opposite has turned bright blue with a message in green capitals.
HI, LEXI—HOW ARE YOU DOING?
Fuck! He can see me. He’s watching me. It’s Big Brother!
In terror I leap to my feet and shove the two pieces of glass under a cushion on the sofa.
“Hi,” I say to the blue screen, my heart pounding. “I didn’t mean to do that, it was an accident…”
There’s silence. The screen isn’t moving or reacting in any way.
“Eric?” I try again.
There’s no reply.
Okay…maybe he can’t see me after all. He must be typing this from the car. Cautiously I venture over to the screen and notice a wall-mounted keyboard and tiny silver mouse, discreetly tucked away to the side. I click on Reply and slowly type FINE, THANKS!
I could leave it there. I could find a way to fix the leopard…or replace it somehow….
No. Come on. I can’t start off my brand-new marriage by keeping secrets from my husband. I have to be brave and own up. HAVE BROKEN GLASS LEOPARD BY MISTAKE, I type. REALLY SORRY. HOPE IS NOT IRREPLACEABLE?
I press Send and pace about as I wait for the reply, telling myself over and over not to worry. I mean, I don’t know for certain that it’s a priceless ornament, do I? Maybe we won it in a raffle. Maybe it’s mine, and Eric’s always hated it. How am I supposed to know?
How am I supposed to know anything?
I sink down onto a chair, suddenly overwhelmed by how little I know about my own life. If I’d known I was going to get amnesia, I would have at least written myself a note. Given myself a few tips.
Be careful of the glass leopard, it’s worth a bloody fortune. P.S., you like spiders
.
There’s a beep from the screen. I catch my breath and look up. OF COURSE IS NOT IRREPLACEABLE! DON’T WORRY.
I feel a huge whoosh of relief. It’s all right.
THANKS! I type, smiling. WON’T BREAK ANYTHING ELSE, PROMISE!
I can’t believe I overreacted like that. I can’t believe I hid the pieces under a cushion. What am I, five years old? This is my own house. I’m a married woman. I have to start behaving like it. Still beaming to myself, I lift up the cushion to retrieve the pieces—and freeze.
Fuck.
The bloody glass has ripped the bloody cream sofa. I must have caught it as I shoved the pieces underneath. The plushy fabric’s all ragged.
The ten-thousand-pound sofa.
I automatically glance up at the screen—then quickly look away, hollow with fear. I can’t tell Eric I’ve ruined the sofa too. I
can’t
.
Okay. What I’ll do is…is…I won’t tell him today. I’ll wait for a better moment. Flustered, I rearrange the cushions so the rip isn’t visible. There. Good as new. No one looks under cushions, do they?
I grab the bits of glass leopard and head into the kitchen, which is all glossy gray-lacquer cupboards and rubber floor. I locate a roll of kitchen paper, wrap up the leopard, manage to track down the trash behind a streamlined unit door, and chuck the bits in. Okay. That’s it. I am not wrecking anything else.
A buzzer sounds through the apartment and I look up, my spirits lifting. This must be Rosalie, my new best friend. I can’t wait to meet her.
Rosalie turns out to be even skinnier than she looked on the wedding DVD. She’s dressed in black capri pants, a pink cashmere V neck, and huge Chanel sunglasses pushing her blond hair back. As I open the door she gives a small shriek and drops the Jo Malone gift bag she’s holding.
“
Oh
my God, Lexi. Look at your poor face.”
“It’s fine!” I say reassuringly. “Honestly, you should have seen me six days ago. I had a plastic staple in my head.”
“You poor thing. What a
night
mare.” She retrieves her gift bag, then kisses me on each cheek. “I would have come around earlier, only you
know
how long I waited to get that slot at Cheriton Spa.”
“Come in.” I gesture to the kitchen. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“Sweetie…” She looks puzzled. “I don’t drink coffee. Dr. André banned me. You
HI, LEXI—HOW ARE YOU DOING?
Fuck! He can see me. He’s watching me. It’s Big Brother!
In terror I leap to my feet and shove the two pieces of glass under a cushion on the sofa.
“Hi,” I say to the blue screen, my heart pounding. “I didn’t mean to do that, it was an accident…”
There’s silence. The screen isn’t moving or reacting in any way.
“Eric?” I try again.
There’s no reply.
Okay…maybe he can’t see me after all. He must be typing this from the car. Cautiously I venture over to the screen and notice a wall-mounted keyboard and tiny silver mouse, discreetly tucked away to the side. I click on Reply and slowly type FINE, THANKS!
I could leave it there. I could find a way to fix the leopard…or replace it somehow….
No. Come on. I can’t start off my brand-new marriage by keeping secrets from my husband. I have to be brave and own up. HAVE BROKEN GLASS LEOPARD BY MISTAKE, I type. REALLY SORRY. HOPE IS NOT IRREPLACEABLE?
I press Send and pace about as I wait for the reply, telling myself over and over not to worry. I mean, I don’t know for certain that it’s a priceless ornament, do I? Maybe we won it in a raffle. Maybe it’s mine, and Eric’s always hated it. How am I supposed to know?
How am I supposed to know anything?
I sink down onto a chair, suddenly overwhelmed by how little I know about my own life. If I’d known I was going to get amnesia, I would have at least written myself a note. Given myself a few tips.
Be careful of the glass leopard, it’s worth a bloody fortune. P.S., you like spiders
.
There’s a beep from the screen. I catch my breath and look up. OF COURSE IS NOT IRREPLACEABLE! DON’T WORRY.
I feel a huge whoosh of relief. It’s all right.
THANKS! I type, smiling. WON’T BREAK ANYTHING ELSE, PROMISE!
I can’t believe I overreacted like that. I can’t believe I hid the pieces under a cushion. What am I, five years old? This is my own house. I’m a married woman. I have to start behaving like it. Still beaming to myself, I lift up the cushion to retrieve the pieces—and freeze.
Fuck.
The bloody glass has ripped the bloody cream sofa. I must have caught it as I shoved the pieces underneath. The plushy fabric’s all ragged.
The ten-thousand-pound sofa.
I automatically glance up at the screen—then quickly look away, hollow with fear. I can’t tell Eric I’ve ruined the sofa too. I
can’t
.
Okay. What I’ll do is…is…I won’t tell him today. I’ll wait for a better moment. Flustered, I rearrange the cushions so the rip isn’t visible. There. Good as new. No one looks under cushions, do they?
I grab the bits of glass leopard and head into the kitchen, which is all glossy gray-lacquer cupboards and rubber floor. I locate a roll of kitchen paper, wrap up the leopard, manage to track down the trash behind a streamlined unit door, and chuck the bits in. Okay. That’s it. I am not wrecking anything else.
A buzzer sounds through the apartment and I look up, my spirits lifting. This must be Rosalie, my new best friend. I can’t wait to meet her.
Rosalie turns out to be even skinnier than she looked on the wedding DVD. She’s dressed in black capri pants, a pink cashmere V neck, and huge Chanel sunglasses pushing her blond hair back. As I open the door she gives a small shriek and drops the Jo Malone gift bag she’s holding.
“
Oh
my God, Lexi. Look at your poor face.”
“It’s fine!” I say reassuringly. “Honestly, you should have seen me six days ago. I had a plastic staple in my head.”
“You poor thing. What a
night
mare.” She retrieves her gift bag, then kisses me on each cheek. “I would have come around earlier, only you
know
how long I waited to get that slot at Cheriton Spa.”
“Come in.” I gesture to the kitchen. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“Sweetie…” She looks puzzled. “I don’t drink coffee. Dr. André banned me. You
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