“Just wishing for a hazmat suit. I’ll be fine.”

I switch on the light. It isn’t...terrible. A wave of familiarity sweeps over me, and for an instant, I can’t breathe. Or maybe that’s the stench.

Shutting the door behind me, I walk inside with William. I feel okay. It’s quiet. And it smells. But...I shouldn’t have avoided this. I really am a melodramatic idiot sometimes.

I fetch a few garbage bags from under the sink, and we heave out the fruit that rotted on the counter, three quarters of the contents of the refrigerator, and several desiccated plants. Together, we carry them out to the Dumpster. As William lifts the lid, I automatically glance around for any stray kids or feral dogs. There aren’t any.

Inside again, he fetches cleaning supplies—he must have spotted them under the sink with the trash bags. “You don’t have to do this,” I tell him. “I’m fine now that the initial moment has passed.”

“You shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

I don’t argue with him.

Together, we clean the apartment. It isn’t a big apartment: galley kitchen that is (or was) stuffed with plants, living plus dining room that’s stuffed with artwork (mostly old), my bedroom, Mom’s bedroom, and one bathroom. Lots of books overflow the shelves. I wonder if William is itching to alphabetize them. They’re sorted mostly by...well, I don’t think they’re sorted at all. Books I like tend to be on shelves closer to my room, and books Mom likes tend to be closer to hers. Our personal favorites or current reads are piled up or under our bedside tables. As I finish cleaning the bathroom, I find William studying my paintings over the couch.

“These are beautiful,” he says. “Do you still do art?”

“Yes.” None of the art here was done in the past five years. But yes. That’s my answer.

“You asked me for flaws. I don’t have any hobbies outside of work. Zero. Well, I go to the gym, but that’s a side effect of too much medical school. You can’t constantly order patients to stay in shape and constantly see the side effects of not doing it and then not go yourself.”

My art is not a hobby, I want to say. It’s me. But technically, hobby is the right word. I have...or had...a job that had nothing to do with art. I don’t have a gallery. I don’t sell it. Or even show it. Of course it’s a hobby. “I took a break from it for a while. But I’m starting again.”

He nods. “You did the sketches in your mom’s hospital room. They’re interesting.”

I flinch at the word interesting. That was Peter’s word. Goddammit, I have to stop thinking about a man who doesn’t exist and a place that isn’t real!

“I know zero about art, but you’re talented. Your mother used to talk about how you’d given it up... She must be happy you’re drawing again.”

I nod. Do not think about the art barn.

“Are you going to be okay here tonight?” He winces again. He does that expression a lot, I notice. It’s rather adorable for someone so handsome to be so self-conscious. “I know, I have this massive maternal streak.”

“I would have gone with ‘savior complex.’”

He smiles. “Yeah, that sounds much more manly. Anyway, I had a good time tonight.”

“You scrubbed a kitchen floor and threw out plants that had rotted. I’m guessing that’s not quite what you envisioned.”

“I like surprises.”

“Really?”

“No, not at all. But I liked tonight.” He crosses to me and takes my hands. “I know this is a difficult time for you. I know I have terrible timing.” I like the feel of my hands in his.

“It could be worse timing,” I say. “I could still be in a coma.”

He smiles, and I feel warm inside. He’s real, I remind myself. This is real.

I let him kiss me.

After a few seconds, I kiss him back.

Clinging to him, I kiss him as if he could ground me, anchor me, make this all feel real. I want to erase my false memories and start again.

But when I close my eyes, I think of Peter.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Alone in the apartment, I don’t sleep well. But somehow I drift off by dawn and then sleep through my alarm. I lurch out of bed when my eyes do at last open. William is due in ten minutes. When he left last night, he offered to come back and drive me to the hospital today. I hurry to my dresser to pick out clothes, and I freeze.

Perched on top of my jewelry box is a stuffed puffer fish.

I don’t breathe. I feel as though the world shuts off around me.

When I suck in air again, the spell breaks. I hear cars outside the window. I smell the cleaning supplies that we doused the apartment in last night. And I see the fish, fragile and brittle and old and beautiful.

Trembling, I reach out and touch a spine. It’s pliable under my finger and very real. I draw my hand back. I stare at it, at its puckered lips and unblinking eyes.

Maybe my mother put it here. There were several weeks between when I fell into the coma and when she checked into the hospital. She could have found this somewhere, a yard sale, a store that sells oddities, eBay, and placed it here for me to find when I woke up. It would be like her to leave me a present. She likes to surprise me with things she thinks I’ll like. One morning, when I was around fifteen, I woke up to discover an entire bag of sea glass on my plate for breakfast, in lieu of toast. I used it to make a mosaic mirror frame. It hangs in Mom’s bedroom. I could bring the mirror to the hospital, I think, except I don’t think she’d like to look in the mirror right now. It’ll stay here.

I’m aware that my thoughts are spinning, spiraling. I can’t stop them.

I need to get to the hospital, to ask Mom about the puffer fish. She must have put it here, but how would it enter my dream if she bought it after the car accident? Maybe it was here before, and the accident had wiped the memory away. It had wiped away the memory of the crash itself. Who knows what else I’ve forgotten?

I comb through the apartment, looking for other differences. I find minute ones: different books on Mom’s bedside table, a beige sweater I’ve never seen, new magazines...all things easily explained by the weeks I was in the coma. I return to the puffer fish.

There’s a knock on my door.

William.

Grabbing a blanket off my bed, I wrap it around me and waddle to the door. I open it, but I can’t make myself smile. “Hi.”

“Are you all right?” He looks perfect, impeccable in his scrubs.

“Just...didn’t sleep well,” I tell him. “Worried about my mother. Overslept. I’m not dressed yet. Sorry.”

“Sure. I understand.” But he looks worried now. I wish I could explain. I definitely cannot explain. He comes inside, and I shut the door behind him.

I want to be with Mom now. I have to know if... Stop, I tell myself. The fish had to be from Mom. I was in a coma. Of course I was. Every doctor in the hospital thinks so. There are X-rays and photos and hospital records. Plus William talked to me while I was in my coma. I’d momentarily forgotten that. “What did you talk to me about? When I was in a coma. What did you say?”

“Described things in the hospital. Read to you sometimes. Just a visit or two a day, so you’d know someone was out here. You had friends that stopped by, too. Coworkers. Especially in the beginning.” He pauses. “Do you want coffee? I was going to grab some coffee. There’s a Peet’s Coffee on the corner of Hempsted and Latoya.”

“Okay. Yes. Thanks.”

He leans forward as if to kiss me, but I feel as if my brain is mired in sludge and I don’t react fast enough. His lips brush my cheek. He withdraws. We look at each other for a moment. My smile is strained, and I’m certain he can tell, though that doesn’t register in his face. The silence grows awkward.

“I’ll fetch the coffee,” he says.

“I’ll shower,” I say simultaneously.