Page 48 of What If It's You?

Music fans attending the Drink Moxie! show Friday night at the Middle East were surprised and delighted when an unannounced (and internationally renowned) act unexpectedly took the stage. Synesthesia got its start in Boston in the early post-pandemic period, and quickly took off, garnering both critical and popular acclaim…

I skimmed the rest of the article—some background on the band, the astronomical success of its early singles, quotes from various audience members. It was eerie seeing names I recognized gushing about a show I’d been at…but hadn’t. I had just clicked the link to Synesthesia’s website, idly curious about the band that I’d missed by a hair’s breadth—and an entireuniverse—when Drew emerged from the bathroom, toweling his hair aggressively.

“Hey. So…sorry.” His mouth twisted ruefully as he glanced up at me. “I was still really groggy and I overreacted. It makes sense that you’d be bummed about me scheduling a cross-country trip without even telling you.”

“It’s okay,” I said automatically. I knew logically that Iwouldbeupset by this if I were close to five years into a relationship with Drew, but that didn’t actually manufacture the emotional response.

“No, it’s not, and I know that,” he said, expression grave. “I can’t not take the trip, obviously, but I could at least give you a heads-up. Or, you know, come in a little less hot. It probably doesn’t help that I hate that I have to go at all.”

“Hate it why?”

“Because I should be able to figure this out.” He collapsed onto the bed, hunching over his knees, face taut with frustration. “It’s my program, it’s possibly my only shot at really making a name for myself at Pixel. If it doesn’t work out…” He shook his head, exhaling heavily. “I just feel…stupid, you know?”

“Hey. What? You’re a lot of things, Drew, but stupid definitely isn’t one of them. Hell, you’re the only certified genius I know.”

“You always say that. Which is sweet, but right now…I’m not so sure it’s true.”

“Good thing I am, then.”

His face softened and he flashed me a look of pure gratitude. I swallowed hard. For just a moment I could see some fundamental part of what Drew and I were to each other in this life, but before I could memorize the details, Drew was speaking again, and it receded back into the shadows.

“Let’s hope so. Anyway…thanks for understanding about the trip. I know you hate how much I’ve been working lately, but this project…well, I promise I’ll make it up to you.”Hatehis working hard? Judging by the tail-between-his-legs vibes after his shower, I guessed that this was a recurring fight for us, one that didn’t usually resolve this way. I didn’t know how to feel about that. I’d always thought career was important…but was that just because in my life with Ollie, my career was the one that demanded more concessions? Ones that he almost never protested? The thought gave me a skittery, anxious feeling.Was I a crappy girlfriend?

Or was I just doing what Drew had done to me: conflatingtaking careof someone with really caring about them?

The thought made my stomach drop. At least for me, in this life, it seemed like the setup had left me adrift, all the best intentions on both sides not nearly enough to combat the feeling of dependency that I could already tell, in just a few days here, was poisoning our dynamic…or at least my ability to function within it. WhywasI spinning my wheels with all the book ideas? I had to believe it’s what I’d wanted. And yet here we were, playing out some tired melodrama between the hardworking provider man and the unfulfilled woman at home, all the gilding in the world not enough to disguise the fundamental architecture of her caged life.

Was that how Mom had felt?

The thought brought on a wave of nausea, a gut-level need to reject the identification with her goosebumping my skin. This was nothing like that. Sure, I wasn’t succeeding yet, but even in this alternate universe I’d left the workforce to build the career I wanted, not just to stay home and occasionally pitch in at the PTA bake sale. And it’s not like she hadn’t had options, time to pursue whateverherdreams were—I was in middle school when she left, I hardly needed her to walk me to the bus stop every morning. She could have done something inspirational—she was so smart—but instead she’d chosen selfishness, something as banal as sex over my dad. Overme.

And yet…a tiny part of me was starting to understandwhyshe might have done it. How vestigial she might have felt in a life that had once sparkled with promise…

Drew kept moving around gingerly, eye-checking me when he pulled a duffel out of the closet, again each time he put something inside. Feeling claustrophobic, I hopped out of bed and snagged a robe from the back of the bathroom door.

“I’ll just go make us coffee,” I said.

“Oh, uh…thanks.”

Had Dad made her feel like a burden when his work demanded more and more and more? Had she spent entire evenings ten feet from the man she’d married and still more alone than she’d ever been in the world?

Fuck,get out of my head, Mom. Even now, almost twenty years later,she was a noxious gas that kept wisping beneath all the doors in my mind I tried—clearly futilely—to close against her.

While I waited for the coffee to brew I clicked open my emails, desperate for distraction from my unwelcome thoughts, then gasped when I saw the name in my inbox:Dana Howell.

She’d written back. That had to be good, right? But her message gave very little away.

Laurel—

What you’re describing shades so far towards impossibility that the implausible moniker is more or less a technicality. However, your knowledge of my love of The Rock is, if not equally implausible, then at least inexplicable to me. I’ll admit I’m curious.

I should tell you that even if what you’re saying is true, it’s highly unlikely I’ll be able to help you in any meaningful way. I would also like to note that I’m a very busy person and if this is some sort of prank I’d be extremely annoyed.

With that said, if you’re able to meet this morning, I’m available. Please contact me at the number below via text if that’s the case.

Best,

Dana Howell

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