Chapter Four

Couple of days later, and a couple of horrible hospital food I was glad I was back in my own bed. Things haven't changed much, except for our neighbors. The lovely woman called Michelle, who lived two houses down, and who was three months pregnant, now had a two-year-old boy. There was one different thing in our house and that was that my dad's office, or our spare room, was known turned into a closet. When I asked them why, my dad said he got promoted and now works in a real office, downtown. It seemed plausible, so I didn't ask any more questions.

I had a mild headache, so going to my room, and lying down in my own bed, was the only thing I wanted. I crashed onto my bed and was soon asleep. A load noise, that I identified as arguing, woke me up. I got up, and down the stars, just to see dad leaving and slamming the doors.

"Mom, what's going on?''

She turned around, her eyes visible red and puffy from crying, "Nothing sweety.''

People need to stop lying to me, ''The truth, mom.'' I wasn't in the mood for joking.

She sighed, "We didn't want to tell you know, but…. Sit down."

Nothing good starts with the sentence "Sit down." But I listened to her.

"Sweetheart, while you were…," she paused, "while you were away, your father and I, we separated."

I felt like somebody punched me. I mean, I knew something was going on, but this drastic.

She continued, "We, weren't getting along, and…"

"Nobody gets along all the time! Have you tried, I don't know, talking about it?" I interrupted her. I was trying to process this information, but it wasn't going well.

"Of course, we did. We also started going to a therapist, but it just wasn't working out. I stayed at your grandparents for that period of time, since they told us we needed to be separated, while we worked on our relationship, but it….," she stopped talking, thinking of what to say next, "….. just know that we mutually agreed on this, Jessica." She touched my hand, in a motherly way, but I moved my hand.

"This is a lot to process, and I… I need some time."

I slowly stood up, my body was still weak, and my muscles needed to remember how to walk away, "I'm going to go to my room, again."

When I got back, I noticed a paper envelope, in the bin, next to the bed. I picked the envelope up and opened it. It was a wedding invitation. A fancy one. Who would send me a wedding invitation, and a fancy one, I don't know any rich people?

"We cordially invite you to…." my eyes were scanning the paper as fast as they could, "Michael Stubbs and Anna Wright," I stopped reading. This is a joke, right?! Michael's getting married. To Anna Wright? Who is she? And no, she's not right. I tried to find my mobile phone, but I had no luck. Who knows where my parents put it? So, I dialed Michael's phone, from my landline.

The voice on the other end answered, "Hello." Yup, that was him. It was so good to hear his voice.

"You're getting married?!"

Yeah, I probably should have started that phone call with something like: "Hi Michael, it's Jessica, remember me? The one in a coma. Yeah, well, I'm awake, surprise!"

"Jessica? Oh my god, you're…," his voice was shaky.

"Yeah, surprise!" I gestured, like he could see me. Why didn't my family notify him? I mean, I know that they never really like him, but still, being protective of him, and him being my first boyfriend. But I did, I, liked him.

"Wow. I mean it is a surprise," his voice softened.

"OK, now that we got that out of the way, the wedding?"

"Meet me at our place tomorrow at 10. Ok?"

I sighed, "Ok, Michael, I'll see you tomorrow."

I put the phone down and sat back down. I was wrong. Everything is changed. My head started hurting again. I reached for my bag, and took a bottle of pills, my doctor, Zach, gave me. Zach. I felt something in my stomach. Butterflies? No, I am sick. That is what it is. I took one of the pills and spread out on the bed, slowly drifting off to sleep. My body did not need it.

I was asleep for two years, it rested enough, but my mind needed it. Too much information, in such a short period of time. I'll deal with it tomorrow.

I woke up feeling well and rested. I mentally thanked Zach, for the pills. They worked wonders on me. It was 8 o'clock, and I had enough time to shower, and get ready for Michael. I needed to look my best, or at least not like a zombie, who spend her last two years comatose. I put on some light make up and was surprised how my hands remembered doing it. Before the coma, I attended one of those makeup courses, for two reasons. One, I loved makeup. And two, I needed to learn how to hide the paleness of my face, that this illness caused. I didn't want everyone to know. I was sick, pun intended, of their apologetic faces, after I had told them, why I looked horrible.

"Oh, you're so pale, are you ok?"

"Jessica, you look sick, are you ok?'��

And so on, and on. Kids at school were relentless. Nobody minded their own business. So, after spending so much time avoiding answering them, or making up some lies, I just gave up, and gave them the plain truth. And by then, I learned to do make up incredibly well, and continued doing it, because I loved it, and it made me feel better about myself. I did it because of me, not them. And my hands remembered. One good news.

I arrived at our place, which was a coffee shop two blocks from my house. I was ten minutes early, so I decided to get some tea, while I waited. I don't know why I was craving tea. I was usually, an orange juice drinker.

I sat at the table that was free. I didn't remember it being this busy. Not a lot has changed, except the they expended the place, and made the coffee shop a lot bigger. They maybe repainted the walls, because I remembered them being pale green, and now they were pale grey. The staff has changed. There used to be this nice woman in her late 30s who would always mess up her orders. The first time I asked for an orange juice, she brought me hot chocolate. I remember that day so clearly.

I had a horrible day at school, and found this coffee shop, while I was walking back from it. I was tired, and thirty, so I just walked in. I was alone, and sat the table, that later became Michael's and mine place to sit. She came to my table, asking for my order. The place was half full, and there were three waiters working besides her, and she still messed up my juice. I saw that she was having a hard day, and being in the similar boat as she was, I chose not to tell her about it. So, i drank that hot chocolate in silence, and enjoyed it. After that, I kept ordering it, until one time she stopped me on my way out and apologized for screwing up my order.

"It's ok, Michele," I looked at her tag.

"You know, you don't have to keep ordering the hot chocolate."

"Actually, I do. It's delicious."

She just smiled and thanked me again.

Michael, walked in, a couple of minutes later. He looked older. He had a beard now, and his dark hair was cut short. Shorter, then how he usually kept it, when he was with me. He looked around and spotted me. I could see his green eyes light up. I also remember feeling warm inside, whenever he would look at me, and this time, it did happened, but, if I could compare the feeling I had when we were together as a small bonfire0, and this, what I felt now, was no more than a spark. It's probably the coma, and the body is just waking up.

Michael walked up to me and embraced me. I remember this. The warm feeling of his body and the smell of his cologne. He always smelt good. Michael held me for about a minute, then released me, and sat down, opposite of me.

"I see you remember," he pointed at the hot chocolate in front of me, "How are you?" He asked me with a faint smile.

"Yes, I remember. Good, good. You?"

"Good. How… I mean… when did you wake up?"

"A couple of days ago."

"Good, good," he kept nodding.

I waited impatiently for him to start talking about the wedding, but I could see he was uncomfortable, so I did it for him, "Are we going to keep on saying the word good, or are we going to talk about the fact that my boyfriend is getting married to someone who's not me?"

He sighed heavily and told me, "I'm not your boyfriend anymore, Jessica. You have to understand, that it's been two years."

"Yes, I can see that. But you also have to understand that I wasn't present for those two years. It was like a day to me. We never broke up, Michael."

"I know we have not had closure…", he trailed off.

"Closure? I don't want closure with you. We were great. Our relationship was simply fine."

"It was fine, until…"

"Until what? I needed that operation, Michael, and it's not my fault it turned out the way it did." I couldn't understand why he wasn't getting what I was saying.

"No, but it turned out the way it did, and you can't blame me for moving on. I didn't know if you were ever going to wake up," he was beginning to raise his voice, and he was getting angry. I rarely saw Michael angry. My eyes were reacting to it, by tearing up. I knew deep down that he was right, and that it wasn't his fault. But I was angry. I think I was angrier at life, and not at him. I was angry at life for robbing me of him.

"So, you just gave up on me?" I was holding back my tears, but my words were beginning to come out, shaky and weak.

Michael took a deep breath, stopping himself from whatever he was going to say. He shook his head in disapproval, and changed the subject, "Anna is amazing, and I want you to meet her. She knows about you, I told her everything, so she told me to ask you if you want to grab some coffee with her this week. The wedding is in two weeks, and you are more than welcomed."

He stood up, and he looked at me, "I'm sorry Zoe," and left me there, with my mouth open, in disbelief of what just happened.