161
" Would they have got back together if she hadn’t lost her memory? Yes. No. Probably not. She remembered that hot summer’s afternoon a few months after Francesca was born. Nick had stopped by the house to return a schoolbag Tom had left in his car. The children were out back, in the pool, and Alice, Dominick, and Nick were on the front lawn, reminiscing about their own childhood summers playing with water sprinklers on front lawns, before the days of water restrictions. Alice and Dominick were standing together, and Nick was standing a little way apart. The conversation had led to Alice and Nick telling Dominick about how they’d painted the front veranda on a sweltering hot day. It had been a disaster. The paint had dried too quickly; it had all cracked and peeled. “You were in such a bad mood that day,” Nick said to Alice. “Stomping around. Blaming me.” He imitated her stomping. Alice gave him a shove. “You were in a bad mood, too.” “I poured a bucket of water over you to calm you down.” “And then I threw the tin of paint at you and you went crazy. You were running after me. You looked like Frankenstein.” They laughed at the memory. They couldn’t stop laughing. Each time their eyes met they laughed harder. Dominick smiled uneasily. “Guess you had to be there. "
― Liane Moriarty , What Alice Forgot
164
" He lowered his head, and she went to give him a friendly, perfunctory kiss (she hadn’t cleaned her teeth; she was impatient for her coffee) but the kiss turned unexpectedly lovely and she felt that ticklish, teary feeling behind her eyes as a lifetime of kisses filled her head: from the very first brand-new-boyfriend kiss, to “You may kiss the bride,” to the unshaven, shell-shocked, red-eyed kiss after Madison was born, to that aching, beautiful kiss after she broke up with Dominick and told Nick (standing in the car park of McDonald’s, the kids arguing in the backseat of the car), “Will you please come back home now? "
― Liane Moriarty , What Alice Forgot