“What stupid joke?” I asked.
She breathed in deeply and looked away before she spoke again.
“Michael Jackson moonwalks into a bar,” she replied.
Michael Jackson moonwalks into a bar. It was a joke I had heard before. It was a line I’d repeated to myself over and over again in the past years—and just couldn’t remember where I’d heard it first.
And now that Rosalie stood there beside me, saying it casually with a shrug of her shoulders—it all started to fall into place.
I saw her face as it was four years ago. Her hair was longer back then. She had bangs that almost covered her blue eyes. She was swaying to the music playing in the house while she stood by the pool in the backyard.
“Yeah, it’s not funny,” Rosalie said, interrupting my montage of memories.
“I thought it was the first time I heard it,” I replied.
She looked surprised.
“So you do remember me!”
“I just remembered now. I remembered the joke but somehow everything else about that night had been wiped from my memory.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and stuck her chin up.
“So my joke was more memorable than I was,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“I was drunk, Rosalie. Back then, every night of my life ended like that. Drunk and passed out somewhere.”
“In bed with some new girl,” she added.
I said nothing because it was the truth, but I didn’t think she would have wanted to hear that.
“Why did you disappear?” I asked.
Her brows furrowed in surprise.
“Excuse me?” she snapped.
“I remember leaving to go get a few drinks and when I got back, you weren’t in the room.”
“You came back?” she asked, gulping.
“I had to leave the house and go to the nearest gas station because all the alcohol at that place tasted like piss. I remember it now. When I got back to the house and went to the room, it was empty. I left after that because I figured I would never see you again. Then I pushed you out of my memory like a trauma I was trying to get over.” I spoke with a smile on my face but it wasn’t funny.
The more I thought about it, the more the pieces fell together. The more I could remember now.
Rosalie’s lower lip trembled as she stared at me.
“I went looking for you because you’d been gone for a while. Other people told me they saw you leaving. I left because I was embarrassed and insulted. I didn’t think I would ever see you again either. I thought you did a runner,” she said.
We stood in the middle of the busy sidewalk, staring at each other in surprise.
It felt a little insane that we had found our way back to each other again.
“Do you want to come back to my apartment?” she asked.
Heck yeah. That was exactly what I wanted to do.
Fifteen
Rosalie
It seemed strangely coincidental that Davey was going to spend the night with my mom. That Brendan and I were going to have the apartment to ourselves.
I wanted to believe he told the truth about that night four years ago—that he really did go back looking for me in the house. So I believed him.
We went back to the apartment and Brendan looked around, expecting Davey to appear out of his room again.
“He’s with my mom tonight,” I said, putting him at ease.
“You’ve got a good kid,” he said as he took off his jacket.
What did he know about kids? I wanted to ask him.
I didn’t ask him that because I didn’t want to think about my son. He was safe and comfortable with my mom and I wanted one night to be about me. Since Davey was born three years ago, I hadn’t taken a single night off to do something for myself.
And now that I made the decision to have Brendan Doherty in my apartment, all to myself—I wanted it to be about me.
“You should have told me the moment we met,” he said.
I took off my shoes. My feet hurt from being overworked.
“I knew it when you ran away, that something was wrong.”
“I didn’t want to be reminded of that night, I guess,” I replied.
“Why not? We had fun. I thought.”
“Yeah, it was fun, but I was embarrassed when you disappeared. Other people at the party were having a laugh at my expense. They thought I had been so stupid for falling for you so quickly. My best friend at the time…Petra, she convinced me to never talk about you again.”
“And you forgot about me? Just like that?” he asked.
I stood in the middle of my living room as Brendan came up closer to me. He hooked a finger under my chin, lifting my face up towards him.
No. I had never forgotten him. I couldn’t—as much as I tried. I always remembered him as the guy who had changed me. In more ways than he would ever know. I wasn’t the same person after we met.
But I couldn't tell him that. I didn’t want him to know how much our chance encounter that night had meant to me.
“Life went on,” I replied, just before he kissed me.
It was a slow sinking kiss. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close to him. My hips were thrust and pinned up against his stocky muscular legs. He kissed me slowly, passionately devouring me.
He remembered me! He remembered my silly joke! That was going to be enough for me tonight. I didn’t want to think about the next day. Life would go on from there. This wasn't going to last.
This time it was going to be all about closure.
We sank down to the floor today, kissing each other all over. Simultaneously, he pulled my clothes off one by one. My jeans. My blouse. My underwear and bra. All of a sudden, I was sitting there on the floor without a stitch of clothing.
He pulled away from me and sat back, staring at me.
“Move your arms away,
