Page 12 of You Again

“Grammy,” I say, my voice weak, my chest pounding. I pull my hand away from hers. She can’t be saying⁠—

“He’s been gone a little over a year, my Rosalie.”

“No.” This time, my voice breaks. No. No. More tears spill, and I look at Fran on my opposite side, pleading, “Take me home. Please, Fran. Let’s just go home.” I want my home. I want my bed. I want the peace of just me, Fran, and our apartment. And maybe we don’t live in that little apartment on Tulip Street anymore, but she’ll know where we do live.

But even this simple question makes my best friend cry. She covers my hand with hers, and that’s when I see it. The gold band and pretty diamond on Fran’s left hand wink up at me.

“We don’t live together anymore,” I whisper, reality suddenly a boulder settling on my chest.

She shakes her head, one tear escaping and slipping down her cheek.

“You’re married? You got married and moved out.” I am alone. So very alone. My best friend got married without me, left me, and now I’m alone. How could she do that to me?

The fact is, she didn’t. I was probably there. I was probably happy and supportive and all the things that a best friend should be and do.

I just don’t remember any of it.

If I try hard enough, maybe I will remember. I attempt to conjure Fran in a wedding dress. Fran walking down an aisle. I try to picture her husband… But none of it will come. I can’t even form a blurred, pixelated version of this day. All I’m doing is making my head hurt worse.

Retrograde amnesia is getting harder and harder to deny.

“I’m alone.” The words come out, but just. My body is doing its best to hyperventilate.

“You aren’t alone. We’re all here and so is—” Fran says, glancing at the hospital room door.

Grammy holds a hand out, stopping Fran from continuing. “Low pressure, dear. We’ve given her a lot to process in a very short time.”

My chest heaves. I feel as though I can’t quite take in enough air. The pressure of all this information feels anything but low; it’s pressing on my chest, it’s suffocating me. “Yes. That’s enough,” I say. I peer around at my family, somehow feeling a little angry with them, too. Everyone has moved on without me. No wonder Ty isn’t here; he’s no longer a fifteen-year-old kid. He’s twenty-one! He’s older than I should be. The thought has me pulling in a gasp. “I don’t want to hear anymore.”

A tear streaks Mom’s cheek, and she shares a look with Fran.

“No,” I snap when Mom opens her mouth to speak. “Is anyone else dead?” I say with so much unfeeling that I regret it the minute the words are out.

“No,” Mom whispers.

“Then I don’t want to know anything else,” I say, unable to keep the harshness from my tone.

“Rosalie—” Mom protests.

“No. None of you are allowed to tell me more unless I ask for it.”

And then I have my first ever debilitating panic attack.

Six

Present Day

Just because I moved to Tesoro doesn’t mean my doctors did.

Ugh.

So, here I am in Reno. And while, sure, there are close to three hundred thousand people living in the biggest little city in the world, and one would think they could go to the doctor, grab a dirty Dr Pepper at a local shop, and make it home without seeing anyone they know, one would be wrong.

I ran into someone who is apparently my coworker from Sierra View Elementary. She knew about my accident, about my amnesia even, but she couldn’t ignore me either.

Oof. Nice people. Sometimes they are the worst. I don’t know you. And you know that I don’t know you. Could you just pretend that you don’t know me?

But she couldn’t. She asked about my head and how I was feeling and if I was coming back to school. She explained that she taught just down the hall from me. She wanted to draw me a map. Which is how I ended up locked in a gas station bathroom, breathing into a small disposable bag for used tampons. It’s clean, but still—ew.