romance is concerned.”
I take a deep breath.
She’s right. If I keep this memory, it will be hard to look
at Kingston the same way. I’ll always wonder if he’s the one or whether there’s
someone better waiting just outside the tent.
But if I let myself forget … I can’t bring myself to even
think of it. That option feels like offering myself up for execution.
It’s not a choice.
“I want to keep it,” I say. “The memory. I want to
remember.”
“So be it,” Mab says. She leans back again and examines her
nails. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have business more pressing than your
romantic interludes. A good concessionaire is so hard to find. As you well
know.”
“Come on,” Kingston says. He stands and pulls out my chair
for me, helps me to my feet. His hand lingers on mine as he opens the door. But
his touch is distant. That touch, that bare brush of fingers, is enough to make
me feel sick. It already feels like I’ve lost him.
When the door clangs shut behind us, I can’t help but wonder
if I’ve made the right choice.
*
“We don’t have to, you know,” he says. He stands in the
doorway of my trailer. I’m already by the bed, though that’s not saying much as
there’s barely three feet of space between the two. I stare at him. He looks
like a teenage boy, waiting at the threshold of his first date’s house. He
looks so lost, so meek. Why am I the one who feels like I should be
apologizing?
“I don’t like this,” I say. It’s a simple statement, but
it’s the only thing that seems to encompass everything. “I’m tired of the
lies.”
Kingston looks down. I wish he would say something romantic
like I’ve never lied to you, and I never will. But he can’t. He’s lied
more times than I can count. The fact that he had to under contract only makes
the fact a little more bearable. What between us is even real?
“What are we going to do?” he asks.
“I want you to come here and sit down. I want you to tell me
about him.”
His eyes shoot up. There’s no imagining the wounded look
splashed across his face like a bloodstain.
“Austin?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say. I sit down on the bed and wait for him to join
me. He hesitates, then finally moves over and sits down. The space between us
is only inches, but it feels like miles.
“I don’t know anything about him,” he says.
“But you saw him. You must have told him something to make
him go away.”
Kingston nods, slowly.
“Kingston, what am I supposed to do if he comes back? What
if someone else from my family drops in and says hello? What then? I can’t go
around wondering if everyone I see is someone I’ve forgotten I know.”
“That won’t happen,” he says. “ This shouldn’t have
happened.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“Because when you signed your contract, you asked to
disappear. That meant changing more than just your memory.”
My brows furrow. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, my magic had to cast a wider net.”
“You made everyone forget me,” I whisper.
“There’s only one way to disappear,” he says. “You have to
have never existed in the first place.”
And suddenly I remember sitting in Penelope’s trailer one
sunny afternoon, filing tickets and receipts and returns, and searching for my
name online. Vivienne Warfield. Nothing turned up. No email, no Facebook, no
nothing. No one shared my name. There was no trace of me. Ever. How had I
managed to forget that? Just thinking about it makes fresh nausea roll over me. Why did I want to vanish so entirely?
I’ve felt lost before. I’ve felt lonely. But I’ve never felt
this alone. I’ve never felt like I’ve been plucked from the world and set
aside—the isolation, the emptiness, they crush me like a vise.
“So how did he remember me?” I ask, trying to keep myself
from falling under the waves of memory. “If you made him forget me, how did he
know who I was?”
Kingston shakes his head.
“I don’t know. It
I take a deep breath.
She’s right. If I keep this memory, it will be hard to look
at Kingston the same way. I’ll always wonder if he’s the one or whether there’s
someone better waiting just outside the tent.
But if I let myself forget … I can’t bring myself to even
think of it. That option feels like offering myself up for execution.
It’s not a choice.
“I want to keep it,” I say. “The memory. I want to
remember.”
“So be it,” Mab says. She leans back again and examines her
nails. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have business more pressing than your
romantic interludes. A good concessionaire is so hard to find. As you well
know.”
“Come on,” Kingston says. He stands and pulls out my chair
for me, helps me to my feet. His hand lingers on mine as he opens the door. But
his touch is distant. That touch, that bare brush of fingers, is enough to make
me feel sick. It already feels like I’ve lost him.
When the door clangs shut behind us, I can’t help but wonder
if I’ve made the right choice.
*
“We don’t have to, you know,” he says. He stands in the
doorway of my trailer. I’m already by the bed, though that’s not saying much as
there’s barely three feet of space between the two. I stare at him. He looks
like a teenage boy, waiting at the threshold of his first date’s house. He
looks so lost, so meek. Why am I the one who feels like I should be
apologizing?
“I don’t like this,” I say. It’s a simple statement, but
it’s the only thing that seems to encompass everything. “I’m tired of the
lies.”
Kingston looks down. I wish he would say something romantic
like I’ve never lied to you, and I never will. But he can’t. He’s lied
more times than I can count. The fact that he had to under contract only makes
the fact a little more bearable. What between us is even real?
“What are we going to do?” he asks.
“I want you to come here and sit down. I want you to tell me
about him.”
His eyes shoot up. There’s no imagining the wounded look
splashed across his face like a bloodstain.
“Austin?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say. I sit down on the bed and wait for him to join
me. He hesitates, then finally moves over and sits down. The space between us
is only inches, but it feels like miles.
“I don’t know anything about him,” he says.
“But you saw him. You must have told him something to make
him go away.”
Kingston nods, slowly.
“Kingston, what am I supposed to do if he comes back? What
if someone else from my family drops in and says hello? What then? I can’t go
around wondering if everyone I see is someone I’ve forgotten I know.”
“That won’t happen,” he says. “ This shouldn’t have
happened.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“Because when you signed your contract, you asked to
disappear. That meant changing more than just your memory.”
My brows furrow. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, my magic had to cast a wider net.”
“You made everyone forget me,” I whisper.
“There’s only one way to disappear,” he says. “You have to
have never existed in the first place.”
And suddenly I remember sitting in Penelope’s trailer one
sunny afternoon, filing tickets and receipts and returns, and searching for my
name online. Vivienne Warfield. Nothing turned up. No email, no Facebook, no
nothing. No one shared my name. There was no trace of me. Ever. How had I
managed to forget that? Just thinking about it makes fresh nausea roll over me. Why did I want to vanish so entirely?
I’ve felt lost before. I’ve felt lonely. But I’ve never felt
this alone. I’ve never felt like I’ve been plucked from the world and set
aside—the isolation, the emptiness, they crush me like a vise.
“So how did he remember me?” I ask, trying to keep myself
from falling under the waves of memory. “If you made him forget me, how did he
know who I was?”
Kingston shakes his head.
“I don’t know. It
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