Say You'll Remember Me

by Abby Jimenez

“What did he look like?” she asked. “Like if Rhysand from the ACOTAR series were a real person,”

I guess ugly was better than dead.

Just lean into the smoldering romance hero thing you have going on. Embrace your inner Rhysand.”

“If Pooter was a boy I was going to call him Prison Mike,”

I felt like a bird bringing a potential mate little gifts.

A second later Chris came through with a link to a miniature golf place open until 1:00 a.m. on Fridays. Mother Putters.

“I don’t like most people,” I said. “Well, most people don’t like themselves. So the feeling is mutual,”

“Your vet boyfriend probably looks like Lord Farquaad.” “He looks like the High Lord of the Night Court and you could never,”

What about me made me less permanent? Why did I fade to gray when everyone else was bright?

“I don’t wear it twenty-four seven!” I said, literally wearing it.

I was going to go broke coming here. I knew it immediately.

“Come on, Eileen, I’m sure you’ve had much more memorable nights than that one,” I said. “It was my first alien abduction. You always remember your first.”

I want to be able to say one out-of-context comment to someone and they get what it means and they laugh and it’s just some stupid joke from like eleven years ago that means nothing to anyone else.”

“You can’t fake that kind of thing,” she said, softly. “It’s the result of a parallel life. A shared collection of experiences, like a snowball rolling downhill, getting bigger as it goes. And then you get to a point where you’re so far in, you can never replace that person. Not really. No one else can ever be the same kind of witness because you’ve lived through so much. It really is a once in a lifetime thing.” Her eyes went a little sad. “Can you imagine losing that? One memory at a time?”

Xavier sat with her on my mattress and smiled at her, talking softly to her in that way that hypnotized memory care patients, animals, and social media managers alike.

It was so hard being here with him. Probably because it was so easy.

The gnawing discontent of the last two months was finally quiet, and all I could think in this moment of relief was that I was kissing my wife.

I had friends on their wedding day who still weren’t totally sure—and I was sure, even this early. I didn’t need more information, I didn’t need more time. I just knew.

And this is how we ended up knifing a pee-soaked sofa on the front lawn.

Pooter climbed over me on a mission to get to my boyfriend now that he was awake. She didn’t want me. I picked her up before she made it and dangled her over my face. “Really? When your daddy met you, he wanted to kill you.” Xavier took her from me and laid her on his chest. “Well, to be fair, you didn’t have a butthole, sweetie.”

“What is up with this entire generation of aging adults who refuse to accept responsibility for themselves? Seriously, what is it? I could never imagine my kid not talking to me for a decade and me not going ‘Hey, maybe it’s me?’”

“Because if you were my wife you would be my world. Everything starts with you and ends with you. Anything else is just the stuff that happens in the middle.”

You think that it’s the big memories you should be chasing—and it is in a way. Birthdays and vacations and special occasions. But the small memories are the fabric of your life, the ones so inconsequential that you don’t even remember them. You just remember how you felt when you were making them.

“Should I send him a mustard gift basket?” she asked. “Do you think he’d like that?” “I thought they were sold out.” “Yeah, but the guy from distributions has a crush on me. He’d make one for me if I asked him.” I arched an eyebrow. “The guy from distributions? Should I be worried?” “When you’re a VILF? No.”

I think there are two types of people you fall in love with. The ones who are a good fit. Their lifestyle matches yours, you share the same values and beliefs, you find them attractive and you like spending time with them. It’s good. Great even. You can live your whole life with this person and be madly in love and never want anything different… unless you’ve already met the other type of person you fall in love with. The One. The person who was made just for you. And you only ever get the one. Samantha was my one.

“If you had the power to erase every memory you have of me so you didn’t know what you were missing, would you do it?” she asked. “No, I wouldn’t do it,” I said without even thinking about it. “Why?” “Because life wouldn’t be worth living if I didn’t remember you.”

“Some things are worth remembering, Samantha. No matter how much they hurt.”

The only thing that had held me together this past week was iced coffee, Xavier, and dry shampoo.

“I’m thinking that I’m in love with you.” The words were so unexpected, I lost my breath. “Xavier…” “You don’t have to say it back. I just didn’t want to lie.” “But… but you’ve always looked at me like that,” I said. “I know. I’ve always loved you,” he said simply. “I think I couldn’t forget you because I remember you from a different lifetime. And I loved you then too.”

I had no choice but to go home. Correction. To go to Minnesota. Because home was where she was.

Last Year Sam was shiny and hopeful and making mustard jokes. The me of today was a worm. And my worm expert never came to see me.

“I’d like to look back on my life and remember every single thing. But if I don’t, I hope I remember that it was a love story. And that the love story was about you.”

But parents are human and not all humans should have children.

Maybe that’s the last thing we forget. Or we never forget it at all. Not really. We lose the words to say it. We lose the ability to show it. But we never lose the ability to feel it or recognize it when we see it. Love is the brightest color in a gray world.

She had witnesses to her life—and love. She was surrounded by love. And there’s nothing more beautiful.