Alice
For a good ten minutes, I just stand there, staring at the absurd white dress sprawled across my bed. Who even picks something like this? I’ve never been a fan of puffy lantern sleeves. My mind races, trying to figure out whose it could be. Definitely not mine. I’m not even in love. And I’ve never had any intention of getting married. I’m one hundred percent sure of that, just as I’m sure my name is Alice Cooper, my best friend is Mia, and my mom is Carol. The only logical explanation is that this dress belongs to Mia. She’s finally engaged and marrying her Tom. Yes! They’ve been together for four years. I let out a loud sigh of relief as the pieces fall into place. But why on earth did she choose such an odd dress?
I need to call her right now and get some answers—when, where, and why. I rush to the nightstand and grab my notebook. Flipping through it, the first thing I find is my phone password. I enter it and smile when it works. I search for Mia’s number in my contacts, but it’s not there. That’s weird. Beyond weird. I don’t give up and find it scribbled in the notebook. I dial and listen to the endless ringing. Maybe she’s feeling rough too, since it seems we were out somewhere last night, and we must have brought that Jenna along.
“Hello?” I finally hear my friend’s voice.
“Mia, you won’t believe this,” I blurt out in a rush. “Something’s wrong with my memory. It’s insane! I woke up on the floor in the hallway by DeeDee’s little house. I barely managed to unlock my phone to call you. Good thing I write everything down…”
“Who is this?” comes the confused reply from the other end. I fall silent. She does too. She’s probably waiting for me to answer.
“You don’t recognize me?” I ask cautiously. After seeing that dress, I’m starting to think I’ve stumbled into some parallel universe or something. Everything feels so unreal.
“No,” she says bluntly.
“Mia Green, are you kidding me?!” I exclaim in desperation. My head is pounding, and I’m about to lose it if I don’t figure out what’s going on.
“Alice?” she asks, sounding shocked.
“Finally! Yes, Alice. Do you have a bunch of other best friends or something?” I snap, my emotions boiling over. But she stays quiet.
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I’ve got to get to my little one.”
“What? Wait. What little one?” For some reason, I feel like her answer is going to knock me flat.
“My son. Bye,” she says, not even waiting for a response before hanging up.
No, this can’t be happening. Is this a prank? It’s not funny. Not at all. I sink onto the bed, right on top of the dress that clearly isn’t Mia’s. My eyes well up, and fear grips me. I need to see a doctor. There’s something seriously wrong with my memory.
Desperate for answers, I start rummaging through the nightstand—nothing unusual there. Then I head to the living room; everything looks the same. I sit on the couch and my eyes catch the coffee table. A psychology book, some magazines. I lean closer to get a better look. No way. This can’t be real.
“Ha,” a nervous laugh escapes my lips.
This has to be a joke. Someone’s decided to mess with me, though I can’t figure out what occasion this is for—my birthday was ages ago. On the magazine cover, there I am, standing next to some man. I know him, but I can’t recall his name. Arthur… Alan… Oh, Adam. That’s it. He’s a friend of my dad’s. The headline makes me laugh again, louder this time. “Wedding of the Year” it reads under our photo. Hello, people? What is happening? I flip to the right page and see another picture of us together. He’s got his arm around me, and I’m wearing the most unnatural smile.
I don’t get a chance to read more because the doorbell rings. I hurry to answer it as fast as I can. I touch the handle and take a deep breath. For some reason, I have a feeling the surprises aren’t over yet.
“Alice!” my mom exclaims the moment she sees me. “What’s wrong with your face?” She steps inside and pinches my cheek. It hurts.
“Mom, you look so…” I struggle to find the right words. She’s wearing a light pink dress that falls just below the knee. Her blonde hair, shoulder-length, is swept up and styled beautifully. Her makeup matches the whole look—elegant and chic. “Where are we going?” I ask desperately.
“Very funny. I’m going to make myself some coffee. Put on something decent,” she says, eyeing my short robe before heading to the kitchen. “What’s this? Did you spill water?” She turns back, and all I can do is nod.
I return to my room, grab the magazine, and lock myself in my bedroom. I open it and read the interview with Adam and me, my mouth hanging open. We’re getting married. Today! I can’t believe it. I feel sick. I’ve completely lost touch with reality. I remember watching a movie once where the main character forgot years of their life.
I walk to the window—outside, spring is in full bloom, soft and vibrant. Yesterday was spring too. I remember that clearly. I also remember this apartment, that I’ve only lived here for a year. I remember my family, some friends, my plans for the future. So, it’s not as bad as that movie character. There’s hope I can untangle this mess.
I stand up and freeze as another memory flashes—I’m trying on dresses. Including the one on my bed. I’m smiling. There’s a girl beside me. I was wrong; it was her at the café, not Mia. Now, the mystery of Jenna seems like a tiny speck compared to the fact that I’m apparently getting married today. Ugh, can someone just put me back to sleep? Please.
I let out a sob, but the doorbell rings again. Hoping to learn more, I quickly slip on underwear and a casual house dress. I step out and find a guy and a girl in the hallway, both carrying small suitcases. Looks like one of them is the hairdresser. They greet me and silently head to the living room. It dawns on me that this isn’t their first time in my apartment.
I follow them, determined to get someone talking while Mom’s in the kitchen sipping coffee. The guy starts chatting on his own, gushing about how much buzz our wedding announcement has created. I don’t learn anything new, except that Adam and I are supposedly the perfect couple.
“No, wait,” I interrupt as he starts working on my hair. “Can you style it nicely so it’s not a bird’s nest on my head? Maybe pull it back like this,” I show him the kind of updo I want.
“Sweetie, we discussed this style a month ago. It’s perfect,” he insists, shoving his phone in front of me to show a photo of me with an absolute disaster on my head. Horrendous.
“Well, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want that. Just pull it back neatly and pin it at the nape. Be gentle, though—I’ve got a bump here,” I say, touching my head as he starts combing through my hair with a hint of annoyance. I can tell he’s not thrilled, but he does it my way.
The girl sets up her makeup on the coffee table, occasionally glancing at me. I’m guessing we discussed the makeup too. But I like the result of her work. No loud colors or layers of unnecessary product on my face. Paired with the hairstyle, it looks balanced and suits me. Mom comes in and nods approvingly. She pays them herself and sees them out. I head to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water. My nerves are making me tremble.
“Alice, it’s time to get dressed,” Mom says as she returns. Now that I’m looking closer, I notice changes. She’s lost weight and looks tired.
“Mom, I’ve got a problem,” I say. I need to tell her and get some answers.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, concerned. “You changed the hairstyle, but it looks even better. What’s the matter? Are you nervous?” A smile creeps onto her face.
“I don’t remember anything,” I exhale. “Well, almost nothing.”
“What do you mean?” She steps closer, peering into my face with disbelief.
“I remember you, Dad, Mia, even the cat, but I’ve completely forgotten my fiancé.”
“How can you… forget?” She sits down on a chair.
“I remember his name, that he’s been to our house, and that’s it. When did we start dating? Do I love him?” I ask desperately.
A sudden flash hits me, painting a bizarre scene—a club, colorful spotlights blinding me, I’m dancing with a man. He kisses my neck, holds me close, whispers something in my ear that makes me laugh. It’s not Adam. Not my fiancé.
“Love?!” Mom repeats loudly, jumping up from the chair. “Are you sick, honey?” She touches my forehead, looking into my eyes. “This is a fake marriage,” she whispers, as if it’s a huge secret.
“Fake?” I echo, stunned. “What do you mean? Why?”
“You’re not pulling my leg right now, are you?” she asks skeptically, and I shake my head. “It must be the nerves. Definitely. When I’m nervous, I often forget important things.”
“So why is it fake?” I remind her of the core of our conversation.
“I can’t believe you forgot, because you came up with this plan yourself. The perfect marriage plan to save the family business.”
“Perfect,” I drawl, feeling sick to my stomach.