The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

New York City. March 10, 2014. The girl wakes up, but she’s not in her bed. She wants the boy beside her to stay asleep—he’ll forget everything once he wakes up. It’s not his fault, though; it’s never anyone’s fault. The boy’s name is Toby. Last night, the girl told Toby her name was Jess. On other nights, she’s been Claire, Zoe, and Michelle. After a gig last month, Toby told her he was in love with a woman named Jess, though he hadn’t met her yet—and so now, the girl calls herself Jess. 

The girl looks at Toby’s dark curls, thick lashes, and fair skin and feels a familiar sadness. Once, as she walked along the Seine, the darkness told the girl that she must have a “type,” since everyone she likes has dark hair, sharp eyes, and chiseled facial features. This is only half-right, though: the darkness only looks like this because she’s made him so. Before her, he was “shadow and smoke.”

Toby will wake soon, and the girl will no longer be Jess. Not wanting to see his confused, empty expression, she leaves the bedroom. She pauses before the hallway mirror and sees her seven freckles. She breathes fog onto the mirror and starts to write her name with her finger, but the letters dissolve before she can finish, which always happens. She can’t say her name, Addie LaRue, either.

Toby is a musician, and his apartment is full of instruments and scraps of paper containing notes and lyrics. It’s cold in New York, and Addie grabs a blanket from the couch and wraps it around her body. Toby’s cat has taken over the couch, so Addie sits before the piano instead and begins to play as quietly as possible. She hears Toby wake up and dreads what will happen next. She should’ve left when she had the chance. 

Finally, Addie stops and looks at Toby. “Good morning,” she says cheerfully, her country-French accent now barely perceptible. “Good morning,” Toby says, confused—he doesn’t remember her. “Jess,” Addie offers. Toby apologizes; he’s not normally like this, he explains. Addie starts to play a simple melody on the piano. He asks what she’s playing—it sounds kind of familiar. Addie tells Toby he played it for her last night. Toby doesn’t remember and assumes he must have been really drunk. He sits on the sofa and grabs a pad and paper to write down the notes. Addie continues to play; Toby doesn’t know it, but they’ve spent weeks writing this song together. 

Addie finishes playing and says she should go. Toby is suddenly alert. He’d like to get to know her, he says. Addie hates this part, though she’s always hoping that this will be the time one of them remembers her. “I remember,” the darkness whispers in her ear. Before Addie can leave, Toby tells her he has a gig tonight and would like her to come. Addie smiles, promising she’ll be there. But as Addie closes the front door behind her, she knows Toby has already forgotten her.