Page 20 of It's a Date (Again)

“Well, you technically got two first-time watches. Pretty lucky if you ask me.” He picks a piece of fallen popcorn from his shirt and pops it into his mouth.

I plop down on the couch next to him, putting my feet up on the coffee table.

“Thanks for watching it with me.”

Robbie angles the bowl toward me, and I snag a few kernels.

“Anytime.” He leans forward and sets it down on the table. “Ready to call it a night?”

I toss the popcorn in my mouth and dust my hands off. “Yeah. I suppose I should rest from my four days of coma rest,” I tease.

He laughs as he gets to his feet. “By the way, I ordered you a new phone because yours wouldn’t turn back on. It’ll be here tomorrow.”

“Thanks. Do you need any extra blankets or pillows?” I don’t know where they are except for what’s on my bed, but I offer them anyway.

“Yeah, I’ll grab them.” He brings the bowl to the kitchen, emptying the remaining kernels in the trash and then slipping it into the dishwasher.

It’s nearly midnight, but I’m not tired at all. Regardless, I should try to get some rest. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll wake up with my memories tomorrow. Robbie sets out a glass of water and a couple of pills on the counter.

“Don’t forget about these,” he says.

I meet him in the kitchen. “I don’t know what I would do without you,” I say, tossing them into my mouth and drinking several gulps of water. When I finish, I make a refreshing sound. “Yummy.”

Robbie gives a tight-lipped smile. I take in his appearance, noticing his bloodshot eyes and dull skin. I wonder if he slept at all while I was lying in the hospital bed this week. Did he stay up, waiting for me to wake? I don’t know Robbie, or at least I don’t remember that I know Robbie, but he seems like the type of person who would do that.

“Need anything else?” he asks.

I almost saymy memories. But instead, I just tell him good night.

CHAPTER5

My eyes burst open, and it takes me a moment to ground myself, to realize I’m lying in my own bed, to remind myself I was in an accident, and to remember that I don’t remember anything. I’m Peyton Sanders. I have two best friends, Robbie and Maya. And I have three boyfriends. There, I’m all caught up.

I turn my head, glancing at the alarm clock on my nightstand. The numbers glow a red hue, reading 6:15 a.m. I consider lying in bed for another hour, but before I can even really consider it, my feet land firmly on the white shag rug. I keep myself steady for a moment, gripping the side of the bed to ensure I won’t topple over. My head feels fine one minute, and the next it feels too heavy, like there’s a bowling ball stacked on top of my shoulders.

In the bathroom, I splash water on my face and stare at my reflection. I move my lips side to side and wiggle my nose, trying to get used to the girl looking back at me. She’s getting a little more familiar. I swipe on several makeup products, brush my teeth, and comb out my long hair—all the while deciding that I’m going to have a positive attitude about this. I can’t change what happened. I can’t force the memories to come back. All I can do is embrace it, a clean slate, a fresh start. Yeah, that’s what I’ll call it. A fresh start. I smile at my reflection and nod.

“You’re Peyton Sanders. You are ...” I squint. “Blonde and ...” I deflate for a moment and take a deep breath. Lifting my shoulders andlooking back in the mirror, I continue. “You are Peyton Sanders. That is your name. The rest, well, we’ll figure it out. This is the first day of the rest of your life.”

Okay, that’s enough pep talk for me. I clap my hands together.

In the closet, I pick out a plaid shacket, a white top, and a pair of slightly distressed blue skinny jeans. After getting dressed, I slip on a pair of sneakers and pluck a crumpled twenty-dollar bill from the drawer in my bedside table. Tiptoeing down the hallway, I try not to make any noise. The home is quiet and mostly dark aside from the rays of sunshine peeking through the living room windows. Robbie is asleep on the couch. His hair goes in all directions and his lips sit partially open. One of his legs is bent while the other extends a foot past the arm. I immediately feel bad for the sleeping arrangements. He’s clearly too tall for the couch. I consider waking him, but I remember how tired he looked last night. Instead, I cover him, pulling the blanket up to his shoulders.

In the kitchen, I find a note from Robbie with a glass of water and a few pills laid out. The note reads,In case you’re up before me. —Robbie.It’s like he knew I would be.

I swallow the pills and take a gulp of water. Okay, what now? What should I do with myself? I scan the kitchen and the living room in search of something to occupy my time. When nothing jumps out at me, I decide to go for a walk. Fresh air will do me good. I creep down the stairs and carefully open and close the front door.

Outside, I breathe in the cool, crisp air before heading down the porch steps, through the courtyard, and out the gate. I look left and then right. It appears the same both ways, townhomes like mine and a tree-lined street. I’m not sure where I’m going but I turn left, and at the end of the street, I turn right. The city is quiet, like it hasn’t fully woken up yet. Birds chirp and sing. A squirrel scampers across the sidewalk in front of me.

This is my neighborhood. It’s where I chose to live. I clearly enjoy the city, but it seems I like to be close enough to feel it but far enough away that I get pops of greenery and nature. I turn on a four-lane road called Division. Small boutiques, bars, restaurants, and coffee shops fill both sides of the street. Several people pass by—some walk their dogs, others have their heads buried in their phones. A few smile at me, and I return each one. I wonder if they’re just being polite or if they recognize me. Do I usually go for walks? Have I seen them before?

A sign propped up outside a place called Foxtrot catches my eye. Written in colorful chalk are the wordsWARM UP WITH A CARAMEL MACCHIATO. That’s perfect. Inside, I’m greeted by a woman a little younger than me with red hair and a face full of freckles.

“Morning, Peyton,” she says. “The usual?”

I stare back at her, forcing the corners of my lips up. She doesn’t know that I don’t know who she is, and I think I like that. It’s in the way she looks at me. “Actually, I’m going to try something different today. Can I have a cold brew and ...” I pause and skim over the large menu above her. “One of those blueberry muffins.”

The woman offers a confused look, but then she lets out a laugh.

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