The unicorn pajamas and I had become inseparable by the third day. I wore them through breakfast while Lucas briefed me on my schedule, his ears maintaining a steady shade of pink that I pretended not to notice. I wore them while exploring more of the penthouse and opening doors to rooms I did not need. By late afternoon, I was starting to think the unicorn pajamas were a permanent part of my identity.
But even unicorn pajamas cannot prevent hunger forever. Around six o'clock, my stomach growled with such aggressive determination that Lucas, standing in his usual spot by the window, definitely heard it. His left ear twitched.
"Would you like me to arrange for dinner, Ms. Chen?" His voice was perfectly neutral.
"Vivian," I corrected.
A pause. "Vivian. What would you like?"
"I do not know. What are my options?"
He considered the question like it was a business proposal. "The kitchen is fully stocked. I can prepare something simple, or I can contact your private chef. She is on retainer and can be here within the hour."
I stared at him. "I have a private chef on retainer who just waits for me to be hungry."
"She is compensated very well for her availability."
"Of course she is."
I thought about what the old Vivian would have done. She probably would have called the private chef and ordered something elegant and sophisticated. She would have eaten alone at her enormous dining table and felt nothing.
I did not want to be that woman anymore.
"I want room service," I said.
Lucas blinked. "Ms. Chen, you are in your own home. Room service is not typically how one dines in one's own home."
"I do not care. I want to order food and have it delivered like a normal person. I want to look at a menu and pick something myself."
He was quiet for a moment, then disappeared into the kitchen. When he returned, he was carrying a leather-bound folder filled with restaurant menus organized by cuisine, price point, and delivery time.
"There is a Japanese steakhouse on page seventeen," he said. "I can recommend the wagyu ribeye if you are interested in red meat."
I flipped to page seventeen. A photograph of a steak so beautiful it made my chest ache. Perfectly seared on the outside, slightly pink in the center, resting on a wooden board with rosemary and garlic and butter melting slowly on top.
"I want this," I said.
Lucas leaned over to look. His sleeve brushed my arm. "That is a wagyu ribeye, Ms. Chen. It is quite expensive, though I recognize that is not a concern. What may be a concern is that you have been a vegetarian since 2015."
I stared at him. "I am a vegetarian."
"Yes."
"Since 2015."
"Yes."
"And you know this because you enforce my dietary preferences."
His ears went from pink to crimson. "I ensure that your needs are met. All of your needs."
I looked back at the photo. The beautiful, glorious, impossible steak that my former self would have rejected on principle. I was allowed to be different now. I was allowed to want things the old Vivian did not want.
"Order it," I said.
"Ms. Chen."
"Order the steak, Lucas. Medium rare."
He looked at me for a long moment, his ears the brightest red I had ever seen. Then he pulled out his phone and began typing with quiet resignation.
"The restaurant will deliver within forty-five minutes. I took the liberty of ordering the complementary bread and salad, and their signature butter."
I smiled and settled deeper into the couch, pulling my unicorn-clad knees to my chest.
When the food arrived, Lucas unpacked it with surgical precision. The wooden box with the steak went in the center. The bread on a small linen-lined plate to the left. The salad in a chilled bowl to the right. The butter shaped like a rose on a ceramic dish. He stepped back to his usual spot by the window and turned his back to me. His ears were still pink.
"You do not have to watch," I said, picking up my knife and fork.
"I am not watching. I am facing the other way."
"That is not the same thing."
He said nothing, but his ears twitched.
The first bite was everything. Rich and buttery and savory. The crust was perfectly seared, the inside tender and pink. I made a small sound before I could stop myself. Something between a sigh and a moan.
"The old Vivian," I said between bites, "was missing out."
His shoulders shifted almost imperceptibly. "The old Vivian once fired a chef for suggesting she try beef tartare."
I paused with my fork halfway to my mouth. "She fired someone for suggesting raw beef."
"Yes."
"That seems excessive, even for someone who wore only black and gray."
"The old Vivian was particular about her principles. She believed that once a decision was made, it should not be questioned."
I took another bite of steak. The woman I used to be had been so certain about everything. So rigid in her principles and her routines. And where had it gotten her? Alone in a penthouse full of expensive things she never used, crying so hard she forgot her entire life.
"Good thing I do not remember her," I said.
Lucas made a sound that might have been a laugh if he were the kind of person who laughed. It was close enough that I felt it in my chest.
I finished the steak and the bread and most of the butter, leaving the salad largely untouched because salad was not steak. When I pushed my plate away, full and warm and deeply satisfied, I felt more like myself than I had since waking up.
"That was the best thing I have eaten since I forgot my entire life," I announced.
Lucas turned from the window. His ears had softened from emergency red to a gentle pink. "I am glad you enjoyed it, Ms. Chen."
"Vivian."
A pause. "Vivian."
He cleared the plates with his usual efficient precision. I watched him move through my penthouse like he belonged there, which he did, more than I did most days. He had been taking care of me for six years, and I had never once thanked him properly.
"Lucas," I said. He paused in the kitchen doorway, plates balanced in his hands, his ears already darkening. "Thank you. For the steak. For the coffee every morning. For adjusting the thermostat and standing in corners waiting for me to need something. For everything."
His ears went from pink to crimson to burgundy. He nodded once, sharp and precise. "You are welcome, Ms. Chen."
"Vivian."
A pause. I watched him wrestle with himself, watched his ears cycle through shades of red.
"You are welcome, Vivian."
He disappeared into the kitchen. I heard the soft clink of plates and the quiet rush of water. I sat alone in the dining room, full of steak I was not supposed to eat, wearing unicorn pajamas my former self had buried in the back of a closet, and smiled.
Maybe forgetting everything was not a tragedy. Maybe it was an opportunity to become someone who actually enjoyed being alive. Someone who ate steak and thanked people and noticed when her assistant's ears turned red.
I liked that person. I wanted to keep her.