Page 34 of Forgotten
I had kind of assumed, but I was not expecting to hear the heartbreak in his voice. Following my first instinct, I place a hand on his shoulder. His skin is warm and there’s new muscles there from playing sports and guitar; from being seventeen years old and an exact copy of his father.
I don’t have the courage to look at him and see the tears I know he has been fighting the entire day. I don’t have the heart to be the one who cannot console him right now. “I came out to my parents,” I say instead and I blink through my own tears as Ford climbs on the bed to sit next to me in a millisecond.
He wraps me in the tightest hug I have ever received—tighter than when Darshi’s Nani died and we had to go to the funeral; tighter than that time Daddy hit Erik so hard his eye was blue for a week and Erik slept in my bed every night. Ford hugs me and I forget I’m not supposed to cry because it isn’t cool. I forget that I’m not supposed to tell him what happens at home. We cry together in a moment that feels like forever, his sobs calm and controlled and mine erratic and desperate. My tears soak his shirt and it’s mortifying how much drool I can produce, and the more I’m aware of it, the more it keeps coming. Ford’s hands hold onto my shirt and then onto my back until it hurts.
Downstairs, the doorbell rings.
I start counting in my mind, hoping time only stops when I have comforted Ford enough and I don’t wish to die anymore.
Then, Gregory Hale breaks the stillness of the house. A low tune fills my ears. He must have turned on the radio downstairs. My chest feels lighter but I still can’t stop crying, still can’t catch my breath.
And then, Ford’s hold on me softens and his sniffing turns into a quiet snort until finally I understand. He’s laughing. My body catches on before my brain can and then we’re giggling hysterically, wet cheeks and t-shirts stained with sticky snot.
From downstairs, Gregory Hale yells for us. “Boys, pizza is here.”
Chapter 13
2024 - Ashford
When Doctor Parker finally pats my back and sends me home with a reassuring smile, I almost cannot believe it. Despite the sun coming through the window, the early September morning smells like school supplies and hatred.
My eyes stay unfocused on the white hospital wall while Parker and nurse Lindsey discuss the final details. “No strenuous activity for you boys for about another week,” Parker tells me with a wink. I can’t even begin to think about strenuous activities. I can barely think about sharing a home with Ash. I nod dutifully anyway.
“Your memories will come back. Take it easy.”
I’m not as hopeful. I can stand, I can pee and I can almost shower on my own, but anything else is too much. Walking is draining, people are exhausting and I’m tired of hearing that my memories will come back. The entire hospital’s a big old broken record of liars.
The last few days I have gone through every photo on my phone, playing and replaying every video and reading every message.
Some things ring a bell—something faint and far away that I can’t grasp—but most don’t. It’s frustrating, having a phone full of moments that I can’t place in the real world.
And when Ash picks me up and I follow him out and to an unfamiliar car, I’m not even sure where we’re headed. I don’t ask. I inspect the car and it might as well be the car of the accident. Not that I would remember.
Ash catches my stare. “It’s a rental. Didn’t want the bad memories back before the good ones.”
I chuckle, then spend the entire ride looking at Ash. I watch the sharp jawline, the nose that Ash insists is too thin, the icy blue eyes focused on the street. He’s tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and although the radio is turned off, he’s humming a low tune to himself. I follow his Adam’s apple up and down and then a new, unexplored thought crosses my mind. How much new music have I forgotten? And has Ash’s neck always been this kissable?
He hits the brakes stopping at a traffic light and there’s a soft warm feeling in my stomach that has nothing to do with the sunny day outside and has everything to do with the man sitting beside me.
Hugging the elbow sling to my chest, I wish I was brave enough to ask the list of questions I have been meaning to ask Ash. I want to know more about the accident, about the adoption process and most importantly I want to know more about us.
But I don’t know where to begin. And every time I start speaking, I get lost in a laugh, in a wink and then, Iget lost when Ash stops the tapping and rests his hand on my knee instead.
“Are you doing alright?” he asks, flashing me a smile that has no business being so relaxed, positive and hopeful.
With a nod, I fight the instinct to squeeze Ash’s hand. Instead, I look out and I’m not surprised we’re in Sheffield. Deep down, I knew this already. I recognise the green hills in the distance, the red bricks and finally I recognise the neighbourhood. When I do, I’m glad Ash’s hand is still resting on my thigh. The weight of it is grounding and the warmth is real—alive. My voice is surprisingly calm when I ask, “I moved into your house?”
Ash chuckles. “Ford, babe. You’re not ready.” He sighs, parking the car in the driveway before jumping out. I try to ignore the way the endearment makes me feel but it is impossible. Sure, Ash has called me babe before, but never unironically. It’s like a cosy blanket on a cold winter, a hot tea on a rainy day.
Circling around the car, Ash gathers my stuff from the back and opens my door. The ground is wet, but not slippery. I manage two steps before I notice a figure sitting on the little bench by the entrance, waiting for us. It’s a young woman with short hair and long lashes, holding a tin box of shortbread in her lap. I recall her visit when I first woke up at the hospital, but that was weeks ago when I was barely able to exchange a couple of words before falling back asleep.
“Hi.” The woman stumbles to her feet.
Beside me, Ash doesn’t move. “Everything alright?” His voice cracks in a weird, desperate way and suddenly, I’m worried sick. Is it Winnie? Did something happen? And why the shortbread?
“Oh yes, Ash, of course. Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. Either of you.” The woman walks towards Ash and hands him the tin. “Everything is just peachy, Ash. This is a welcome home gift. I wasn’t sure when you were going to be home, so I just waited here a bit. Everything’s fine. Everyone’s safe.”
She meets my eyes and her kind reassurance makes me feel guilty. Am I the reason Ash needs so much gentleness? I wish I knew who this woman was, wish I remembered, wish I understood the soft way Ash reaches for her shoulder and squeezes delicately.
