“It’s okay,” he murmurs, kissing my hand again. “I know you don’t remember. I’ll win your heart all over again if I have to.”
I OPEN my eyes to see my sister Maggie’s head bobbing to music I can faintly make out from her headphones, her gaze focused on the print-filled pages of a thick textbook.
“So what else do I not remember?” I ask groggily. “Are you having Asher’s babies yet?”
She lifts her head and grins at me as she pulls off her headphones. “Hey, how’d you sleep?”
“Like a baby. In the literal awake-every-two-hours sense of the cliché.” Hospitals have to be the worst places to get rest. Every time I would fall asleep, the nurse would come in to check something or change an IV bag. I tap Maggie’s book. “What are you studying?”
“I’m doing an independent study in women in art history. Trying to catch up and make up for the year I took off.”
“So that’s a no on the babies?”
“Unless you count Zoe, no. No babies.”
I nod thoughtfully. I remember Zoe. She’s Asher’s daughter who lives in New York. She spent most of the summer here—well, last summer at least. This gap in my memories is so bizarre. Not like forgetting what you did last weekend when you know time passed but just can’t pin down any memories, but like the last year never happened.
I roll carefully to my side, mindful of my bruised ribs. No breaks, the doctor informed me. Just nasty bruises. Lucky me. Between tests and sleeping and being prodded by the nurses, I haven’t gotten many answers to my questions.
“What happened to me, Maggie?”
“We don’t really know.” She closes the book and sets it to the side. “Lizzy found you at the bottom of the stairs behind the bakery. You were unconscious and looked, well”—she winces—“actually a sight better than you do now. Those bruises have gotten colorful.”
“What bakery?”
“Your bakery.” A slow grin lights her face. “You opened a bakery.”
“I did? Mom didn’t flip out?” I’ve always loved baking, much to the dismay of my fat-phobic mother.
She shrugs. “I don’t know, but you wanted to do it and you did. It’s downtown and does a nice little business. And your wedding cakes are gorgeous.”
“My wedding cakes?” I’ve decorated cakes for friends’ birthdays for years and always loved to play with frosting, gum paste, and fondant. I watched wedding cake shows on TV obsessively. But it was just a dream. Nothing I ever believed I’d be able to make a career out of.
She smiles. “We’re all so proud of you.”
“So then I have a bakery and I mysteriously ended up bruised and battered behind it.”
“Our best guess is that you took a pretty good fall down the stairs.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “So you’re saying I didn’t find gracefulness in those months I can’t remember?”
She chuckles. “You’re a hell of a lot more graceful than I am.”
“What else did I miss?”
“You didn’t miss anything,” she says. “You were here for all of it, and that memory’s going to be back in no time. I’m sure of it.”
“Humor me.”
“You and Liz graduated in May.”
I lift my hand and study my ring. “And then there’s me and Max.”
“Yeah. Since, I don’t know, maybe December or so? But the engagement is new. In fact, that’s been a surprise to all of us. Mom came by while you were sleeping last night and she practically bawled when Max confirmed that the ring on your finger was from him and it was the real deal.”
“Mom approves of Max, then?”
“That’s an understatement.”