I walk over to my bed, where there’s a framed picture on the nightstand. It’s of the two of us together, but it’s hard to see the girl in the picture as me. She’s so much more grown-up looking than I remember being. Matt’s got this girl in his arms, nearly dipping her. Her eyes are closed, but she’s smiling and so is he, even as he kisses her cheek. They look so happy together, I want to believe Paige. They look like they’re in love. But I have no idea what that feels like. What I feel when I look at them—at us—is nothing.
I sit down on the edge of the bed and put the picture back in its place on the nightstand. The drawer is open just a crack, so I pull the handle and open it the rest of the way slowly, still feeling like I’m snooping in someone else’s things. There are a few books and magazines stacked neatly in the corner, three tubes of lip balm, and a sleep mask that looks like a pair of sunglasses. I pick up one of the lip balms, take the lid off and sniff the fruity scent, then put it back with the others. Next, I pick up the eye mask, which is so cheesy it had to have come from one of the marina shops.
I’m about to try it on when I catch a glimpse of what was tucked beneath it. It’s a small, round, nondescript case, but I recognize what it is immediately, and my heart starts to race. This can’t actually be mine. I pick it up and open it slowly, hoping I’m wrong. But inside there is a circle of tiny pills around a dial at the center. I stare at the empty plastic bubbles, realizing what this means, and I almost can’t breathe.
“Yep,” a voice says from across the room. “You two are just a couple of little lovebirds.”
I jump. Fumble with the pill pack in my hands, shove it down in the drawer and shut it before I look up.
Sam is leaning in the doorway, smirking. “I had the unfortunate experience of walking in on that once,” he says with an exaggerated shudder. “Almost makes me wish I had amnesia myself.”
I open my mouth to say something, but I don’t know where to start. I’m immediately distracted from my brother’s words by the way he looks. Logically, I’d known he was going to look different when I saw him. More grown-up, just like Paige. I thought I’d be prepared for it with him. But he looks like a different person altogether. The Sam in my mind is sixteen and gangly, and not much taller than me. This Sam, back from his first year of college, has to be over six feet tall, with broad shoulders, a scruffy face, and wild hair to match. I’m staring, I know I’m staring, but I can’t get over it.
He grins and puts a hand on his chest. “My name is Sam, I live here too. I’m a genius and also your hero, so you basically worship me. And you do all my chores. And you bake me chocolate chip cookies anytime I ask. Also, Mom wanted me to bring this up to you.”
He sets my camera bag on my desk and smiles, and I recognize the particular way his eyes crinkle at the corners. All at once, he’s my brother again.
I get up and cross the room, and wrap my arms around the big goof in a hug that seems to surprise him.
“Wow,” he says. “You’re nice now, too? This just keeps getting better.”
I lean back and smack him on his chest. “Stop it.”
“Well, you should be. Extra nice. Because you scared the crap out of everyone. You know that, right?” His expression is serious.
“Yeah. I got that much.”
“Okay.” He puts his big arms around my shoulders and gives me a gentle hug, then lets me go. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Except for that whole thing where I don’t remember the last few years,” I say.
He waves a dismissive hand. “It’ll come back. You’re probably just in shock.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
“Hmm,” he says, stroking his chin. “There could be benefits to that. I mean, you’d get a clean slate for the most embarrassing, awkward years of your life.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good thing.”
He lights up. “No, it’s actually awesome. Like some weird, do-over superpower. Do you know how many people would kill for that superpower? Think of how many things you could do over—watch Star Wars for the first time, read Harry Potter, have your first burrito from Del Sol.” He raises one eyebrow. “They just opened a few months ago, and you were the one who told me how awesome they are, and now it’ll be like you’ve never been!”
I laugh. “That’s great, but I read Harry Potter in fourth grade. And we watched all the Star Wars movies on Christmas break when I was in sixth grade, remember?”
“Crap, that’s right. Well, I’ll keep thinking, and I’ll come up with a list of awesome do-overs. We’ll start with Del Sol. But maybe tomorrow, because Mom has a whole thing going on down there.”
“Tacos,” I say with a smile. “She told me.”
“Yeah, it’s a little more than tacos. She’s in her usual cooking mode, so it’s more like a welcome-back banquet for us and a houseful of guests.”
“There’s no one else coming over, is there?” The possibility makes me instantly nervous.
Sam shakes his head. “No. Paige and Matt have both been calling, but she told them it’d be best to give you a day to settle in.”
“Good,” I say, relieved.
We’re quiet a moment, and Sam catches my eye. “It must be weird with Matt, huh?”
I nod.
“Well. For what it’s worth, he’s a good guy, and he really cares about you. And you care about him. And you guys are good together. So I hope it comes back, or works out, or whatever.” He pauses. “I bet it will.”
“I hope so,” I say. But I’m not entirely sure I mean it. “And thank you.”
“For what?” Sam asks.
“For being the only one to act normal around me. Can you just keep doing that?”
Sam gives a quick nod. “Absolutely. No special treatment just because you almost died and came back with do-over superpowers.”
“Perfect.”
He turns to go, then pokes his head back in the door. “And after dinner, if you’re feeling up to it, I could use a dozen of those chocolate chip cookies you like to bake me.”
“Get out,” I say, and I close the door behind him.
He yells from the hallway, “There’s the Liv I know!”
SEVEN
“SURPRISE!” MY MOM yells as I walk in.
A glittery Welcome Home banner hangs on the wall above the buffet in the dining room, huge bunches of Mylar balloons floating at each end. Below that, on the buffet, are all the flowers and cards from the hospital, and on the table in front of it all is a Mexican feast that looks like it could feed an army. Sam wasn’t kidding. At least that’s still the same. Mom’s always cooked like we might have unexpected guests for dinner. I guess because most of the time, we do—Sam’s friends, or Paige and Jules. Or we did. I don’t know what we do now.
My dad comes in and puts a hand on my shoulder, then pulls out my chair. “Hope you’re hungry. Your mom’s just a little excited to have you home.”
I survey the table. “I can tell.” All my favorites are there—the makings for tacos, beans and rice, homemade salsa and guacamole, grilled corn on the cob, sliced watermelon. For the first time in I don’t know how long, I actually am hungry.
We sit and start passing dishes, filling our plates. I reach for the bowl of shredded pork, and my mom puts her hand on mine. “Oh no, hon. This one’s yours.” She hands me another bowl with some sort of crumbled-up stuff in it.
“What’s this?” I wrinkle my nose, wondering if it’s a hospital-mandated thing. They did say I should stick with softer foods if my throat was still sore.