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  My head spins. My body flies in the air.

  I’m falling.

  Stars surround me. Everything is dark.

  My head.

  My head falls to the concrete with a crash.

  Crash.

  And just like that, I’m out like a light.

  Everything fades to black.

  I wake up in a hospital room, blinking, trying to piece together what is happening to me.

  “Oh, my God,” Tina says. “Oh my God, Avery, do you remember me?”

  “Remember what?” I shake my head. Owwww. It pounds. I press my fingertips to my temples realizing I have an ID bracelet on and am wearing a hospital gown.

  What am I doing here?

  “My head,” I moan. “It’s killing me.”

  In the room, are a doctor in a white coat and a nurse. They’re looking at me with concern, tablets in their hands, making notes on everything I do and say.

  “My head.” I press my hands over my face trying to concentrate. Everything is fuzzy. “What happened?”

  “Do you know who you are?” the doctor asks.

  “Who I am?” I squint. “I’m Avery Sutton.”

  “And you know how old you are?” he asks.

  “I’m a 22-year-old nanny to Maria State.”

  He starts quizzing me. But I know all the answers.

  I live on the edge of the Puget Sound. My favorite music is old jazz standards like my dad listened to when I was a little girl. My favorite food is tacos. Any kind of taco. Especially tacos with a side of margaritas.

  I am constantly behind on what the popular TV shows are, but my Kindle is always fully loaded.

  I’ve been kissed, but I’ve never had sex.

  I know who I am.

  “Do you know why you are at the hospital?” he asks, gently this time.

  I blink, trying to focus trying to remember.

  “I don’t... I don’t remember.”

  My sister looks at me, tears in her eyes, and she reaches for my hand. The doctor nods solemnly.

  “You been in the hospital for a little over a week. You were hit by a car on your way to the bus station after getting off a ferryboat from Seattle.”

  “Ferry? Seattle?” I shake my head telling myself to stop shaking my head because every time I do it hurts a little bit more. “I never go to Seattle. I just remember being at work.”

  “Yes, your employer Maria, who you seem to remember quite well, says that you’re going to the city was an unusual choice for you, but that you were free to do as you wished on your days off. And you chose to go to Seattle for some reason. Do you remember that?” he asks.

  I bring my fingers to my lips trying to remember, trying to think.

  I remember going to Trader Joe’s and getting groceries. I remember my charges making a fuss because I wouldn’t get them the crackers they because TJ’s didn’t have any that were organic and I know Maria wants me to get the kids only organic...

  But those details have nothing to do with a car crash.

  “Oh, sweetie,” Tina says sitting down on the bed. I look at my sister, so confused.

  “I don’t understand.”

  The doctor clears his throat, getting my attention.

  “We didn’t know what the extent of your injuries were, Avery. You’ve been in intensive care all week and when you woke today, completely lucid, it was the best outcome we could imagine. It’s better than we ever expected, to be frank, but you seem to be experiencing short-term memory loss. It seems as if you remember everything leading up to the accident, but are missing just a short time frame. Maybe 12 to 14 hrs.”

  Memory loss. Okay, I can deal with this. Losing a day from my life isn’t horrible in the grand scheme of things. And honestly, most of my life is pretty regular. Pretty basic.

  Unmemorable, to be completely honest.

  “Well, that’s not so bad,” I say, trying to smile.

  “Avery,” Tina says. “Why are you still freaking optimistic? Positive. You were in a car crash and almost died.”

  “But I didn’t die,” I tell her, squeezing her hand.

  Emotions flood the room, my sister is in tears and so are the nurses. So am I.

  They show me pictures of the car crash and the fact that I’m even here at all, practically unscathed, besides a minor memory loss, is a miracle.

  I’m so grateful to be sitting here with my sister, So grateful to be here at all.

  The next day Maria and the kids come to the hospital bringing flowers and balloons. I smile at the bouquets even though I’ve told Maria so many times that I think they are a complete waste of money. The kids have made cards and for that I’m grateful.

  My life is full of goodness, even if I do feel like I am working to make another woman’s life more perfect. Maybe one day, I’ll have the chance to have a life like that for myself.

  A few days later they release me from the hospital and I head back to my live-in nanny job.

  There is no long-term trauma, and beyond the lapse of memory, I am fine. And it could have been so much worse.

  But I haven’t lost anything at all. Truth is, when I leave the hospital and return to Maria’s, I realize how very much I do have.

  I have a job and people who are looking out for me, a sister with good intentions and an employer who seems softer around the edges after my near-death experience.

  So, life returns to normal. A month later, and I haven’t missed a single thing.

  Except I miss one thing.

  One very important thing.

  My period.

  And then another month passes and I miss it a second time.

  I mention it to my sister.

  “Don’t worry,” she says. “It’s because of all the stress. You’ve had regular cycles your entire life, Avery. But think about how much stress you’ve been under the last few months after the car crash, it makes sense.”

  And it does. It does make sense. I have been under a lot of stress.

  But then my breasts feel swollen and I know I’m gonna start my cycle any moment. But then I don’t. And then one morning as I start to change a diaper I dry heave in my mouth.

  It was just a wet diaper, too. I’ve changed a thousand of them. And never once in my life have I gotten sick over a diaper change.

  And I’m exhausted... I find myself offering the iPad to my charge as he lies next to me in bed, so I can sleep for 10 more minutes.

  And then I miss a third period.

  I go to the doctor, confused.

  I need him to tell me that things like this happen after so much trauma.

  When I go to the doctor, though, it doesn’t reassure me at all.

  “Avery,” Dr. Manning says. He’s the family practice doctor I’ve seen my entire life. He must be 70 at least. “The blood tests reveal that you’re pregnant. Three months pregnant at that.”

  “What?” I laugh out loud because it’s so absurd.

  “What, what?” Dr. Manning asks, l confused.

  “It’s impossible is all,” I tell him. “I’ve never had sex. I’m a virgin. I ... it literally is impossible unless I’m the Virgin Mary.” I smile, not even registering that he is serious.

  “This is no misunderstanding, Avery. Why don’t we get you up on the table so I can show you.”

  It’s not until my back’s on the table and an ultrasound machine is wheeled in and cold jelly squirted on my belly that I realize he is serious.

  He presses a wand against my abdomen and the pitter-patter of a baby’s heartbeat echoes in the room.

  I stop laughing.

  Stop thinking any of this is funny.

  “I just... I mean it, I never...” But what do I say? I may not know how this happened ... but it certainly happened.

  I’m pregnant with an actual human baby.

  Yet, I’ve never had sex in my entire life.

  We make another appointment, and I’m too stunned to discuss anything more.

  I get in the car, hyperventilating
and clearly unfit to drive.

  I call my sister immediately, panicked with this information.

  “Tina,” I say with an urgency I rarely express. Tears fill my eyes, fear rising in my chest. “Tina, I’m pregnant– –”

  I explain to her what just happened in the doctor’s office. How they gave me a due date.

  I’m supposed to be a mother in seven months.

  How is this possible?

  “Oh, my God, Avery,” Tina says, stunned as I am.

  We try to figure out what happened but there’s only one explanation.

  Only one answer.

  “The night you lost your memory, Avery... did you have a one night stand?”

  I shake my head. “I’d never just sleep with a stranger after I waited to have sex for so long,” I tell her. “I can’t imagine it ever happening. The circumstances would have to be so perfect.”

  But then I stop.

  The fact is I’m pregnant.

  The fact is I am missing 14 hours from my memory.

  14 hours where... to the date... I got pregnant.

  “How is this possible?” I say covering my mouth in shock.

  Through the speakerphone, I hear my sister sigh sadly. “You really can’t remember?”

  “What, do you think? That I’m making this up? Pretending that I don’t remember losing my virginity? Why would I do that?”

  “Sorry, sorry,” Tina says. “Sometimes people get embarrassed about things and are determined not remember if something was bad.”

  At this point, I can’t stop the sobs escaping me. “I don’t know if something bad happened. I don’t know if something good happened. I don’t know anything at all, Tina. I can’t remember. I’m having a baby and I don’t remember ever having sex.”

  Chapter 7

  Liam

  Every week on Thursday I go to the oyster bar.

  Maybe some people would see it as pathetic, but it’s not pathetic at all. It’s the purest, most honest thing I can do. My Lolita is out there.

  I know something happened, and I’m praying that it isn’t something bad, something tragic. Something irreversible.

  Until I have a reason to believe that she is never going to come again, I’m not giving up.

  It’s the only thing I can hold onto. When I made love to her, I knew she was my everything, and what sort of love is that if I give up so soon.? The bartender thinks I’m a fucking fool.

  “It’s been six months, you ready to give up?”

  “Would you? You remember her.”

  The bartender shakes his head. His name is Jimmy and I know everything there is about this motherfucker. After all, I’ve been coming here every week for months.

  “I know, she’s gorgeous. And I know you’re saying she’s the one. But what happens next, Liam? What happens if she never shows? You’re gonna spend your life waiting for a woman and never find a life of your own.”

  His words hit me hard, and I know I need to do something. Do what needs to be done.

  But it’s hard as hell, giving up the one thing I want so damn bad.

  Her.

  Another two months pass, and when I show up at the bar, this time I have news. Not the news I wanted per se ... but it’s time I take my life by the horns and do what needs to be done.

  I’ve wanted out of the Seattle City Hospital for as long as I’ve been working there.

  And finally, I did what I said I was going to do. Sitting down at the bar, I order a drink, some food, and tell Jimmy the news.

  “I got a new job. As of next week, I won’t be coming here anymore, Jimmy. It’s time I move on.”

  Jimmy nods slowly, “Damn doctor, didn’t think I’d ever hear that.”

  “Well, I’m getting kind of sick of your oysters, to be honest.”

  He laughs, wiping down his bar.

  “It’s more than that though,” I tell him. “I’ve been sick of this rat race for a hell of a long time and I’ve been looking to get a gig somewhere besides the hospital.”

  “What kind of job did you get?” Jimmy asks, handing me a vodka soda.

  “I bought a family practice. It’s out on the Olympic Peninsula. The office had been owned by the same man for decades, but he’s ready to retire, and honestly, I think he’s way past retiring. He has a nice list of patients, and I’m looking forward to having my own shop. My own office hours. I’ve always wanted a Monday to Friday job, and now I have it.”

  “When do you start?”

  “Soon. In a few weeks.”

  “So, after nine months, you’ve given up on this girl?” Jimmy asks.

  “Not given up. Never. But damn, I really thought she was the one.”

  Jimmy gives me a sad look as if I’m the sorriest mother fucker he’s ever known.

  “Don’t be sad for me. I gotta do this, I imagine my life with her, and I still think I’ll find it. But that night taught me something.”

  “And what did it teach you, doctor?” Jimmy asks.

  “It taught me what I really wanted.”

  “And what’s that?”

  I shrug, running my hand over my jaw, knowing the wife I really want. The wife I am still holding out hope that I will find one day. Maybe I’m crazy––but if I ever see her again, I’ll be ready.

  More than ready.

  I won’t hesitate. I will make her mine.

  “I want a wife,” I tell Jimmy. “I want a family. I want a house and a picket fence, the whole nine yards. And I’m sure as hell am not gonna find that in this city, eating oysters by myself.”

  I tell Jimmy that I’ll be seeing him, and pay my bill.

  Then I head back to my apartment that’s full of boxes. I move tomorrow, and I’ll start my new life.

  I bought a gorgeous home on the waterfront, five bedrooms, three bathrooms, an acre and a three-car garage. There is a guest cottage and a fucking boat dock. It’s a house that’s not fit for a bachelor––but I don’t intend to keep it empty for long.

  I am going to find the woman who can make a man out of me. And when I find her, I’m going to give her the ten-carat diamond ring I carry in my pocket wherever I go.

  It may be crazy to think one day I will find my Lolita again––but when I do––I will drop to one motherfucking knee and give her this ring and make her my wife.

  I just have to find her.

  But I believe one day I will.

  Chapter 8

  Avery

  Going into labor today was not the plan. The plan was to go into labor three weeks from now. Like, on my actual due date.

  Dr. Manning sold his practice only a few days ago and I know he’s no longer in town, let alone the country. I’d been so frustrated when he told me he was retiring... I asked if he could wait just another month until I have this baby so when I bring it into the world it will be delivered by someone I know and trust. But he had just shook his head and said, “Sweetie, my time is now. I have a buyer and I’m leaving.”

  I couldn’t be mad at the old guy, but oh, I was frustrated. And now, my water has broken and I haven’t even had a chance to meet the new doctor who bought the practice. I haven’t even had a chance to explain what I want from this delivery.

  I have my birthing plan ready. I have a playlist on my iPhone. I have my duffel bag packed. The room I plan on sharing with the baby is set up with a bassinet and a stack of newborn diapers.

  I’ve moved in with my sister in her extra bedroom and plan on staying here until I figure out my next plan in life.

  I’m grateful for that––I couldn’t keep being a nanny for Maria knowing I would deliver anytime. I finished up at her place last week, moved out of her home, and moved in with my sister. Not ideal ... but nothing about my situation is.

  I know I’m not the only single mother in the world. Hell, my mom was a single mother for most my life––but this is different. This is extenuating circumstances. I don’t know who the father of my child is. As far as I remember, I’m still a virgin. Which makes this w
hole thing so much more complicated. How exactly am I supposed to explain that to my child when they start asking questions?

  I can just imagine it. “Mommy, who is my daddy?”

  I’ll have to look down at my little angel and say the truth ...That I don’t know.

  Because I literally do not know. Nine months since my accident and those 14 hours are still erased from my memory.

  A few times I thought I caught a glimpse of what may have been. I went to a seafood restaurant and saw a platter of raw oysters and felt a pang of nostalgia––which makes no sense. I’ve never been an adventurous eater and certainly have never had those. Heck, I wouldn’t even know how to order them.

  And another time, around Christmas when we went to see the lights in Seattle, I walked past the Four Seasons hotel and blinked twice, having a deja vu moment of having been inside that posh hotel. My sister laughed when I told her, said deja vu wasn’t real ... but if it wasn’t, then what was I experiencing?

  Not enough to piece together a night where I conceived a child, that’s for sure.

  But now, looking down at the pool of water at my feet, I still remember nothing about the night my child was conceived. I remember nothing about losing my virginity. I remember nothing about it at all.

  I blink back tears, picking up my phone to call the doctor’s office, feeling the bitter taste of sorrow at the fact my water breaking didn’t trigger a memory.

  Is it crazy that I keep hoping something will remind me of who I gave my body to? Who I made a person with?

  My heart has broken in ways I didn’t even know it could.

  Whoever his father is, it isn’t someone I know or remember.

  I try to not beat myself up about this too often. What’s done is done and there are worst things in the world than having a healthy baby growing inside of you. So many worse things, so I’m not going to pretend that this is a tragedy.

  But it is complicated.

  And all the more complicated without my doctor at my side.

  I call his office, hoping against hope that maybe his flight was canceled. Maybe his six-month trip to Europe didn’t happen. Maybe he’s still here after all.