Page 53 of Forgotten
“I’m not that annoying.” I can’t help but sound defensive.
“Little annoying. Not as annoying as when you started sleeping with Ashley, though. Could have lived without knowing how little I appreciated your sperm in comparison to a certain friend of yours.”
“Okay, so I do tell you everything. Glad we got that sorted.”
Vicky doesn’t laugh, because she’s cheeky like that. Instead she reminds me of where I have left off. “Check-up went well then. How’s the gay sex going?”
“Fuck, Vicky, I can’t even think about that. I literally forgot everything, I don’t know anything. I’m a father now. Am I supposed to have sex?”
Vicky whispers something to someone else, and then comes back on the line without missing a beat. “It never stopped you from being a nasty whore before.”
“I’m not-” I pause, thinking of the way I have thoroughly enjoyed being with Ash the last week. Maybe, in 2024, a nasty whore hungry for sex with my best friend is precisely who I am. The mere thought makes me giggle. Before. I want to know more about before.
“Right, maybe. I think we’re doing things slowly now. I think… I think we’re both worried I won’t get my memories back.”
“And if you don’t? Do you still want this? Ashley and Ashwin?” Vicky always knows what to ask.
Over the years, I’ve learned not to just give her any answer, but something real. I’ve done so since we decided we were better off as friends and I don’t intend to stop now. I think ofAshley and Ashwinand the upcoming appointment with our social worker this afternoon. I think about how Ash looks at Winnie as if she’s his entire world, and how he looks at me the same way. It’s the same look Ash has been giving me since we were young and dumb, and we kissed in my kitchen for the first time. My voice cracks and no matter how hard I try to find a better answer, all I come up with is this.
“I don’t know. I’m scared,” I tell Vicky, thinking of how impossible it would be to live without that look,without Winnie’s soft curls and Ash’s hand holding mine.
“You’ve always been scared of wanting a family, Ford. It’s your mommy issue, figure it out,” is the last thing Vicky says before ending the call.
Chapter 18
2018 - Ashley
The first Sunday of August 2018 we’re having a barbecue in the backyard of one of Ford’s friends in Sheffield to celebrate a combination of birthdays and graduations. Including Ford’s birthday. He turned twenty-three in July, and I meant to meet him for the occasion, but he insisted it wasn’t necessary. He wanted me to be here now, almost a month later.
So here I am, having a barbecue under the most English sky one could imagine: grey and threatening rain and thunder. I don’t even know why I’m surprised. It’s almost as if the weather knows when a Brit has planned time outside, and makes it a point to rain it off. But I came ready, with a raincoat and long sleeves and a secret umbrella in my backpack that I will get out the moment a drop hits my face. Who cares if Ford’s friends will think I’m uncool? Warmth spreads in my chest as I look at the long pants and black wind jacket that Ford is wearing. I’m sure he’s got an umbrella hidden somewhere as well. Always prepared. I adore him to bits.
Ford’s friends are not of the same opinion, though. They’re all dressed for what could be a boat party in the Mediterranean, with bathing suits, naked chests and flip flops. When we arrived Ford gave me a quick round of introductions; this is the cricket team; This one lives upstairs, and we walk to the bus stop together sometimes; this is Adam, his best mate from rugby.
“You must remember him, right?” Ford winks at me and I want to kill him.
That’s Vicky and her group of surprisingly chatty friends, and that’s Mae who plays the cello and the rest of the orchestra are here too, somewhere. Everyone blurs into a crowd of people who adore Ford and hug him and give him best wishes.
When the socialising is done, Ford grabs a plate for us to share and finds us a spot to hang out and hide from the party.
“You should ask her out.”
Ford gives me a look and I cannot stand to look at the perfect way his reddish curls frame his face. His beard is longer now, and it almost hides his dimples. I hate it, I want it gone.
“Who should I ask out?” Ford asks me and I point a finger briefly, before dipping a sausage into the ketchup on the paper plate.
“Whom,” I correct him, taking a small bite while attempting to balance a bottle of beer under my armpit. Disgusting.
I’m drinking today so that I don’t start smoking. This time, I really am trying to quit. Cigarettes and weed andeverything else. I haven’t bought a pack since last week and I’m quite proud of myself. Of course, Monday afternoon doesn’t count. That’s when the twins had called to tell me Erik got a black eye from fighting Daddy back and I had to smoke twelve cigarettes in a row before I could start breathing again. Whatever, as I said. Doesn’tcount.
“I’m not interested,” Ford says.
“You’re literally never interested.”
Ford pauses, thinking over my words. “Drink,” he commands pointedly.
“Fuck.” I exhale. “I swear to-”
“It is words such asliterallyandlikethat will kill the English language.”
