??3??
Addison
“More tea, sweetheart?” Gigi asks me as she closes her fingers around the ceramic pot.
“Yes, thank you.” I slide my mug closer and look at the strong fingers as Gigi pours, the nails short, professional and unpolished, the way a nurse’s hand should look—proficient and assured. But the rest of her is all warmth and comfort, from the womanly curves and red hair swept up in a soft and loose bun to the blue eyes that always have a sparkle in them.
Sitting at the wood farm table in her and Ed’s cozy kitchen always makes me feel cared for and protected.
“Last night was wonderful, Addy. You and Gabriel are so perfect together. Ed and I are thrilled for you.”
She looks so pleased, but all at once I’m feeling the same thing in my stomach that I felt last night—a fluttering anxiety, as if my insides are twisting around each other. I hold my breath, trying to subdue the pulsating, and smile back at Gigi. “I’m very lucky,” I say.
“You need to remember that Gabriel’s the lucky one too. Right?” Gigi’s eyes tell me she knows what I’m thinking. That as someone with no past and no family and barely a career, I have little to offer Gabriel. He is a smart and successful man, popular, well-liked, and from an amazing family. Blythe and Ted Oliver, his parents, opened their gallery in Philadelphia’s Old City soon after they married thirty-two years ago. Blythe is an artist and Ted is in charge of acquisitions. The gallery’s specialty is contemporary art, and often the two of them travel, searching for new and promising artists, while they leave the day-to-day management to Gabriel and his sister Hailey. They’re a close family who make it obvious that they love spending time together. Their dinner conversations are animated and lively, with the topics ranging from art to social issues to world events. For me it’s like watching a tutorial on what it is to have parents and siblings, and I always wonder what my own family might be like. Do I have any sisters or brothers? Did we enjoy each other the way Gabriel’s family does?
And then I put myself in Blythe’s place. How would I feel if my son were marrying a woman with no past? No health or genetic information. No clue about her own background. I would wonder if there were any mental health problems in her family, or addiction, or . . . or . . . I would have myriad questions that couldn’t be answered. Blythe and Ted must surely have the same questions. How could they not?
“Addison.” Gigi’s stern voice startles me, and I raise my eyes to hers. “You’re brooding, and you’ve got to stop this. It’s clear to us that Gabriel and his family love you. You’re a lovely woman—kind and caring. Not to mention that you’re also smart and beautiful.” She smiles at this. “But seriously, you can’t keep thinking of yourself as this poor little stray that doesn’t deserve happiness.”
“I can tell myself that all day, Gigi, but it doesn’t make me believe it.” I shake my head. “You don’t understand. You can’t understand what it’s like to have no past, no memory of who you are.”
“You’re right, honey. I don’t know how it feels. But you’ve got to stop beating yourself up about it. You didn’t deliberately choose to forget everything.”
“But what if I did? Maybe I did something so awful I wanted to black it out.”
“You didn’t do something awful. And people don’t choose amnesia. It happens as a result of something.” Gigi throws her hands out, palms up. “A head injury or some type of trauma. Something.”
I sigh and rub my forehead. “I know I’ve asked you this a hundred times, but can you remember anything from the night Ed brought me here? Something I said or did that seemed unusual?” I knew it was a useless question. I don’t even know why I asked.
How many times had I relived every detail of that night two years ago? I was drained, dragging my feet, limping, and feeling as if I would pass out if I had to go any farther. My throat was closing like it was filled with dust and grit, making it hard to breathe. I needed water desperately, and I knew I had to do whatever I could to make someone stop.
I made my way to the road and stumbled along the shoulder until I was unable to walk farther and put my thumb out for the next vehicle that passed. I’m not sure how long it was until I saw the headlights of a big rig coming toward me. It went right past me, and all the air whooshed from my lungs like a balloon deflating, and I felt tears run down my cheeks. And then, miracle of miracles, he stopped, backed up, and reached over and opened the passenger door.