Even Tess isn’t here yet. She tends to come in the late morning to work as a medic assistant, shadowing the doctors, and when I catch her on her breaks, we huddle together and exchange conversation in hushed voices. Sometimes she even makes me laugh. “He loves you, really he does,” she told me yesterday. “He’d love you even if it destroyed him. He matches you. I guess it’s kind of cute.” She said this with a shy, grudging smile on her face. Somehow, she had managed to return to the place where I’d first known her, but now as someone older, taller, and wiser.
I nudged her affectionately. “You guys have a bond I could never touch,” I replied. “Even when we’re at our worst.”
She blushed at that, and I couldn’t help opening my heart to her. A loving Tess is one of the sweetest sights in the world. “Just be good to him,” she whispered. “Promise?”
Now I greet the nurse at the waiting room’s window, then settle down into my usual chair and look around. So empty this morning. I find myself missing Tess’s companionship. I try to distract myself with the news headlines running on the monitor.
ANTARCTICAN PRESIDENT IKARI, UNITED NATIONS, SHOW APPROVAL FOR NEW PEACE TREATY BETWEEN REPUBLIC AND COLONIES
ELECTOR PRIMO ANNOUNCES START OF NEW
RANKING SYSTEM TO REPLACE FORMER TRIALS
NEW BORDER CITIES BETWEEN REPUBLIC AND COLONIES TO BE RENAMED THE UNITED CITIES, TO BEGIN ALLOWING IMMIGRATION FROM BOTH NATIONS STARTING LATE NEXT YEAR
SENATOR MARIANA DUPREE OFFICIALLY INDUCTED AS PRINCEPS OF THE SENATE
The news headlines bring a faint smile to my face. Last night, Anden had stopped by my apartment to tell me in person about Mariana. I’d told him that I would extend my congratulations to her directly. “She’s very good at what she does,” I said. “More so than I was. I’m happy for her.”
Anden bowed his head. “You would have been better in the long run, I think,” he replied with a gentle smile. “You understand the people. But I’m happy that you’re back where you feel the most comfortable. Our troops are lucky to have you.” He hesitated then, and for a moment he took my hand in his. I remember the soft neoprene lining of his gloves, the silver shine of his cufflinks. “I might not get to see much of you now. Maybe it’s best that way, isn’t it? Still, please do drop by now and then. It’ll be nice to hear from you.”
“Likewise,” I replied, squeezing his hand in return.
My thoughts snap back to the present. One of the doctors has emerged from the hallway near Day’s room. He catches sight of me, takes a deep breath, and approaches. I straighten, tensing. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard any real updates on Day’s condition from Dr. Kann. A part of me wants to jump up in excitement, because perhaps the news is good; another part of me cringes in fear, in case the news is bad. My eyes scan the doctor’s face, searching for clues. (Pupils slightly dilated, face anxious, but not in the manner of one who is about to break the worst news. There are hints of joy on his face.) My pulse quickens. What is he going to tell me? Or perhaps it’s no news at all—perhaps he’s simply going to tell me what he usually does. Not much change today, I’m afraid, but at least he’s still stable. I’ve grown so used to hearing that.
Dr. Kann pauses before me. He adjusts his glasses and scratches unconsciously at his trimmed salt-and-pepper beard. “Good morning, Ms. Iparis,” he says.
“How is he?” I ask, my usual greeting.
Dr. Kann smiles, but hesitates (another oddity; the news must be significant). “Wonderful news.” My heart stops for a second. “Day has woken up. Less than an hour ago.”
“He’s awake?” I breathe. He’s awake. Suddenly the news is too overwhelming, and I’m not sure whether I can bear it. I study his face carefully. “There’s more to it than that, though. Isn’t there?”
Dr. Kann puts both hands on my shoulders. “I don’t want to worry you, Ms. Iparis, not at all. Day has pulled through his surgery remarkably well—when he woke up, he asked for water and then for his brother. He seems quite alert and coherent. We ran a quick scan of his brain.” His voice turns more excited. “We’ll need to do a more thorough check, of course, but upon first glance it seems everything has normalized. His hippocampus looks healthy, and signals seem to be firing normally. In almost every aspect, the Day that we know is back.”
Tears prickle at the edges of my eyes. The Day that we know is back. After five months of waiting, the news is so sudden. One minute he was lying unconscious in bed, hanging on to life night by night, and now he’s awake. Just like that. I break into a smile with the doctor, and before I can stop myself, I hug him. He laughs, patting my head awkwardly, but I don’t care. I want to see Day. “Can he have visitors?” I ask. Then, abruptly, I realize what the doctor actually said. “Why do you say ‘almost’?”
The doctor’s smile wavers. He adjusts his glasses again. “It’s nothing we can’t fix over the course of extended therapy. You see, the hippocampus region affects memories, both short- and long-term. It seems that Day’s long-term memories—his family, his brother Eden, his friend Tess, and so on—are intact. After a few questions, however, it seems like he has very little recollection of both people and events from the last year or two. We call it retrograde amnesia. He remembers his family’s deaths, for instance . . .” Dr. Kann’s voice trails off uncomfortably here. “But he does not seem familiar with Commander Jameson’s name, or the recent Colonies’ invasion. He also doesn’t seem to recall you.”
My smile fades. “He . . . doesn’t remember me?”
“Of course, this is something that can heal over time, with proper therapy,” Dr. Kann again reassures me. “His short-term memory abilities are working well. He remembers most things I tell him, and forms new memories without too much issue. I just wanted to warn you before you see him. Don’t be startled that he might not remember you. Take your time and reintroduce yourself to him. Gradually, perhaps in a few years’ time, his old memories might come back.”