Page 40 of What If It's You?

“Lo, I hope you don’t have plans for today, because I’m going to have to introduce you to a new and slightly horrifying genre of porn,” Ollie said seriously, flipping the last cake onto the stack and joining me at the retro chrome-and-formica bistro set we’d tucked into the corner of our kitchen.

“I never know when you’re serious about porn genres,” I said as I stabbed a pancake off the top. Did Drew joke about porn? Did we watch porn together? It was strange to realize how many dynamics of your couple life time and exposure could erode into the shape of “normal.”

“Then I’ve got youexactlywhere I want you,” Ollie said, grinning goofily, his curly hair crumpled in some places and electrocution-wild in others. He always did get the best bedhead, especially after nights when we’d had a few too many. The same anaconda grip of tenderness I’d felt last night wrapped around my chest again, and my throat thickened with threatened tears.

I cleared it noisily and forced myself to focus on pouring syrup instead of allowing myself to give in to the urge to run my hands through Ollie’s unruly mop. Dizzy spells and random gaps in my memory were probably making him worry enough, I didn’t need to add acting like a college kid on Molly into the mix. Not that I’d ever taken Molly, but my friend Cara had always gotten verytactilewhen she did.

“Whatisthe plan for today?” I asked as I popped a bite of berry-studded deliciousness into my mouth, practically moaning as the flavor burst across my tongue. The complete terror and dislocation of popping in and out of two versions of myself—or perhaps having really involved dissociative episodes, I was really glidingrightpast that possibility—wasn’t just making me appreciate the physical pleasures of Ollie. Everything in this life felt a little more…valuable than it had a week ago. “Oooh, what if we went apple picking? They had cider donuts at work last week and they were like…a postcard of Guernica, you know? Like, you knew what they weregesturingat, but it just made you kinda sad knowing how much more majestic the real thing would be?”

Ollie’s eyes dropped to his plate.

“Or we could go to the Sturbridge Flea? It’s definitely a hike, but we could get barbecue at that place down the road, make a day of it…”

“I mean…it’s not that I don’t want to, Lo, you know how much I love a hayride, but I kinda…have plans?”

“Oh.” I blinked. Tried not to let the hurt corkscrewing through my center show on my face. “With who?”

“Ryan.” Ollie shrugged, not meeting my eyes. “I would have mentioned it but I figured you’d be off to the café to work. I know how important the new VP role is. At least until you give it all up to live your writing dreams.” He gave me a wan smile.

“Right. Of course.” I tried to return it. “I definitely have plenty I ought to be doing.”

“If you want me to reschedule, I can,” he said, nibbling his bottom lip, entire body tight with discomfort. “You know I love a good farm store.”

“No, don’t do that. I’m drowning in work, having you out of the apartment will help me focus. And save me the price of a latte. On that note…” I rose to pour myself another coffee, watching Ollie in my peripheral vision. “What are you two even doing? Playing video games?”

Ryan was a friend of Ollie’s from college, dryly funny, and very interested in the tech world, which we’d connected over in the past, though more from the dev side. Mostly they got together on their own, often to check out whatever indie game Ryan had become obsessed with that week.

Ollie tensed again, gaze skidding away as he scooped up our plates. Which seemed…odd…

“Something like that.”

Was he lying to me about seeing Ryan? The thought wisped through me like smoke, casting a subtle haze over the conversation.

“Well, try not to get too day drunk. I wasn’t kidding about checking out that new bar Ben is working at.”

“Don’t worry, I think Annie has Ryan doing another health kick with her. The strongest thing he’s allowed to drink right now is kombucha.” He laughed too loudly, then turned to the sink, busying himself with composting the pancake remnants and loading thedishwasher, the clearestThis conversation is oversignal he was likely to give.

“On that note, I should hop in the shower,” I said, curiosity nipping at the edges of my brain. Were he and Ryan starting a band? Or was he doing it with someone else, someone he knew I wasn’t a fan of, and he didn’t want to tell me until things were firmer?

But that didn’t make sense, he wasalwaysexcited to talk about a new band, the joy of it one of the few things that could fully pry open his heavy-lidded eyes. He’d watch me for the slightest reactions as he played each individual part he’d tracked on his computer, or sang through the chorus he couldn’t get out of his head, acoustic guitar in hand. I’d never had to fake it, though—he wasgood. Good in a way that made his commitment to his music, to each new band becomingthe one that finally breaks through,feel like the only logical option. I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t been relieved when he left the job at the liquor store to teach—the money was much better, which didn’t particularly matter to me but clearly mattered to him, and functionally ended one point of useless friction that kept scraping up our relationship. On one level, I thought it was ridiculous—if I wanted us to eat at some absurdly chichi restaurant, there was no reason Ollie should feel obligated to fund that whim—but on another, I respected it. Dad had always drilled the importance of self-reliance into me, too. So had Mom, though not quite so intentionally.

The giant, pristine condo I shared with Drew in that life flashed into my head, accompanied by an uncomfortable, crawling shame. Clearly not all versions of me had held on to the importance of that lesson. Had Mom felt the way I’d felt at dinner last night? Cared for, provided for, but disappointingly undervalued? The thought radiated ache through my chest, the discomfort of it immediately physical. I’d spent a lifetime avoiding sympathy for her, and for good reason. Who cared if she felt some kind of way, it didn’t excuse what she’ddone. If you’re unfulfilled get a hobby, or a job,not a colleague of Dad’s that can fuck away your boredom. Don’t blow up your—and my—life.

I soaped up a second time, trying to scrub away the residue of ugliness that thoughts of my mom always brought on, and I was still lingering under the hot water when Ollie tugged open the bathroom door, the hinges whining in protest, to call out:

“Okay, I’m gonna head. See you this afternoon! Love you!”

“Love you too,” I’d only just managed before I heard his steps retreating, the distant slam of the front door.

Doing something with his friend does not mean he’s pulling away from you. He didn’t know I knew about the ring, after all. That I’d deliberately ensured we wouldn’t be celebrating our engagement this weekend. I was probably just projecting because of my entire consciousnessliterally pulling away from my bodyat random intervals.

Or maybe I’d been so worried about mywhat ifsthat I’d finally broken this. Brokenus.

The thought brought on a wave of nausea, and I quickly toweled off and grabbed my laptop out of my tote. Much as I wished Ollie would stay, wanted to wrap myself up in a day of pureus,him leaving me alone for a few hours was a gift. I needed time to dig into what was happening to me—I’d let myself hope that last night’s switch was final, but I still wasn’t sure, and even if it was, how could I go through life never really understanding it? As a woman who needed certainty so desperately that I’d literally split myself acrossworldsto find it, that didn’t exactly sit right. I needed to get a handle on my pinballing life. Lives? God, what did one evensearchin a case like this?

Opening my browser, I tentatively typed inquantum physics all possible worlds exist?

Articles purporting to explain the “Many-Worlds Interpretation of quantum mechanics” streamed down the page, in publications ranging fromCosmotoTheJournal of Quantum Mechanical Research.

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