Page 69 of Faking It Right
I found my voice. “Look, I think there’s been a misunderstanding?—”
“About our past lives?” She smiled as she patted her purse. “Don’t worry, I brought my journal. I’ve been documenting our encounters since the Paleolithic era. Well, this version of me has. We’ve been star-crossed lovers since humans figured out how to walk upright.”
She reached into her bag and pulled out a leather-bound notebook that looked suspiciously new for something supposedly brimming with centuries of information.
“That’s not—” I attempted to interject, but she was already flipping through pages.
“Ah, here we are,” she declared, pointing to a page with the enthusiasm of a tour guide unveiling a haunted historical landmark. “In 1543, you were a blacksmith, and I was a baker’s daughter. We had six children before a runaway horse tragically trampled you to death.” She looked up at me with absolute seriousness. “You always die in such dramatic ways.”
I stood frozen as Maylin thumbed through her journal of our supposed past lives together. The sickening realization dawned on me that she hadn’t just come with expectations of being my new girlfriend. She’d brought along an entire alternate history where our souls were apparently cosmic frequent flyers.
Before I could muster a coherent response, Mom swooped in from the kitchen with her arms spread wide.
“Maylin! So wonderful to meet you!” She enveloped the girl in a hug like they were long-lost friends.
The woman beamed, tucking her journal back into her purse. “Thank you for inviting me. In our Dark Ages lifetime, you disapproved of our union. I’m glad to see you’re more supportive in this incarnation.”
Mom’s eyes widened in shock, but she recovered with the grace of a seasoned politician. She linked arms with Maylin. “Oh, youmusttell me more about that over dinner. Everything’s almost ready.”
“Mom,” I hissed, trying to capture her attention, but she was already ushering Maylin toward the kitchen. As I heard Maylin explaining “karmic entanglement patterns” to my bewildered mother, I realized my escape options were vanishing faster than my ability to process what the hell was happening.
Watching them walk away felt like volunteering to step into an emotional wood chipper. This woman didn’t just come with baggage; she had an entire multiverse luggage carousel, and my name was pre-tagged on every suitcase. And dinner hadn’t even started yet.Fuck.
By the time I unglued my feet from the floor and followed them into the kitchen, everyone was already seated around the dining table. Dad was at the head, serving steaming plates of roasted chicken and mashed potatoes. Sawyer and Gia sat on one side, their faces bright with barely contained amusement. Harley had claimed a spot on the opposite side, leaving two empty chairs for me and Maylin.
Mom gestured to the empty chair next to Harley. “Biscuit, come sit down before the food gets cold.”
I approached the table with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man marching to meet his executioner, noting with dismay that they’d placed my seat between Harley and Maylin.
As I settled in, Harley’s hand found my thigh under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. The gesture would have beencomforting if not for the fact that his shoulders were already shaking with suppressed amusement.
Mom gestured toward a basket of rolls and butter. “Please, help yourselves.”
Maylin reached for one, her movements precise and methodical as she applied butter in even strokes. She turned to me with a serene smile. “Do you still remember how to make your famous fermented yak butter?”
I choked on air. “I’m sorry. Did you just ask about myfermentedyak butter recipe?”
Sawyer snorted into her water glass while Gia stifled her mirth behind her napkin. Harley was now visibly shaking as he fought to maintain his composure.
Maylin nodded enthusiastically, unfazed by the reactions to her question. “In the 1300s, we were Mongolian pastoral nomads in the steppelands raising yaks during Genghis Khan’s reign. You wereterribleat milking them, but I loved you anyway. You used to compose yak-herding ballads that made even the Great Khan weep.” She sighed wistfully. “I still dream about your fabulous felt hat collection.”
She took a delicate bite of her roll, then declared with absolute seriousness, “Regular butter just isn’t the same.”
I glanced around the table for a lifeline, but everyone was too busy relishing my discomfort to intervene. Dad focused on serving the roasted chicken onto everyone’s plates. Mom beamed as if it were the most delightful dinner conversation she’d ever heard. Harley, Sawyer, and Gia practically vibrated from the effort of not cracking up.
Mom gestured around the table while scooping mashed potatoes onto her plate. “Sorry, I should have introduced everyone. This is my husband, Danson. Sawyer is my daughter, and Gia is her lovely girlfriend. And this is Harley, Ryker’s…” Mom trailed off, as if debating whether to call him my boyfriend or if it would insult him by referring to him as my roommate.
“Othersoul mate,” Maylin finished with a distinct edge in her voice, cutting into her chicken with more force than necessary. “You’ve been a troublemaker in my relationship with Ryker across countless lifetimes.”
Harley shrugged it off, helping himself to a mountain of mashed potatoes. “Well, it’s nice to know I’m consistent. I’d love to hear the juicy details since my memory seems a bit spotty.”
“Yes, having access to all our memories is a unique gift most people can’t fathom,” she replied with a hint of arrogance, taking a small, precise bite of chicken. “You’ve mostly been a woman, though. Not that being a man has ever stopped you from stealing Ryker from me time and time again.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, sensing a migraine brewing. It was not how I’d expected the evening to go. Not even close. I jabbed at my chicken, although I had lost my appetite.
“Do you have any recollections of our past lives?” Sawyer interjected, gesturing between my parents and her girlfriend with her fork before taking another bite of mashed potatoes.
Maylin’s expression brightened. “Yes, and it’s so lovely to see you again. We were in the same coven during the witch hunts. We were fortunate enough to be burned on the same pyre.”
