"I want to know what you have to say," Serene said in a low voice and then grabbed her water, chugging the rest down.
"Okay." John rubbed his hands together. "Through the grapevine, I heard that you are experiencing dissociative fugue. A kind of amnesia that can wipe out all of your memories of who you are, or a good portion of those memories, which accounts for the twenty-four years gone just like that. But the switch you made about six-seven years ago, I think. Now that. That was something different altogether. Not just a name change, a completely different personality in mannerisms, in interests. Out went the writing and reading. Suddenly you were drawing intricate pictures, stuff that takes years of practice to produce, and I thought, well, this is interesting. You and I always got on well, a lot in common with the books and writing. After you had Jesse, you suffered postpartum depression and I used to stop by to visit you from time to time, cheer you up. One day I stopped by, and that was when things were different. The house was spick and span, you'd cut your hair and straightened it, and I remember you had on this eye-popping bright purple lipstick. Whoa." John blinked at the memory. "And you were suddenly so confident, so loud," He frowned at the thought. "Yeah," he said eventually. "You got into running and were hanging out a lot with Erica. The next thing I knew, you and Steve were divorcing and you were marrying Erica, and I thought, I might be wrong, but you were displaying what we call in psychology dissociative identity disorder, or what was formerly known as multiple personality disorder."
"I've been diagnosed with that," Serene said quietly.
John lifted a brow. "Have you? I told Ramani several times that your change in personality was too drastic to be a lifestyle change. It made me wonder, too––this thing about being Dora when you were young. Do you remember that?"
Serene nodded. "I would lose time."
"Right." John made a face and shook his head regretfully. "I never could get Ramani to come around from this perspective that you were pretending to be someone else. She was so stuck on that, just wouldn't budge."
Serene found that she was gripping her empty cup hard and set it back down, her eyes never leaving John. She liked this man, she realized. He was comfortable to be around.
"What happened to our friendship after I became Dora?"
"It faded. I'm afraid Dora didn't have any patience for your previous interests. It was very apparent that she had a whole other set of interests in fashion, social media and running. I've lost track of how many marathons you've run."
Marathons?
The thought made Serene think of Ramani and all the running she used to do. The sound of a key being inserted into the lock of the front door interrupted their conversation. John looked expectantly in that direction. Serene felt her heart speed up as the door opened and a woman stepped inside, carrying a brown paper bag of groceries. The shock swept through Serene like bristles of static electricity.
Ramani.
Was this Ramani?
This old, out of shape, frumpy woman with the fleshy face and thin, wispy hair? But then Ramani smiled her gap tooth smile, the teeth spaced further apart than they had ever been, and Serene knew it was her mother.
"Dora," she called out. The voice was the same. "Let me put these groceries down."
John rose up. "I'll take those, dear." He peered into the bag and then spoke to Serene. "Ah, I see she got your favorite, pumpkin pie."
Pumpkin pie?
"It's all takeout," Ramani said, making her way toward Serene. "The time got away from me. Can you set it out, John?"
"You got it," he replied.
Ramani gave Serene a hug, swallowing her up with big thick arms. "I'm so glad you finally decided you wanted to see me, Dora."
"I'm not going by Dora anymore."
Ramani stepped back, scrutinizing her. "Ah, I see. Okay. We're done with Dora for now." Her tone was a bit patronizing, but Serene was still too much in shock over how much Ramani had aged to feel anything else. Up close, Serene noticed the deep grooves just above Ramani's jawline and lots of little wrinkles around her eyes, horizontal lines up and down the bridge of her nose. Her neck had loosened and hung slightly. Ramani peeled off her bulky sweater and tossed it to one of the sofas, revealing a tight t-shirt with a plunging V-neck that showed off wrinkled cleavage. She wore velour sweatpants and her middle pushed out against the pants, a mound of fat that spread wide. "Oh," Ramani said, looking startled. "Where did I leave my vape pen?" She called out to John.
"I don't know," John yelled back. "I keep telling you to find a place to keep it."
"I'll be right with you," Ramani said and waddled off to their bedroom, her bottom straining in the sweatpants. Serene could see pockets of cellulite through the material.
Ramani returned, looking triumphant. "It was in the charger. So it's all charged up, and it's got the minty THC juice, your favorite." She handed the pen to Serene, who took it and then stared at the pen, perplexed. She'd seen other people vaping, but didn't really know how it worked.
"What's wrong?" Ramani asked.
"I don't know how, or I don't remember how to do this."
"Oh, really." Ramani's sparse brows drew together.
"Dear, she's lost twenty-four years of memory," John called from the kitchen.
"Yes, I know. I just thought…" Ramani's voice trailed off. Serene handed the pen back to her mother, who pressed a little button on the side, put it in her mouth and inhaled, releasing mint-scented clouds of vapor. The two women took seats on the sofas gazing at one another.
"What have you got there?" Ramani indicated with her head the journal that rested on the sofa cushion.
Serene handed it to her mother. "It's my diary from when I
