I follow Moira down the hall to the elevators, and as we step in I notice she doesn’t press the button for the ICU. I rock back and forth on my toes as she glances over and catches my confusion. She tells me that Ethan was being transferred to a different ward before she came to my room. The elevator descends and then comes to a stop at floor eleven. “This is us,” she says as I follow her lead and stop by the ward’s entrance so we can sanitize our hands. There’s no buzzer for the door; I guess anyone can visit, unlike the protocol upstairs. We make our way through the doors and down the dingy mint green corridors until we reach the room at the very end. Ethan’s sitting on the bed with his cell in his hands, swiping the screen and eyeing it like it’s some foreign contraption.
“Blair’s here honey,” Moira announces as I walk in behind her and stand at the bottom of the bed feeling completely self-conscious. A couple of days ago I would have walked into the room, and thought nothing of taking a seat in Ethan’s lap. Now I feel like an intruder, like I’m an unwelcomed guest.
I hate it.
He throws the phone onto the bedside table and looks up at me with a small smile. My heart feels like it stutters in my chest as his dimples flash, and I want so desperately to run over and kiss him, to climb into his lap and cling to him. I want to tell him that I’ve never been so scared as I have been over these past few days, not knowing if he was okay. His wrist is bandaged, he has a small dressing on the side of his head, and the hair around it looks to have been shaved. There’s a yellowing bruise on his cheekbone and he’s sporting more scruff on his face than I’ve ever seen on him before, yet he’s still beautiful. I settle for a small wave and then drop my hand quickly. Who waves, honestly? God, I hate how awkward this feels. The room is filled with an uneasy silence, and Moira informs us that she’s leaving me to visit with Ethan while she goes and grabs another coffee. I don’t know if I’m relieved that she’s going or if I’m scared to be here by myself. Moira had mentioned that the doctors have asked that we let him try and recover his memories on his own, not push him or cause any unnecessary stress that could prolong his condition. I have absolutely no idea what I’m allowed to say to him.
“So,” he says nodding his head and I just stare blankly back at him.
“We’re dating?” I’m not sure if it’s a statement or a question so I just nod my head in agreement.
“Come sit down—you're making me nervous,” he huffs while throwing me a dazzling white smile and patting a spot on the bed next to him. I almost leap at the chance to be closer to him, but I calm myself and move around the bed slowly and sit facing him, Indian-style.
“I’ve got to admit, this feels pretty surreal and a little awkward,” he says looking straight into my eyes.
“Ha, it really does,” I say with a small smile. “It’s worse than that first day in the library.” He gives me a strange look and then I realize that he has no idea what I’m talking about. He can’t remember staring at my boobs in the library the first time we ever spoke because he can’t remember me. I shake my head in a gesture that’s meant to say, never mind.
“I—”
“We—”
We both start to talk at the same time and then freeze.
“You first,” we say in unison and then laugh.
“Jinx,” he says and winks. It’s playful and familiar, and I want to burst into tears all over again that I can’t lean forward and just kiss him. He’s staring at me so intently that I don’t quite know what to do with myself. I fiddle with the hospital band around my wrist and wait for him to fill the silence.
“You’re beautiful,” he tells me. “How did I manage to con you into dating me?”
My shoulders relax a little, and I let the warmth of his complement wash over me. I sigh inwardly and revel in the first soothing and cheerful feelings I’ve had since he woke up not knowing me.
“I think you drugged me,” I reply. He laughs, and it makes my heart soar.
“So I guess that we’re pretty serious?” His face is lowered, and he looks up at me through his long dark eyelashes. Men shouldn’t be allowed to have lashes that perfect.
“My screen saver is of you, sleeping.” He smiles almost bashfully as he looks over at his phone.
“You have a picture of me sleeping?” I reply, surprised, and his cheeks color immediately. He stutters and tries to respond, but it’s obvious he has no clue what to say.
“Relax, it’s fine, I just didn’t realize you had a picture of me asleep. If you go through your photo stream there’ll be plenty of pictures of us goofing around.” I’m not sure why I just told him to do that. How awful must it be to see pictures of a time and a person that you can’t recollect? Nice going, Blair.
“I’ve already gone through them,” he answers with a hint of a cocky grin playing at his lips. “Look, I know this is weird but when I saw you earlier, even though I didn’t remember you, seeing you cry hurt.”
I look up at him a little startled by his admission and wait for him to continue. I can feel my heart slamming against my chest, and it’s taking all my energy to stop myself from crawling over the bed and taking hold of him.