Page 2 of Our Moon
I have zero emotional attachment to the house we grew up in, can’t remember it, but they obviously do. I feel like I just crapped on one of their precious memories.
“I’m sorry; I didn’t know.” I look down at my hands, fidgeting in my lap. I have no idea what I’m doing, or what I’m going to do. See? This is me: entering the wild. With apparently no people skills whatsoever, especially empathy.
“It’s all good, Al,” Alex says in his usual carefree tone, instantly making me feel a little better. Maybe that’s his twin power, relaxing me or something. “Your room is exactly the way it was when you left it. We didn’t touch it. I mean, I guess the cleaning lady probably dusted and maybe put up dirty clothes and whatever other grimy shit you had in there. You were such a pig.”
Trevor laughs at that. “Right, like you’re one to talk. The only reason we had to hire Myra in the first place is because even you won’t clean up after your pig ass.”
I smile at their banter. This is what the past few weeks were like. Even if I can’t relate and don’t know exactly where I fit in, I feel comfortable with and am entirely amused by my brothers.
I look out the window again as Trevor slows the car and pulls into a driveway. The house ahead of us sparks no recognition in me. Dr. Moody stressed that I may never regain my memory, but I also heard her when she said that certain things, like objects that stimulate the senses such as scents or sounds, may bring things back. But the two story brick home with perfectly placed black shutters does nothing. Honestly, I’m more than a little disappointed.
Trevor parks, and we all get out. I stand beside the beast of a vehicle and stare up at the house, willing a memory to come. Are one of those windows mine? Did I learn how to ride my bike in this driveway? Take my firststeps just inside the front door? Have my first kiss on the front porch? Have I even been kissed?
The emotions whirling through my head start to become too much and the anxiety Dr. Moody warned us all about begins to set in. My vision gets blurry, my hands start shaking and my breath is coming in pants. I lean back against the car and close my eyes.
Deep breaths.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
A hand touches my shoulder; another presses against my back.Safe. I feel safe.I begin to relax.
“You got this, baby sis.” It’s Alex. He moves his hand from my back to my waist and tugs me into his side. Relaxation is definitely his twin power.
Trevor squeezes my shoulder and with a small smile tells me, “Take all the time you need.”
I get my breathing under control and nod, “I’m okay. I’m ready.”
With my brothers flanking me, extending their strength and comfort like a warmblanket around my shoulders, I make it into the house. The house is as modest on the inside as it is on the outside. But I can immediately tell this is a home, not just a house, and not a crash pad or a bachelor’s paradise. But a home that was built with love. I can feel that.
We enter into a gorgeous foyer with dark wood stairs matching the floors straight in front of us. To the immediate left, there appears to be a small bathroom or closet, the door is closed so I can’t tell, and beyond that is an elegant living room with cream carpets, attached to a formal dining room that looks to have marble floors. I suspect those rooms must have been our parents’ touches because I can’t see Trevor or Alex doing any kind of formal entertaining. The interior design seems a bit more mature as well. To the left of the stairs there is a walkway, through which I catch a glimpse of the kitchen, and I make a mental note to explore that later. To the right of the foyer, there’s a television and game room with a gigantic TV, standard-size pool table, and some kind of arcade game. It’s the only sign, so far, that a couple of bachelors live here.
“I’m going to get your bags from the car,” Trevor says and walks back out the front door.
“Come on, I’ll show you to your room,” Alex takes my hand and leads me up the stairs. “We can do the tour later, figure you’llwant to get settled in first,” he explains. I nod and follow him up the stairs.
I silently take in the framed photographs lining the staircase. It looks to be a timeline of our lives, starting with our parents’ wedding and ending with what appears to be my prom, with various baby, childhood and adolescent milestones in between. I saw pictures like these in the albums the guys brought to the facility during our sessions. The ones on the wall seem to only capture the highlights though.
“You okay?” Alex asks.
I hadn’t realized I had stopped at the prom picture. “Who is this I’m with?” I don’t remember seeing him in any of the albums.
Alex frowns, “That’s Blake. He was your boyfriend.”
Was?
“I had a boyfriend?” Funny, they never mentioned that before. I guess they didn’t want to upset me. Did he break up with me after the accident? What kind of guy breaks up with his girlfriend when she’s in a coma? I zero in on the picture some more. He’s a nice looking guy, looks athletic. Dark hair, dark eyes. Taller than me, though everyone is really. We look happy.
“That was from his senior prom. He was a year ahead of us. He broke up with you before he went off to college.” The frown on Alex’sface looks misplaced on his usually chipper appearance. In the month that I’ve known him, I’m not sure I’ve seen any negative expressions on his face, other than sadness in our initial visits when evenhecouldn’t break through the force field guarding my brain.
“Oh. I didn’t go to my senior prom?”
“Nah, you weren’t dating anyone and had already been to three proms, so you said screw it, and hung out with the band instead. We had a gig that night for the non-prom folks. It was awesome.”
