As I looked out to the rest of the room I spotted the familiar princess curls. She was my age, maybe a couple of centimetres smaller, and a whole lot thinner – less muscular. With the deep tan and her curly grey hair, she was almost exactly what I thought a stereotypical California girl would look like, except her eyes ruined the image – the stereotype not her features. They were a starling grey, like storm clouds; pretty, but intimidating, too, as if she were analysing the best way to take me down in a fight.
She glanced at the Minotaur horn still in my hands from my walk down memory lane, then back at me. I imagined she was going to say, you killed a Minotaur, or Wow. You're so awesome! Or something like that.
Instead she said, "You still drool when you sleep, Seaweed Brain."
I pulled her into a hug, at least she remembered the important things. "And you're still a genius, Wise Girl." I kissed her grey hair and held her frail hand in my own wrinkled skin, just so that she knew I was there, with her, as I promised – a promise she'd forgotten but I never had.
"Mr and Mrs Jackson," a nurse popped his head into our room, "Your great grandchildren are here to see you."
I turned to Annabeth smiling, despite her initial turmoil, the mortal nursing home hadn't been such a bad idea after all, especially now that Zeus had protected it like the camp we met at. Camp? Where did that come from? I guess my memory isn't as good as I thought it was either, I'll have to ask Annabeth, maybe she'll remember.