Page 77 of What If It's You?

I couldn’t choose how long forever might be, but while I was here, I knew exactly how I wanted to spend it.

I kept trying to delay the inevitable, urging Ollie to put on one more episode of the TV show we were bingeing, to stay up with me a little longer reading, to chat with me after I reluctantly flipped off my bedside lamp.

But eventually his breaths grew slower and more regular, and his hand slackened in mine, and it was just me in the dark room, sensing him beside me but unable to see more than the barest hint of his silhouette. And try as I might—the Pixel powers that be could pull the plug on the program at any moment, after all, how could I waste even a second on sleep when that was true?—eventually, I couldn’t fight it anymore, and I drifted off beside him.

When I woke up, Ollie was already emerging from the shower, towel hanging off his sharp hips. He grinned at me as he pulled open his underwear drawer.

“I think I like this new and improved Laurel. Lazy looks good on you.”

“Oh yeah? Wanna play hooky with me again? I could really lean into it today. Fake a doctor’s note to send my manager, call in witha really feeble-sounding voice and then pretend I’m about to puke so I can end the call sooner…”

“I wish. Too many lessons this afternoon to cancel. And Ryan and I are grabbing coffee with a possible investor this morning.” He tried to say it casually, but I could see the prospect of it electrifying him, giving his usually languid movements an uncharacteristic bounciness. Every cell in me wanted to wrap around him until he was safe inside, a permanent part of me, but instead of telling him that, I said:

“That’s awesome. Call me when it’s done, yeah? I want to hear every detail.”

“Okay. Yeah.” His smile widened infinitesimally. That.Thatwould be the last memory I had of him. If I had to cease to exist, at least I’d dissolve into the ether holding on to that.

The morning whizzed by, routines speeding up the already too-fast progress of time, and before I knew it, I was leaning in to peck Ollie on the lips before heading out for the office—after all, if I didn’t go, he’d worry, and I couldn’t risk anything ruining this for him, least of all me.

He caught the nape of my neck and turned it into a deeper kiss, his tongue deftly parting my lips, the pressure and movement of his mouth on mine somehow both reassuringly familiar and tantalizingly new. It made me wonderwhy more people didn’t turn the itch at the base of their spine into a chance to find a new version of each other, to fall in love with the person they’d already chosen over and over again, instead of simply assuming it meant it was time to move on.

“Even if things have been a little…tense lately, I love you. You know that, right?” He tilted his forehead against mine. “I’m so incredibly lucky to have you, Lo.”

“I love you too,” I choked out. “I can’t wait to see what you do next.” And this.Thiswould be my last memory of him, the love pouring off of both of us so palpable I could almost see it filling the space between our bodies, glowing softly, a color that didn’t have a name.

And then I was tripping down the stairs, muscle memory doing what my brain and heart were begging me not to: leaving him behind.

I decided to walk to the office, slowly, really taking in the world around me, the one Ollie and I had made our home. The sun was bright and the sky the vivid blue you only seemed to get on late fall days, the crispness in the air bringing the rest of the world into sharper focus. Trees exploded with color, the morning light catching the curling edges of individual leaves and turning them to stained glass in every shade of red and gold. The breeze over my face was redolent of…well, mostly bus exhaust. I was still in the middle of Somerville, after all. But occasionally, a whisper of that crumbling, dusty fall scent would sneak in, and the city would fade into the background.

It was so ordinary, and beautiful in a way that squeezed the air out of my lungs.

Before long, I was swiping my way into the Pixel offices, making small talk with colleagues as we waited for our coffees to brew, the riotous funhouse geometry of the offices visible in a way it hadn’t been in years, making it hard to focus on the conversations.

Any minute now. My stomach clenched and my hands balled to fists, a useless attempt to weather the storm that was already black on my horizon, gusting toward me, ready to drag me up into its center and spin me away to who knows where.

But by the time I finished my first coffee, it still hadn’t. I was still here.

I bluffed my way through my morning stand-up, operating on autopilot, promising I’d “offline” about anything that required a more complicated answer than I could build from my various bricks of marketing jargon. On another day, I’d have been equally amused and appalled at how little difference it seemed to make—all these years I’d been giving a hundred and ten percent when apparently a grab bag of key phrases and no more than a quarter of my brain did the trick just as effectively.

And by the end of the meeting I was, improbably,stillhere. Thetiny sprout of hope that I thought had withered from lack of oxygen and sunlight tentatively unfurled a leaf. Maybe I’d just lucked out? Won the game of quantum roulette?

By eleven I still hadn’t snuffed out of existence, and my direct reports had all separately asked whether I wasreallyfeeling better, darting wary glances at me and stepping away in case my glassy-eyed daze was catching. Unable to resist the temptation anymore, I opened a chat to Drew.

Laurel:

So? Did you fix it?

Drew:

meant to update you, sry

come to the lightning offices if you have a sec

It took alotof effort not to flat-out sprint.

The now familiar room was mostly empty, the click of my heeled boots on the concrete floors startling in the near-silent space. A woman I didn’t recognize unhuddled from her workstation just long enough to elevator-eye me, then turned back to her work, the reflection of the lines of code unfurling rapidly on her screen turning her glasses opaque.

I stopped at Drew’s shoulder, hesitant to break his focus. After about thirty seconds of watching him squint at the screen, totally oblivious to my presence, I coughed. Then coughed louder. Then tapped his shoulder.

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