Page 42 of Make You Love Me
Me:We had fun getting out of the apartment, and he seemed to be feeling better.
Josie:Did anything happen to trigger it?
If he had any nightmares, I slept through them thanks to Jordan cleaning out the cobwebs and destroying my sex ban like a military attack—unrelenting explosion after explosion until nothing remained. Sleep came quickly after that, and I expected us both to wake up satisfied and relaxed. Not more troubled than before.
Me:Not that I saw. Hope it wasn’t from all the activity.
Josie:What did you do?
Drank a little wine, took a long adventure, and enjoyed a lot of sex. My body is spent from that last one since most of the effort was on me. But I had no qualms, and Jordan certainly couldn’t muster any. I settle on relayingmostof the truth.
Me:Just took a drive and had some wine.
Josie:Wine + medication. That might have done it.
Me:I checked the recommendations. [frown emoji]
Josie:Don’t beat yourself up. It could be anything or nothing. I hate not being there.
Me:How’s the set up going?
Josie:Amazing. I’ve met so many people and remembered why I love NYC.
Me:Glad you have this opportunity. So is Jordan.
Josie:Thanks. Have any plans today?
Me:I thought we would go out again but probably shouldn’t now.
Josie:Please have him call me when he’s feeling better.
Me:Will do.
For the two hours that follow, I try to keep busy while he sleeps. After getting dressed and starting a pot of coffee, I settle on the couch to check my work email and research post-concussion syndrome. Apparently, his symptoms could last months. With a sigh, I close the laptop and wonder how Josie will manage on her own after his memory returns.
The thought of it makes me sick. To keep fear at bay, I pull up Netflix on my phone and tap on the first non-romantic show I see. It takes five minutes to realize the main character is a healing veteran.
“Nope.” Turning off the phone, I toss it to the other side of the colorful antique loveseat. “Now what?”
To not wake Jordan, I decide to eat a leftover bagel for breakfast instead of cooking something more sustentative. The selection and prep wastes all of two minutes. If he doesn’t wake up soon, this day will not only test my sanity but destroy it.
As I make it back to the living room with hot coffee and a bagel, he stirs.
“Hi,” I greet, setting down the mug and plate on the coffee table and kneeling beside the mattress. Blood stops gushing through my veins with the icy way he stares me down. It’s the same cold indifference he had when he walked out of my apartment for the last time nearly ten months ago.
“Hi,” he finally responds, but remains still under the blankets.
“How do you feel?”
“Tired.”
“Do you remember what happened?”
“What?”
“Do you remember waking up…and the seizure?”
“Oh. No.” His eyes crush closed for a moment. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”
