

Ryan takes a deep breath. "Ready to see us?"

I'm not sure, but I nod.

He flips to the last page marker, and I look down at the two of us, arms wrapped around each other, glowing with happiness and what is clearly love. I'm wearing a pale pink strapless dress, with a sleek bodice and a poufy skirt that looks like it was made for dancing and twirling, and I have matching roses in my hair and in the bouquet at my feet. Ryan's black tuxedo fits him perfectly, and his pale pink tie somehow manages to make him look strong and manly.

"Wow," I breathe, then I can't think of anything else to say.

I stare at the picture for a long time before Ryan says, his voice rough, "Ringing any bells?"

I shut my eyes and shake my head. "I'm sorry."

He takes a firm hold of my shoulder, making me open my eyes and turn to him. "You don't need to apologize to me. Not now, not ever. I should be apologizing to you. You lost your memory because I made you do the treatment."

The pain in his voice and his eyes sends a matching pain through my chest. "You thought it was right. The doctors said it was. I don't blame you."

He sighs. "Maybe you should. You knew it was messing you up and I wouldn't let you back out. If I'd listened to you, you'd still be fine."

"Was I fine? Really? Happy? Having a good life? A joy to be with?"

He winces, and I say, "Thought not. You did what you had to do. This was a freak accident. And maybe my memories will come back. The doctor said they might, right?"

He nods. "And he found you a therapist here who can see you this afternoon. If you're free. So yes, the same doctor who said you wouldn't suffer long-term memory loss from the ECT said your memories might come back. Yes. But somehow I have my--"

I hold up a hand before he can finish. "We will not have doubts. Got it? I will go to the therapist and I'll work hard and I will get those memories back."

I have to. Because I want to feel the kind of love I see radiating from myself in my wedding picture. Because I want to know what it's like to be loved as deeply as my groom clearly loves me. Because the idea of never retrieving fifteen years of my life is too much to bear.