Unremembered (Unremembered #1)(15)

‘Mom,’ he says, sounding agitated as he pats down his disorderly curls, ‘you didn’t tell me she was hot.’ Judging by his hushed tone and the way he turns his face away from me when he speaks, I don’t believe he meant for me to hear this. But I do.

Heather laughs and ruffles the same hair that Cody has just attempted to smooth. ‘What does it matter what she looks like?’

His eyes dart towards me and then away again. ‘It matters,’ he says, his teeth clenched tightly.

‘Violet,’ she says with a smile, ‘this is our son, Cody, who apparently thinks you’re “hot”.’

‘Mom!’ His eyes grow wide and his face turns a curious shade of red.

‘I feel a normal temperature,’ I reply, slightly confused by the exchange.

Heather laughs again. ‘Violet still hasn’t regained her memories,’ she explains delicately. ‘She’s not familiar with a lot of slang.’ She puts her arm around Cody’s shoulder. ‘Maybe you can teach her the “hip” words teenagers are using. Help her become cool.’

Cody’s eyes roll upward. It’s an expression I’ve never seen before but make a mental note to attempt in front of the mirror later. ‘First of all, Mom,’ he says with a groan, ‘no one uses the word hip except you, and second of all, I’m the last person in the world anyone should go to for tips on how to be cool.’

‘Well, that’s just not true,’ Heather argues. ‘You’re cool to me.’

Cody’s eyes roll again. ‘Oh, great,’ he says, his voice sounding hoarse and insincere. ‘My mother thinks I’m cool. I’m sure the freshman chicks are going to fall all over themselves.’

Heather turns to me. ‘Cody is starting high school in a couple of weeks. He’s a bit nervous.’

‘Mom!’ He pushes her arm from his shoulder. ‘Stop!’

I watch him toss the strap of a large backpack over his arm and walk up the stairs. I’m intrigued by how much louder his footsteps are than anyone else’s in the house. Particularly in proportion to his size.

‘You’ll have to excuse him,’ Heather says as she finishes emptying the bags of groceries. ‘He’s at an awkward age.’

Awkward age. I dissect the phrase, trying to make it fit with what I just witnessed. Is she referring to his small size? Or the fact that he changes colour so frequently? I’m about to ask her to elaborate but she does so without prompting.

‘Thirteen is hard. You don’t know who you are yet. Who your real friends are. Who you can trust. You don’t yet know what you’re capable of.’

I absorb her definition, mulling it over. ‘I suppose I’m at an awkward age too, then.’

She smiles. I like the way it crinkles the skin around her eyes. And slightly softens them. She closes a cabinet door and looks at me. ‘Thank you,’ she says.

‘For what?’

‘You have a good heart.’

I think back to the hospital, remembering what Kiyana said about my vitals, and assume that’s what Heather is referring to. Although I don’t understand how it relates to this conversation.

‘Anyway,’ she says, rinsing her hands in the sink, ‘I suppose it doesn’t help that Cody is only interested in math and science. It’s been a long time since I was a teenager but I know those kinds of hobbies never help one’s social situation in school. Plus, he’s a bit on the small side. But his father didn’t hit his growth spurt until he was fifteen.’

I listen to everything that Heather is saying even though I don’t comprehend the meaning of all of it. I have a feeling, however, she doesn’t need me to.

‘You’re a lucky girl to be so pretty so young,’ she says to me. ‘I’m sure wherever you’re from, you didn’t have any trouble getting dates or making friends.’

I wonder if that could be true.

She wipes her hands on a towel. ‘Anyway, if Cody acts strangely it’s because he gets nervous when he’s around pretty girls. Give him some time to get used to you being here. He’s a very sweet boy.’

I nod and smile, unsure of what to say next.

Heather suggests I go upstairs and rest, promising to call me when dinner’s ready.

I don’t argue. I’m anxious to be alone. I climb the steps quietly and retreat to my room, closing the door behind me.

I sit in the rocking chair and sway back and forth. The movement calms me. The range of motion is limited. Confined. It fits in a box.

I like things that fit in boxes. Especially boxes that have labels.

It’s the misshapen, unmarked containers with unknown contents that bother me.

Although I tell myself not to, I think about the boy. I can’t help it. He fascinates me. And infuriates me at the same time.

What does that mean?

Maybe nothing.

Maybe everything.

He wasn’t like Cody. He was tall. Taller than me. His face was long and oval-shaped. His arms were not scrawny, but loosely defined by muscle. I assume this signifies he’s already hit his ‘growth spurt’, as Heather called it. Which means he’s older than thirteen. I find myself wishing I had a better frame of reference.

For everything.

Is it possible he really knows things about me? Where I’m from. What I’m like. Who I am.