"Nonsense. Tera just made dinner. You can join us."
Dora followed him into the dining room. There was no one there. He pulled out a seat at the table for her. "Glass of wine?"
"Sure." She slipped into the seat and Steve went into the kitchen. There were pots on the stove, a low flame under one of them.
"Tera?" He called out quietly. "Ter?" Had she gone upstairs? He made his way out of the kitchen. At the bottom of the stairs, Tera was holding Laird's hand. They were both in sweaters. Her phone bulged in the front pocket of her jeans.
"Where are you going?"
She stooped to pull Laird's hoodie up over his head, her cheeks flushed.
"It's too hot," the little boy complained. "Why do we have to go? I'm hungry."
Steve stepped toward them. "Yeah, why do you have to go?"
"I need a little space," she said tersely.
"What? Is this necessary? I told you––"
"Yes. Yes, you did," Tera cut him off. "The problem is that you're always telling me. It's never a discussion, just you telling me."
"That's unfair, Tera."
She sprang up from her squatted position, her eyes holding his. "Take some time," she said quietly. "Whatever it is she needs from you, you two can talk about it. I'm just extra at the moment."
"Listen, Tera, this is ridiculous."
Tera's jaw flexed. "Have dinner. Have your talk. But when I get back, I want the same consideration."
"Where are you going?"
"To my sister’s."
"Aunty Lucy's?" Laird cried out and clapped his hands. "Can we get pizza?"
Tera forced a smile. "It's already on its way."
Steve watched them walk out the door. The headlights of her Range Rover flooded the foyer. And then she was gone.
The feeling of relief surprised him.
Over dinner, Dora was relatively quiet. She apologized a few times for the impromptu visit, which Steve waved away, hoping she hadn't overheard his argument with Tera. Dora gave no inclination that she had, but that was Dora. She'd always been a private person and respected the privacy of others. That was one constant through all her transformations. Between bites of basmati rice and green coconut curry with chunks of browned tofu, Dora told him that she changed her name back to Serene. Steve wanted to ask her more about the decision to go back to her original name. He wanted to ask her deeply personal questions about her thoughts and feelings regarding her amnesia. Steve desperately wanted to know who the woman sitting at his table was. Instead, he inanely said he'd try to remember, but it would take him a while to get used to calling her Serene again.
Later, they moved into the living room, each clutching a glass of Merlot. Steve fiddled with the light panel, giving the room a rosy glow. Dora sat in one of the leather easy chairs and released the footrest, leaning her head back and stretching out her legs, closing her eyes. The subdued lighting softened her features, softened the new strain of tension in her face that hollowed out her cheeks. She'd lost weight, he noticed. But years seem to vanish under the ambient light, and Dora, who had asked to be called Serene, looked almost like the girl he'd met when he was just a big dopy kid himself. While Steve studied her, Serene opened her eyes and reached for her glass.
"Thank you for dinner," she said. "It was delicious."
"That was all Tera."
Serene's lips parted slightly and then she sipped her wine. The motion was almost sensuous. Steve reached for his phone, reached for something to anchor a desire he thought he'd moored years ago.
"It's weird, the phone thing," Serene said.
"Hm?" He looked up, making a pretense of vague distraction. "Oh. I don't even know why I picked it up. A habit,” he said.
"That's what I mean. Everyone's, like, obsessed with them."
Steve's left brow shot up. "Says the woman whose phone is glued to her palm."
Serene frowned. "I was like that?"
Steve laughed. "Instagram queen. Every moment had to be recorded and posted to Instagram."
She wrinkled her nose, then laughed, unsure. "Not."
He gave her a mock serious look. "I'm afraid so."
"What was I taking pictures of?"
"I told you. Fucking everything. Pancakes you made the kids, the outfits you wore, flowers along the road."
"Shut up," she laughed and this time she sounded truly tickled. It wasn't Dora's laugh. Dora had a loud, pay-attention-to-me laugh. This was different, soft, a bit unsure but pleasant––Serene's laugh.
"What?" She sat up a little, catching his look.
Steve felt a blush coming on and wiped something non-existent off the sofa cushion. "Nothing. You're just different. Anyway," but Steve didn't finish that thought. He opened Spotify on his phone and pulled up his playlist of relaxing music, pairing it with his Sonos speakers. The opening chords of “Dry The Rain” by The Beta Band washed over them.
Serene leaned back in her chair and rubbed her temple.
"Headache?"
"A little."
His phone buzzed in his hand—a message from Tera.
Spending the night. I'll see you in the morning.
He tapped back a quick okay.
Dora still there?
Yeah. The evening's winding down. She's going home soon.
There was no reply.
When he looked up, Dora's eyes were closed, and she was really working away at her temple.
"I've got some Tylenol if you like."
"No. I'll be okay," she mumbled.
"What happened at Ramani's?" He'd waited for her to bring up the visit over dinner, but she never did.
Dora shook her head. "I… it's still stuff I'm trying to get my head around. I'm not ready to talk about it yet."
"Yeah, totally. When you're ready."
She gave him a tiny tired smile.
"Hey, come here." He motioned for her to join him on the sofa. Serene frowned, suddenly looking leery. He patted the seat next to himself. "I know what to do. Trust me. You used to get those headaches a lot. The tension is in your shoulders and neck."
"I got headaches?"
"Yeah. They started, I think, after you had Jesse. There's this spot between your shoulder blades that if I press on it, it seems to make it
