TWENTY-TWO GRAYSON

T WENTY -T WO

G RAYSON

Grayson sat in a blue plush chair. It was old, with remarkably great cushioning. Yet it was an odd choice for a therapist's office, although he enjoyed running his fingers along the fabric, feeling the texture change from smooth to rough. He'd done it so many times that it was now an absentminded habit of his, each time he sat there. Grayson had read over and over again that people should seek therapy after undergoing an emergency heart transplant. Even though Grayson was at his one-year mark, he'd kept up with seeing Dr. Littleton because doing so gave him someone to talk to who wasn't related to him. Dr. Littleton listened, offered advice, and didn't judge him when he said he felt overwhelmed with emotion sometimes. Grayson was crazy in love with Reid and often felt as if he wasn't expressing himself properly.

"This is a big week for you," Dr. Littleton said from the other blue plush chair. Grayson likened it to a throne, fit for royalty, and Grayson was the minion or peasant begging the almighty for guidance and reassurance.

"Do I celebrate?"

"You could, or you could go on like it's no big deal."

Grayson shook his head and looked down at his fingers, moving in a pattern-like formation. He tried to stop them, but they continued to swirl and swirl, back and forth.

"What's wrong, Grayson?"

"Nothing," he said as an automatic response.

"I've known you for a year," Dr. Littleton said. "I wouldn't be very good at my job if I didn't notice something bothering you."

Grayson sighed, but no relief came. He shook his head, bit his lower lip, and rocked a bit in the chair. "My heart." He put his fist over his heart and held it there. "It hurts."

"Did you tell your cardiologist?" Littleton flipped through his notes. "I'm sorry, I can't recall his name. Did you tell him at your appointment?"

"Yes. He ran some tests, did the proper imaging, and there's nothing. It's healthy. I'm healthy. No fear of rejection. But I'm sad and I can't explain it, and it's not all of a sudden. The feeling has been there, and I thought it was because the heart needed to get used to me, Reid—you know, my life. The feeling lingers. Sometimes it's strong and I want to cry for no reason, and other times, it's this dull sensation."

"How long have you experienced this?"

"The dullness?" Grayson shrugged. "For a bit, I think. I feel like I only really knew it was there after I woke up crying the other day."

"From a dream?"

He nodded. "I don't even know what it was about, but there were other people there, but they were fuzzy, and then I woke up with tears streaming down my face, soaking my pillow." He was thankful Reid had gotten up early and gone to the gym; he was afraid of what she might have thought or done had she seen this early-morning meltdown.

"Have you felt this any other time?"

"I think so. I have severe moments of sadness. They're random. It's like I have a plan but can't bring myself to do anything. I'm lucky Reid was content to chill for the day, but it was unlike me. I like to be active, be outside, exploring nature. Not sitting in our apartment, cooped up with the blinds closed."

Dr. Littleton wrote on his yellow notepad. Without looking up, he asked, "How is Reid? How are things with her romantically? Physically?"

Grayson blushed. While he loved talking about Reid, talking about their sex life was a bit awkward for him. He wanted to respect her privacy, which Dr. Littleton understood. But Grayson grasped that the questions weren't invasive, only meant for healing and processing the ordeal he'd been through.

"Reid's amazing," he said. "We met with the wedding planner and tasted some cakes the other day. I never knew I was a ‘white cake with raspberry filling' type of guy, but I am. We talked about the whole ‘cake smashing in the face' thing, and I told her I thought it's a bit disrespectful and I didn't want to do it."

"Why's that?"

"Because she will have spent so much time perfecting her look for the day; I don't want to ruin it because someone along the way thought smearing cake on your bride's face would be a funny tradition. It's rude."

"How did she feel?"

"Grateful. She thanked me, which she didn't need to do, but I get it." Grayson ran his hand down the front of his pants. "I love her, with this heart, my other heart." He shrugged. "But sometimes I look at her and ..."

"And?"

"I don't know," he said. "There isn't a doubt in my mind she's the one for me. But when my heart aches, it makes me question whether I should even be here right now. Someone died so I could live, and what if I'm not living up to their potential? What if they were this amazing person who walked grandmas across the street, who donated time at the soup kitchen or the clothing drive. What if my heart is telling me I'm failing at being the person it was intended for?"

Dr. Littleton stood and went to his desk. He typed on the computer, strummed his fingers on his desk, and then nodded.

"This is going to sound off, but listen to what I have to say," he told Grayson. "There is zero scientific proof that organs can change your personality, memories, or how you feel. However, it seems to me that your very healthy heart is experiencing some emotions you're unfamiliar with, right?"

Grayson nodded.

"When you're with Reid, what do you feel?"

"Elation, happiness, gratitude, satisfaction," he told the doctor. "Love, desire, like I want to be with her all the time. Everything I denied myself in the beginning, it's still there and stronger. But sometimes, when the ache is strong, I question what's missing, because I feel like something is definitely missing from my life right now."

Dr. Littleton came back to his chair. "I think what you're experiencing is referred to as cellular memory. Many doctors disagree this even exists, as research is limited."

"What is it?"

"Cellular memory allows your body to remember how to fight diseases. In terms of an organ, in this case, your heart, it had to remember how to function in a new cavity. The transplant team made sure you had a normal heart rhythm and blood flow. However, some scientists have taken cellular memory to also mean that donors' memories, feelings, likes, and dislikes are stored in those cells and then remembered by the recipient."

"In my terms, please?"

Dr. Littleton laughed. "In a nutshell, you could be experiencing memories from the donor."

Grayson let the statement germinate. He didn't think it was possible, but then again, he wasn't a doctor, and what Dr. Littleton had said sort of made sense. If that was the case, would someone who drank beer and received a new liver suddenly stop? Could his heart hold memories and feelings of its life before the transplant?

Nah, Grayson wasn't buying it. What Dr. Littleton said didn't make sense. There was no way an organ could remember emotions. Something else had to be going on.

That night, when he and Reid crawled into bed, they lay on their sides, looking at each other, with only the moon beaming its bright stream of light through their window.

"Are you okay?" Reid asked. She ran her hand through his hair. He kissed her palm and then held her hand against his heart. It thumped wildly, passionately for her.

"Ever since the summer, there are times when I'm incredibly sad sometimes," he started. "I've woken up from dreams I don't remember, crying. And my heart." He covered her hand with his. "It aches sometimes."

"Have you talked to your doctor?"

He nodded and then spoke his reply. "I've passed every test," he said. "Every image shows a reactive, healthy heart."

"Are you having second thoughts about us?" she asked, with a hint of sadness in her voice. Grayson leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.

"Not even remotely."

"Okay. Then what is it?"

He moved closer to her, closing the gap between them. He needed to feel her presence, to be in her space and share in the natural calmness she carried with her.

"I don't know," he told her. "I saw Dr. Littleton today. He suggested that maybe the heart is remembering the donor, and that's what I'm feeling."

"That's not a thing," she told him. "Your mom asked one of the cardiologists if that could happen after your transplant because she feared this exact thing. He said it wasn't possible."

"It's not scientifically proven, just a theory. Others who have received organ donations have indicated a change in their behavior or what they ate."

"Your behavior did change," she pointed out.

"If you're referring to how I feel about you, no, it didn't. I've always felt this way but didn't want to burden you with my issues. Once I knew I had a new heart and the old junky one was out of my life, I did what I wanted to do a long time ago. Telling you how I feel or felt was literally the most exhilarating and scariest time of my life. I was so afraid things were irrevocably broken between us because of how I acted."

"They should've been," she told him. "But I've been in love with you for as long as I can recall. I think the only way I could ever be out of your life is if I were to move away and not tell you where I went."

"I'd definitely file a missing persons report." He smiled, thankful for the moon's brightness coming through their window.

"This feeling you have, what can we do about it?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure there's anything we can do."

"You could reach out to UNOS, find out if the donor's family is receptive to communication or even a meeting. They're the only ones who will know. Maybe this is part of the healing process. What about finding a support group? Someone might have experienced a similar situation and can guide you."

"Thank you," he said as he kissed her. "I don't know how I got so lucky to have you in my life, Reid. But I am truly the luckiest man on the planet."

"And the cheesiest." She giggled when he tickled her side. She moved in closer and snuggled against him, placing her hand on his heart. "Whatever it is, as long as you're healthy, we'll figure it out."

The next morning, they sat down to drink their coffee and watch some television before they ventured out for the day. Grayson flipped mindlessly through the channels until he saw the words "organ donations." A multiple-episode documentary was on. He immediately hit record and started watching with rapt attention.

When Sydney called and asked Reid if she wanted to go shopping, Grayson told her to go and have fun. The documentary had captured his attention. He sat there for hours, listening to others tell their stories about their transplants, trying to absorb what he could. Only one recipient talked about experiencing unexplained emotions. Grayson rewound the segment and watched it repeatedly, writing down his own series of questions. The more he listened, the more he thought what he was experiencing was the same. Cellular memory was definitely a thing, and he had it. However, he had no idea what to do about it. He could make a request through UNOS to meet the family, but that could take up to a year, and that was only if the family was receptive.

Grayson couldn't wait a year to hear no. His heart wouldn't be able to take the rejection. Nor could he live any longer with the ache in his chest.

He needed answers now.

When he finished watching, he had a desire to know more. He grabbed his laptop and began reading everything he could on transplant patients, life after a transplant, and where he could find support groups. Either in person or virtual. It didn't matter.

Information was scarce. He only found a couple of blogs that touched on the matter, but one he read was rather intriguing. The recipient had asked to meet the donor's family. They declined. He'd become so obsessed with finding answers for why his heart felt the way it did that he scoured local obituaries during the time he was in the hospital. In the end, he came up short. He never uncovered the issue and still struggled to this day with unexplained emotions.

A year had passed since Grayson's heart transplant. Per his therapist's warnings, he'd avoided seeking out the things he'd missed during his time in a coma. Dr. Littleton had explained that, because of how the mind absorbs and processes information, it was normal for people to miss a day or two of the news but hear something in passing. But missing weeks or even months and then trying to catch up could cause more issues for the patient. Grayson had heeded the advice, except when it came to the college basketball championship. He had to know who'd made it to the Final Four and won the title. Thankfully, he was a fan of neither team.

Grayson typed keywords into the search bar of the internet browser. His pinky hovered over the enter key. He could look, or he could move his finger up two rows and delete everything.

He pressed enter and then spent the next five or six hours looking at everything he could from the days he was in the coma and in the intensive care unit to the days after his discharge. The only time he left his computer was to take his meds and eat, both after hearing reminders that sounded from his phone. Grayson dove into the news, enthralled by how much had happened in the time he was asleep.

It wasn't even a refreshing nap.

The wave of emotions that came over him left him feeling down. He was shocked by what he'd missed, saddened by what he read. It shouldn't have taken him a year to read the news, but he understood why his therapist had cautioned against doing it.

Grayson closed his laptop when Reid came home. He told her how he'd spent his day. "I think I need to take a walk," he told her after they ate dinner. "I need some fresh air."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

He thought for a minute and then nodded. Being in her presence calmed him. Kept him grounded. Grayson waited while she changed into her sneakers, and then they made their way outside.

"Let's walk to the Mall," he told her. "I want to see where we're getting married next year."

Reid beamed. They held hands and traversed their neighborhood until they'd reached the National Mall. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom. The pink canopy of flowers created a beautiful aesthetic. It was easy to see why Reid wanted to be married there.

Grayson did as well.

She didn't know this, but he had a countdown on his phone to the day she'd become his wife. Asking her to marry him was the best decision of his life, except for when he'd kissed her for the second, third, fourth, and how many other times.

"This is perfect and what I want for our day," Reid said when they arrived at the Mall. "Look at the ground. The natural beauty of the way the blossoms fall. I can see myself walking down the aisle here." She beamed up at him, her smile brighter than the North Star.

"It'll happen," he told her as he kissed her. "Let me take your picture."

Reid took a few steps away from him and posed. Every few seconds, she'd change the way she stood, tilt her head, or position her feet. He snapped photos in rapid fire, taking as many as he could, knowing he'd keep every single one because he'd love them all.

When she came forward, he showed her the pictures. Reid frowned at most of them, but he thought they were beautiful.

"I'll delete those later," she told him.

"No, I want them."

She rolled her eyes. "Let's take a selfie."

They turned, and Grayson put his arm over her shoulder. She tucked herself into his side, resting her hand over his heart. He extended his arm, raising it high enough to capture not only them but also the scenery behind them. Through the camera, he saw her look at him. He turned and kissed her, praying like hell his thumb snapped the picture.