I go back to Marlene's Corner the very next day.
The café looks exactly the same. Steamy windows and mismatched chairs and the smell of fresh bread and coffee and something sweet. It feels like coming home to a place I've never been.
Marlene spots me the moment I walk through the door. She doesn't smile, exactly. Her expression is more like satisfaction. The look of a woman whose prediction has come true.
"You came back," she says.
"You said I would."
"I always know." She points at the same table by the window. "Sit. Soup?"
"Yes, please."
She disappears into the kitchen. I sit down and look around. The café is quiet. A few other customers occupy the tables—an old man reading a newspaper, a young woman typing on a laptop. The hum of conversation and clinking cups fills the air.
I'm just starting to relax when the door bursts open.
And I mean bursts. It slams against the wall. The bells above it jangle wildly. Every head in the café turns.
A whirlwind in a crooked apron crashes through the doorway.
She's carrying three plates. None of them are balanced correctly. Her hair is escaping from a messy bun. Her apron is tied crookedly and has a large coffee stain on the front. She's talking before she's fully inside.
"I am so sorry I am late, Marlene. The bus was delayed and then I dropped my keys and then a pigeon stole my croissant—which I know sounds fake but I swear it happened. I had to buy a new one and I ran into Mrs. Patterson from the flower shop who wanted to tell me about her grandson's graduation and I could not escape because she is lonely and I felt bad—"
She stops.
She's seen me.
The plates in her hands wobble dangerously. Her eyes go wide. Her mouth falls open. She stares at me like I'm a ghost. Like I'm something she lost and never expected to find again.
And then she screams.
"VIVIAN."
The old man drops his newspaper. The woman with the laptop jumps. Marlene appears in the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on a towel and looking completely unsurprised.
"VIVIAN CHEN. OH MY GOD. YOU ARE HERE. YOU ARE ACTUALLY HERE."
The plates are tipping now. I'm genuinely concerned they're going to crash to the floor. But the whirlwind—this Sophie Chen—seems to have supernatural abilities. She catches the plates at the last possible second and slams them onto the nearest table. Then she launches herself at me.
I'm hugged. Tightly. Fiercely. Like I'm the most important thing in the world and she's been waiting for this moment for years.
When she finally pulls back, her eyes are wet. She's crying. Actual tears streaming down her face and mixing with whatever flour is already there.
"You don't remember me," she says. It's not a question.
"I don't. I'm sorry."
"No. No, it's okay. Lucas told Marlene who told me. Amnesia. Retrograde. You forgot everything. Including me." She wipes her face with her apron, which only makes things worse. "This is fine. I am fine. I am not crying. Okay, I am crying, but they're happy tears. Mostly."
I stare at her. This chaotic, tearful, flour-covered woman who apparently knows me better than I know myself.
"You're Sophie," I say.
"Yes. Sophie Chen. No relation. We're not cousins or anything. Just friends. Best friends. I mean, we were best friends. Before. Are we still? Is that weird to ask? I'm making this weird."
"You gave me unicorn pajamas."
Her face lights up. "You found them. I was so worried you had thrown them away. The old you, I mean. The before you. She was very minimalist. Very black and white. I gave her those pajamas for her birthday three years ago and she said, 'Thank you, Sophie,' in that voice she used when she hated something but was too polite to say so."
"The voice."
"Yes. The voice. Very controlled and very professional and very 'I am secretly dying inside but I will never admit it.'"
I laugh. I can't help it. Sophie's energy is infectious. Chaotic and loud and completely overwhelming, but warm. So warm.
"I love them," I say. "The pajamas. I wear them every night."
Sophie's eyes fill with fresh tears. "You wear them. Every night."
"Is that okay?"
"Okay. It's everything. The old Vivian would never. She probably had them buried in the back of her closet. Literally. She probably hired someone to bury them."
"They were behind a row of black heels."
"I knew it." Sophie throws her hands up. "I knew she hid them. But you found them. And you wear them. This is the best day of my life."
Marlene appears beside our table and sets down a bowl of soup and a cup of tea.
"Sophie. You are scaring the customers."
Sophie looks around. The old man has retrieved his newspaper. The woman with the laptop is watching us with open curiosity.
"Sorry," Sophie says, not sounding sorry at all. "I am having a moment. A big moment. My best friend forgot me and then found me again. That is cinematic. That is a whole movie."
"It's a lot," I agree.
Sophie pulls up a chair and sits down across from me. She leans forward, eyes intense.
"Okay. Tell me everything. What do you remember? What do you not remember? Do you remember the time we went to that terrible karaoke bar and you sang Whitney Houston and it was actually good and I was so jealous I pretended to lose my voice for a week?"
"I don't remember any of that."
"None of it."
"None of it."
Sophie's face falls for just a moment. Then she straightens up, squares her shoulders, and nods firmly.
"Okay. That's fine. We'll make new memories. Better memories. I'll tell you all the old stories and we'll create new ones and eventually you'll have so many memories of me you'll be sick of me."
"I don't think that's possible."
Sophie beams. "I don't think so either. I am delightful."
Marlene, passing by with a coffee pot, snorts. "Delightful. That is one word for it."
"Rude," Sophie says, but she's grinning. "Marlene pretends she's tough, but she cried when she heard about your amnesia."
"I did not cry," Marlene says.
"She cried. I saw her. She was cutting onions at the time, but I know real tears when I see them."
Marlene walks away without responding, but I see the corner of her mouth twitch.
I look at Sophie. This chaotic, wonderful, completely overwhelming woman who was apparently my best friend. Who gave me unicorn pajamas. Who cried when she saw me. Who's already planning new memories to replace the ones I lost.
"You said we were best friends," I say. "Before."
"We were. We are. Unless you don't want to be."
"I want."
Sophie's face softens. The chaos dims, just slightly, just enough for me to see the real person underneath. The one who's been waiting for her friend to come back.
"I missed you," she says quietly. "Even before you forgot me. The old Vivian—she was so closed off. So distant. I kept trying to reach her and she kept pushing me away. But I never stopped trying because I knew, somewhere underneath all that black and white, there was someone who needed emergency cuddles."
I reach across the table and take her hand.
"I'm sorry I don't remember. But I'm here now. And I'm not going anywhere."
Sophie's eyes fill with tears again. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me. The old Vivian once told me my energy was disruptive to the workplace environment."
"We were at work?"
"We were at a spa. There is no workplace environment at a spa. That is the whole point."
I laugh. Sophie laughs. And somewhere behind the counter, Marlene watches us with something that might be a smile.
I've found Sophie. My best friend. My emergency cuddle provider. My chaotic, wonderful, flour-covered hurricane of a person.
And I'm never letting her go.