Lost in Me, Page 5

Chapter Two

  I open my eyes to see my sister Maggie’s head bobbing to music I can faintly make out from her headphones, her gaze focused on the print-filled pages of a thick textbook.

  “So what else do I not remember?” I ask groggily. “Are you having Asher’s babies yet?”

  She lifts her head and grins at me as she pulls off her headphones. “Hey, how’d you sleep?”

  “Like a baby. In the literal awake-every-two-hours sense of the cliché.” Hospitals have to be the worst places to get rest. Every time I would fall asleep, the nurse would come in to check something or change an IV bag. I tap Maggie’s book. “What are you studying?”

  “I’m doing an independent study in women in art history. Trying to catch up and make up for the year I took off.”

  “So that’s a no on the babies?”

  “Unless you count Zoe, no. No babies.”

  I nod thoughtfully. I remember Zoe. She’s Asher’s daughter who lives in New York. She spent most of the summer here—well, last summer at least. This gap in my memories is so bizarre. Not like forgetting what you did last weekend when you know time passed but just can’t pin down any memories, but like the last year never happened.

  I roll carefully to my side, mindful of my bruised ribs. No breaks, the doctor informed me. Just nasty bruises. Lucky me. Between tests and sleeping and being prodded by the nurses, I haven’t gotten many answers to my questions.

  “What happened to me, Maggie?”

  “We don’t really know.” She closes the book and sets it to the side. “Lizzy found you at the bottom of the stairs behind the bakery. You were unconscious and looked, well”—she winces—“actually a sight better than you do now. Those bruises have gotten colorful.”

  “What bakery?”

  “Your bakery.” A slow grin lights her face. “You opened a bakery.”

  “I did? Mom didn’t flip out?” I’ve always loved baking, much to the dismay of my fat-phobic mother.

  She shrugs. “I don’t know, but you wanted to do it and you did. It’s downtown and does a nice little business. And your wedding cakes are gorgeous.”

  “My wedding cakes?” I’ve decorated cakes for friends’ birthdays for years and always loved to play with frosting, gum paste, and fondant. I watched wedding cake shows on TV obsessively. But it was just a dream. Nothing I ever believed I’d be able to make a career out of.

  She smiles. “We’re all so proud of you.”

  “So then I have a bakery and I mysteriously ended up bruised and battered behind it.”

  “Our best guess is that you took a pretty good fall down the stairs.”

  I narrow my eyes at her. “So you’re saying I didn’t find gracefulness in those months I can’t remember?”

  She chuckles. “You’re a hell of a lot more graceful than I am.”

  “What else did I miss?”

  “You didn’t miss anything,” she says. “You were here for all of it, and that memory’s going to be back in no time. I’m sure of it.”

  “Humor me.”

  “You and Liz graduated in May.”

  I lift my hand and study my ring. “And then there’s me and Max.”

  “Yeah. Since, I don’t know, maybe December or so? But the engagement is new. In fact, that’s been a surprise to all of us. Mom came by while you were sleeping last night and she practically bawled when Max confirmed that the ring on your finger was from him and it was the real deal.”

  “Mom approves of Max, then?”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  I frown at my hand then stretch my arm out straight and study it. “I’ve lost weight.” I sit on the edge of the bed and extend my legs out before me one at a time. They’re long. Obviously I haven’t grown in the last year, but they’re so much thinner that they look longer to me. I’ve taken a couple of groggy trips to the bathroom with nurses at my side, but I didn’t pay much attention to my body. I certainly didn’t bother to look in the mirror. Thanks to my litany of aches and pains, I was too afraid to look.

  I bring my hand to my stomach and draw in a breath. This isn’t my body. I’ve never been this thin. Not as a teenager, not as a child.

  I look to Maggie. “Did this happen before or after Max started dating me?”

  “After,” she says carefully.

  I start to stand, and she takes my arm. “I’m fine,” I assure her. “I just want to look.”

  She ignores my protest and escorts me to the bathroom, where I freeze at the sight of myself in the mirror. These bruises on my face aren’t very pretty. In fact, they almost look worse than they feel—which is saying something. But what really has me staring is the shape of my face. My cheekbones are visible, the line of my jaw more defined.

  “I’ll give you a minute,” Maggie says. “I’ll be right on the other side of the door if you need me.”

  After the door clicks behind her, I lift my hospital gown and study my body in the mirror. Frowning, I run my hands over my belly. It’s flatter than I ever remember it being, and I can feel muscle definition beneath my stretchmark-wrinkled skin. The bruises at my ribs could get me a job starring in a domestic-violence video. Was this all really from a fall down the stairs?

  I’ll never have a model’s body, yet I’m nearly giddy at the sight of myself. My waist is tiny for the first time in my life, my thighs toned, and the breasts I always cursed for making me look even bigger than I was are now nice curves. I’m actually excited to put on clothes and see my new body when I’m dressed like a normal person.

  “It all seems too good to be true,” I murmur as I study my reflection.

  “Which part?” Maggie pokes her head into the bathroom just as I’m repositioning my gown. “The bruises or the traumatic brain injury?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  She raises a brow. “You’re the only person I know who could go through what you did and still think life is peachy. The rest of the world could learn a thing or two from you, Han.”

  I follow her out of the bathroom. “It’s like a dream, you know. Suddenly, I wake up and, sure, I’m in the hospital and pretty banged up, but I have everything I’ve ever wanted. The business, the body—”

  “You were gorgeous before,” she tells me as I lower onto the edge of the bed. “You’re the only one who couldn’t see it.”

  “It’s not just that.”

  “Max,” she provides.

  “Yeah.” I sigh. “I feel like the universe wants me to see everything, to not take it for granted. The doctor said my memory will probably be back soon, so maybe this is the luckiest thing that’s ever happened to me. How many of us get to step back from our lives and see how perfect they really are?”

  “No one’s life is perfect, Hanna.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I do know, and it worries me. You’ve got stars in your eyes about your life, and in a couple of days you’re going to start living it again. I just don’t want you to be disappointed if it isn’t everything it seems.”