“Where are we?” he asked, crunching on a cracker. 

Nichanart, wearing floral print shorts and a pink t-shirt, was multitasking.  She ate cereal with her smartphone propped up beside her bowl, while simultaneously writing in a notebook. She looked up at him, surprised by her father's question. 

“Here. We live here.”

“No, I mean, what city is this?”

“Houston.”

“Are we American?”

“Of course!” she replied immediately, then added, “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Don’t worry. I think I’m going to have a lot more silly questions. What day is it?”

“Tuesday, August 15, 2023.”

“After breakfast, want to go for a drive with me?”

Nid observed Eric. “Are you sure… you can still drive?”

“Not sure, but I’ll try,” he told her with a smile, despite a hint of nervousness. 

“What are you writing?”

“My diary. I’m recording the everyday things that happen.” She looked down. 

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. We can’t hide what happened. Writing it down, in case one day we want to look back on it, isn’t always a bad thing.”

They both smiled at each other in understanding. 

Upon entering the garage, Eric saw two cars. The first was a dust-covered BMW. The second was a grey Range Rover.  Since it wasn't covered in dust, he assumed it was his.  Strangely, as he sat in the driver's seat, he instinctively knew what everything was for. Although he couldn't remember ever driving before, he was sure he could. 

We started by exploring the neighborhood. Nid continued to provide commentary. 

“This is Midtown, turn right, and on the left here is my school, Houston Independent School District (HISD).”

He parked by the side of the road and watched children playing sports on the field. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“I should be, but I decided to take a few days off until you get settled. Besides, final exams are over. There are only two weeks left until summer break.”

“Okay”

“Really?” Nid asked, surprised. “But you were always so strict about school.”

“What grade are you in?”

“Eighth grade.”

He turned back to driving. The area we lived in was quite luxurious. Large mansions behind electric gates with tall, old trees gradually transitioned into smaller plots with large houses. Our house, though large, seemed modest compared to this neighborhood. 

“Turn right,” Nid said. 

He turned. The road dipped and climbed, alternating. 

“That’s Edward Gardens,” she said, pointing to a well-maintained park with a lawn, trees, and colorful flowers in bloom. 

Over the next couple of hours, they looped around the area and circled back towards their house.  Eric saw luxury homes, condos, small bungalows, and semi-detached houses. The area was quite a mix, but as soon as they turned back onto the main thoroughfare, the opulence and gated mansions returned. It was a small pocket of affluence, a very elegant area. 

At home, the young girl prepared lunch, with Eric watching her. She pulled her long, jet-black hair into a high ponytail. Her hair shimmered in the bright light streaming through the kitchen window. Looking at a photograph, he saw that she strongly resembled her mother. She was small, slender as a reed, with delicate features. Large, round eyes dominated her face. He couldn’t see any of himself in her. Of course, she wasn’t really his. To him, she didn’t look fourteen. 

“Here,” she called, placing two plates in front of him. One held a sandwich, the other a small salad. 

She took a couple of plates to the kitchen table and sat down. He bit into the sandwich and frowned. There was a mystery meat that had a tangy flavor. 

“Is something wrong?” she asked, setting her salad fork down before it reached her mouth. 

“What is this?”

“Tuna with coarse-ground Dijon mustard on whole wheat.  It’s what you always eat.”

Eric looked at his daughter’s sandwich and put his own back on the plate. 

“What’s yours?”

“Bologna with yellow mustard.”

“Can I try it?”

Nid slid her plate across the table. He picked up half of the white bread sandwich and took a bite. 

“Much better.”

The young girl’s eyes widened. “You’ve changed! You hate bologna!”

Nid gaped at him, then burst into bright laughter. Her smile was like a million-watt spotlight. She tapped her finger to her head in a symbolic gesture. 

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Physically, yes. Mentally, who knows?”

She shook her head in amusement and got up to make him another sandwich.  Her laughter pleased him. It chased the fear from her eyes and brightened her face. He might be worried, but at least she was happier, and that made him feel better. 

“What are your hobbies?” he asked. 

“I don’t have any hobbies. But I like to read and garden… well, when I’m home,” she replied, wrinkling her nose. 

“Dad works a lot of hours?” he asked. 

“I mostly only see him on weekends,” she replied, cutting two more large sandwiches. 

As she handed him a sandwich - one for her, one for him -

“That doesn't sound like much fun.  Have we taken any vacations?”

“No.”

“Why?”

She bit into her sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. “After Mom died, Dad's been obsessed with work.”

“He’s been a bad dad. That must have been hard for you,” he said, disliking what he was learning about his past self. 

Nid shrugged, seemingly unconcerned with her father's past. 

Eric looked out the kitchen window and saw the shimmering reflection from the crystal-clear blue swimming pool. 

“Can Dad swim?”

“He can if he wants to,” she replied. 

“No, I mean, does he know how to swim?”

A mischievous glint flashed in her eyes. She smiled. “Yes, he can swim, but he doesn't swim very often.”

“Can you swim?”

She nodded, still smiling. 

“Let's go swimming after lunch,” he suggested. 

“Okay”

When lunch was over, she put the dishes in the dishwasher. We both went to change clothes, each in our own bedroom. 

Eric searched for his swimming trunks, drawer by drawer, but couldn't find them. 

“I can’t find my swimming trunks!” he yelled. 

“Where are my swimming trunks?”  While waiting for a response, he yelled again, shuffling clothes around in the drawers. 

“Do you hear me?!”

“You don’t have to yell,” Nid admonished softly. 

“I heard you the first time.”

He glanced at her and asked, “Do you know where they are?”

She nodded and walked over. She pulled out the bottom right drawer and reached in, retrieving a pair of black swimming trunks. “Here they are.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied and walked away. 

He paused, holding the trunks in one hand. Nid, in a simple teal bikini, looked good. Her legs looked longer, her figure well-proportioned. He thought she looked great in a swimsuit. 

She was in the pool when he emerged. He carefully descended the steps. Although he couldn’t remember ever swimming before, it came instinctively. The water was the perfect temperature, warm but cool, a welcome relief from the intense summer heat. The coolness enveloped his skin. 

“Why haven’t I come out to swim more often? This is so relaxing,” he mused to himself before glancing over at his daughter. 

Nichanart swam slowly, a lazy breaststroke, her dark brown eyes watching him. As she drew closer, he splashed her.  Surprise registered quickly, followed by a wide smile, and she laughed as she splashed him back. A water war erupted in the pool, neither one surrendering to the other. She laughed loudly, happily. 

As they played, edging closer together, he reached out, grabbed her head, and pushed her under. She surfaced, sputtering, and lunged at him underwater. 

“Hey!” she exclaimed as he surfaced, then shrieked as he lunged for her. 

We played in the pool, exhaustion eventually turning war into peace. Insects buzzed in the distant quiet. 

“Do you want something to drink, Dad?” she asked, her throat parched. 

“A Diet Coke,” he replied, smiling. 

She went and got two Diet Cokes, handing one to him as he emerged from the pool. 

Almost unconsciously, he noticed the small mounds on her chest. He looked appraisingly; her hips were starting to flare, showing a more mature figure, her thighs slender, and her bikini bottoms clung to her like glue. A small camel toe was forming. Fourteen? He thought his daughter was developing later than this. 

While he was sipping his fizzy diet coke, Nid bent down and wrung out her long hair. Then she grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself. 

“I brought you a towel, Dad,” she said, handing him a soft, light blue towel. She sat down, sipped her drink, and glanced at him. 

“You’ve changed a lot, Dad.”

“Really? How so?”

“You seem more relaxed, not as stressed and serious as you used to be.”

He took another sip of his coke and continued, “Mom knows what I’m going through isn’t fun, but…”

“But what?” He looked at her expectantly. 

She looked away. “It might sound strange, but I like you this way.”

After a moment, a thought occurred to him. He didn’t know what he was like before. The little information she had given him made him sound driven, very work-focused, and maybe not a very good father to her. What would happen if his memory returned? Would he forget everything that happened after he lost it? Would he go back to being the man she described? 

“I can’t imagine not wanting to spend time with you,” he told her. Then, with a wide smile, he added, “Besides, you’re the only person I know.”

The young girl laughed. “You seem a lot goofier now, but I like it. Maybe that’s how you were as a kid.”

He shrugged, winking his right eye. “Maybe… I guess.”

That night, lying in bed staring at the dark ceiling, he thought back to that day. The fear hadn't completely left him. Eric still felt stressed about who he really was, but there was a light at the end of the tunnel. He was pleased with Nid. She seemed more relaxed, the fear in her eyes was gone, and he discovered that his daughter was a charming young woman.  Over time, he learned more about her, and even though the fatherly feelings hadn't fully returned, he felt a sense of pride in having made Nid feel that there was at least someone she could trust in the same house. 

A thought struck him. He finally saw himself returning to work and rediscovering what he enjoyed doing. He believed it, and whether he felt nervous or not, he had to face reality, no matter what happened.