LYDIA
Joey's house was beautiful. Magnificent, even.
It was huge, way bigger than I expected. As we drove down the driveway towards the man's — our — house, which seemed to be hidden deeper into the property, I couldn't help but marvel at how beautiful the house was.
Different flowers grew at the sidewalk, and the air was filled with the smell of the flower's fragrance.
Joey kept looking at me as he drove, but my entire attention was on the garden I sighted a little far off. Once I was settled, I would love to check it out.
Parking the car before the house, Joey turned off the ignition and turned to face me.
"What do you think?" he asked, his voice hopeful.
I turned to face him with a smile on my face, and I genuinely wanted to tell him my first impression of the house.
That it was big and beautiful. That the flowers added a nice and soft aftertouch to the general effect. That I liked that there was a garden.
That I loved how the house was painted in white with swirls of colours drawn like flowers. That it looked like something a woman designed.
But instead, what I said was:
"It's too big."
Joey's expression morphed into shock.
"What…what do you mean?" he asked, his confusion seeping into his words.
I shook my head as I looked around again. As beautiful as it was, it was too big. The more I looked at it, the bigger it became.
For some reason, I had been expecting something more…cozy. Intimate.
"I mean, I just… I feel like there's too much space," I stuttered, gesturing across the entire thing. It had to be three stories high.
Probably – definitely more.
Joey frowned, his brows pulling together.
"But Lydia. You chose this house. You decorated every single thing about it. You said you liked how big it was, that you always hated small spaces," he stated, his voice shaking slightly.
"I did?"
How could I have said that? It made no sense. Large spaces like this had always been daunting to me.
They make me feel…small. Tiny. Inconsequential. Less grounded.
I hated feeling the loss of being grounded. Which was why I loved small spaces. I wasn't sure how I knew all of these, but it was an innate reaction.
This house was definitely not my style.
Joey took my hands in his.
"Baby. Look at me. You might not remember now, but this house was everything to you. You picked the flowers. The color. The furniture. Every single thing, each and every object in this house and around it belongs to you. It was your choice."
He paused for a while before he went on.
"You loved throwing parties for your friends. You always panicked whenever you were in a place that was too small. You love the air and how free everything was. This is your house," he insisted, and there was a fearful edge to his words.
He was scared.
Joey was scared.
He was scared of me not accepting this place as mine. He was terrified that I was going to act so different from the way I used to.
I shook my head.
"You know what? Maybe it's because I'm tired. You know, I feel slightly groggy from all those medications. That must be why I said what I just said. I'm sorry, Joey. The house is really pretty," I backtracked, trying to make him less scared.
I needed him to trust me fully. If I did as much as act in a way I wasn't supposed to, my husband might feel as though I wasn't strong enough for him to start helping me jog my memories, and I could not afford for that to happen.
I needed those memories back.
He held my gaze for a long moment.
"I think you're right. Once you are fully rested, you'll see that your reaction is just a trick of your mind."
I nodded and said nothing else. With a satisfied smile on his face, Joey got down from the car and helped me out, his hands sliding around my waist.
We walked to the door, and I watched as Joey inputed the security pin into the lock. He explained that the pin was my birthday, but the numbers were unfamiliar to me.
Stepping into the house, I was taken aback by how…bright it was.
The living room was big. Wide. And painted in the brightest shade of yellow.
I recoiled immediately.
"What's wrong?" Joey asked, his voice filled with worry.
I shook my head, trying to hide how very weird this entire thing was making me feel.
Why the hell was this place painted yellow? It was such a horrible colour, yet Joey was staring at me with a smile on his face.
"Looks familiar? Yellow is your favourite yellow. I remember how excited you were when this place was first painted," he beamed, and I slapped on a very fake smile.
Yellow was not my favourite colour. It was too loud, too bright.
Hell, staring at these identical walls made my eyes hurt so bad.
"It's so…" I trailed off, my words refusing to slip past the lump in my throat.
My husband's smile became wider.
"Come on. I'll show you the rest of the house. A mini tour, let's call it."
Joey was clearly excited to show me around. And with every single corner we turned, everything seemed to have been set against me.
"Look at those paintings. You drew them yourself. Beautiful, no?"
The paintings were…mid. They looked like an eyesore, and I genuinely could not see myself painting something as bland as that.
It looked as though a kid had dabbled in water colour, but I kept those words to myself.
"And on my God. Your pet animals. I kept them well fed and alive for you," he announced with a flourish as he led me into a room that looked like an aquarium, and a shudder went through me.
Brightly coloured fishes filled rows after rows of tanks, and I barely listened as Joey rattled off their names.
Why would anyone keep these creatures locked up in a cage? Fishes should live in the ocean, the sea. It was their natural habitat.
Keeping them locked up in small bowls filled with water was just…disgusting.
By the time Joey was done with the aquarium chatter, I was pretty much sure nothing in this house was to my taste.
I mean, I might have lost my memory. But I had my instincts. And so far I haven't seen any single thing about this house that was to my liking.
As we circled back and made our way back to the kitchen, a horrible feeling started to spread from my stomach.
"And here's the kitchen. You don't spend much time here at all. You hate cooking. I always manage to cook whenever I can, but you mostly just order in. Well, that's about it, I think. Welcome home, baby," he beamed with a small bow.
I held his gaze. Joey was looking at me with hopeful eyes. I knew he was waiting for me to say or do something, but I couldn't move.
My legs remained rooted to the floor, and his words continued to ring faintly in my ears.
The woman Joey just described to me was a stranger.
I felt like an imposter as I stood before him, like a different person.
Everything — every hobby and passion and trinkets he claimed I loved felt wrong to me.
I hated every single thing my husband told me I used to love.
And standing before him, I felt a rush of hatred for the woman he remembered.
My memories might be lost to me, but one thing was clear.
I was not the woman Joey just described.