“He better.”
“We’re definitely getting Chan a burrito.” Then I remember how much it cost. “Or some chips at least.”
While we stand in line, Max turns to me. “I’m sorry about the other day, Mia. At the lab.”
My antenna goes up and I give him my best do go on expression. I can’t wait to hear more about me. I could talk about my feelings all day long. Instagram is probably just an overflow.
“You have the right to feel however you feel. I promise not to tell you otherwise, even if my lie detector says you’re wrong.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I really appreciate that. You might be right, though. We’ve only known each other since Thursday and it’s Tuesday now.” I shake my head.
“That’s less than a week,” he says.
“There are different kinds of love though. It’s like going to a waterslide park. Sometimes you take the steepest, fastest slide and part of it is a dark tunnel you can’t see out of. Just because it’s too fast doesn’t mean it’s not as real an experience as the slower, twisty-turny slide, or even the lazy river.” And that fast slide—whooeee—love is scary when you’re on that slide.
“Just so you know, I’m still climbing the stairs up to the slide.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m on the stairs and I’m going on the ride.” He’s so cute when he’s trying to explain himself.
“That’s okay,” I say. “I already went down the slide once. We can go a second time together, climb the stairs, and hold hands.”
Even though it wasn’t a hint, he takes my hand. “I’m sorry I called you a liar, too. That was pretty harsh.”
“But true.” I have no qualms about admitting that.
“But it wasn’t just you. I lied. We all lie. We decide who we are and act it out. In a world where we all get to be whatever we want, we have to fabricate an identity. When you don’t live up to it, you’re a liar, even if it’s not malicious.”
“I assume you’re talking about Fay and your neuroscience power couple thing.”
He laughs. “Yeah, I involved her in my lie. I was lying to myself there, and to Fay. She was right.”
“No big,” I say. “I’m the fakest person I know.”
“No, you’re the realest,” he says. “Maybe losing your memory broke you loose from the Matrix so you can see everything. At any rate, I don’t know who you were before, but you are sincerely trying to do your best and you have a beautiful soul. You only lied to me because you were embarrassed. I’ve done much worse without even being aware of it.”
He squeezes my hand again.
The guy at the food truck window practically groans when he sees me. “You again.”
I smile. “I’m back. Could I get a quesadilla, some chips, and two horchatas?”
Max and I toast with our horchatas and take a selfie. I don’t use a filter so we look pretty realistic. Granted, we’re both fairly good looking, but I look tired and my eye makeup is raccooning. He’s making a weird face, like I caught him mid-sentence, but it’s perfect. Neither of us knows exactly what’s going to happen. We don’t know how long we’ll stay together or what we’re doing. He has some cool research ideas. I have some cool business ideas. We might screw up. We might go bankrupt. I hope we don’t break up at the end of the night, but I’m jumping into the deep end of reality.
Even without remembering most of my life, I know that I’m living up to my name for the first time ever. I am finally @Mia4Realz.
72 Next purchase: a car.
73 Side note: JP should make Jacques-o-late bachelors! I would so buy.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Jhanteigh Kupihea, thank you for your insightful edits, the awesome title, and every great joke you added to the manuscript, not to mention all the bad ones you deleted. Somehow, with your edits, Max seems a little like my brother, at least according to my daughter, which is slightly disturbing but cool. Everyone loves him. While I’m on the topic, I should thank my brother for brainstorming with me from his fancy engineering job more than his boss probably knows. But back to Jhanteigh—thank you for trusting me to write this book and not hating me after you read it. And thanks to everyone else at Quirk, too—Brett Cohen, Jane Morley, Andie Reid, Nicole De Jackmo, Jen Murphy, and probably a bunch of people I’ve never emailed or twittered with. I’m so grateful for all of the support and the great work you all do!
And Barbara Poelle, thanks for signing me and repping this book even though you weren’t there at conception. You rock my world.
Also, thank you to Blair Thornburgh, who encouraged me to write this proposal in the first place, and who worked with me on the books that didn’t take before this one. I still love Fantastic News.
Terrell, for taking me to Compton and Long Beach on the first weekend away I’ve had in forever. A beach vacation without any trips to the courthouse would have been nice, but I wouldn’t have written this book without that craziness. And thanks for listening to me talk about my plot pretty much every day for the last year and offering so many good suggestions, not to mention opening up my eyes to more of the world. I couldn’t have written this book without you.
Cristina Pippa, thanks so much for making me work on the SIRI proposal, for reading umpteen versions of it, for honest feedback, and for being available 24/7 for random questions. Also, thank you for telling me not to change Max to a herpetologist two weeks before the book was due. That was a close one.
Monica, thanks for watching my kids and being way more fun than me. (Kids, you got the dedication and Monica so you’re out of luck here, but I love you.)
Carly Bloom, thanks for proofreading my acknowledgments and reminding me of all your contributions that I forgot, including: brainstorming, coming up with that alien spaceship angle I didn’t use (thank God!), and reading the initial proposal. Mostly, thank you for not quitting writing and going full dance mom. And Roselle Lim, thank you for reading my proposal, brainstorming, and being available via text for writer therapy 24/7.
As always, I need to thank my dad, who provides medical advice for all of my characters. Thank you for stepping out on actual head-injury patients to answer questions about Mia’s head injury while I was on deadline. And to my mom for buying me that super cute red dress that I’m going to wear to some sort of book event, and texting about fake people whenever I need her to.
Cuppa Cuppa, if this book makes it big and everyone starts asking for a maple latte that you don’t serve—sorry. I guess she could have ordered off the menu.