Chapter 48
Mallory
Wednesday Evening
Six Days After the Outing
Mallory tugs a red starfish out of Harley’s mouth. What began as her making sure he wouldn’t choke on a piece of plastic turned
into a game, but only for him.
“Screw it.” She releases the starfish, and the gloating Harley escapes into the sandbox she had delivered that morning. The
gastropub’s here—different name, same kitschy offerings like bacon-wrapped figs and oysters with freeze-dried watermelon.
There’s also the dock renting paddleboards and kayaks and a lawn full of Adirondacks. A server who earns the “fuck” vote in
any game of FMK carried three white chairs to the sandbox thanks to Mallory’s smile. (Actually, her breasts.)
She loops Harley’s leash around her ankle and lets the deep chair swaddle her as she holds up her phone and reads over her
statement to the police. She drafted it here, wearing the cat-eyed reading glasses she’s come to despise slightly less, with
a view of the river and a glass of sparkling wine—or two.
Details on waking up with no memory of the night of the outing, insinuating too much to drink followed by panicking—a shock-induced spiral that led to a string of behaviors she can’t fully recall let alone explain.
She didn’t say the truth: that she consciously used her father to subvert the investigation, a part that swells a lump in her throat.
Across the lawn, Aubrey and Ilena arrive together. Like Mallory, they’re wearing clothes similar to what they wore to the
outing in their world. They settle into the Adirondack chairs, and Harley wheels around in a circle, trying to decide whose
toes to lick first. He gives up and chooses his balls.
Mallory rests her reading glasses on the arm of the chair. “I sure hope we’re doing this in our world.”
“We promised,” Ilena says. She’s calm, relaxed even. She did her best to dress the same despite her round stomach. Long-sleeved
white shirt and a stretchy navy skort. She even trimmed her hair. She looks very much like the Ilena of home. “We promised
Aubrey we’d gather for luck the night before AIM goes public. So, yes, we’re there.”
Because Mallory and Ilena owe Aubrey. They will forever owe Aubrey.
Aubrey opens the tote bag and pours two glasses of pink liquid from an insulated water bottle. “No doubt about it.”
“That’s definitive,” Ilena says.
“I’m trying it out,” Aubrey says. “Plus, I’m still waving that dead fiancé card at home. No one says no to that.”
Ilena looks at her. “And you’re not here?”
Aubrey shakes her head.
“Seems I have some catching up to do,” Ilena says.
Aubrey smiles slightly as she hands Mallory a bottle of sparkling wine.
Ilena lifts her glass, and Aubrey’s arm darts out. “It’s not a virgin. I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”
“It’s fine. The doctor even said so. Just a little. Special occasion and all.”
“Let’s hope so,” Mallory says, trailing a finger along the seam of the cheap grape jumpsuit she hopes to never see again.
“Special enough that all this disappears.” As she says it, Ilena touches her stomach, and Mallory wishes she could take it
back. “Oh, Ilena, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Ilena blinks back tears, and Mallory’s heart sinks. “I mean, it’s not fine. Of course it’s not for a thousand
reasons I know and ones that I can’t yet fathom.” Ilena presses her ballet flats into the grass. “But this baby isn’t mine.
She belongs to this Ilena and this Felix. It’s not my place to stay here.”
Aubrey bends to pet Harley. “What makes you so sure?”
“Because I have my own place.”
Mallory knows that Ilena can say this with such confidence because her place has been with Jonah since the day they met.
Mallory never thought she needed what Ilena and Jonah had. She had Ilena, and then, Aubrey. More was a distraction. Grayson
proves it.
He hurt her, the her who was letting herself feel something for him, something she hadn’t let herself feel for anyone. She’s
not sure if that makes it more or less likely that she could have killed him. But she’s choosing to believe the crackers were
an accident. And so she’s not confessing to murder, but she is taking control, feeling more like herself, and giving this
Mallory the best shot she can. She put the top criminal lawyer in the city on retainer that afternoon.
“When were we supposed to get here?” Mallory asks.
Aubrey checks the time. “In about ten minutes.”
“Perfect.” Mallory holds up her phone. “So there’s this.
I drafted a statement for the police, telling them everything except I left you two out of it.
” She’s cushioning anyone who might get hurt, for the first time in her life following advice from her dad.
“Let that register just in case the versions of you who are left behind retain any memory of all this.”
“But, Mallory . . .” Ilena’s face pales. “You could go to jail if—”
“If I actually did it? Maybe. And believe me, that’s not high on my bucket list. But what you said about lying without consequences—”
Harley pops up from the ground and launches himself into her lap. The furball understands English, fluently. “Honestly, it’s
mostly bullshit. I’m a really good liar. But just in case, the only consequences I actually care about are the ones that hurt
the people I love.”
Which includes the father she will never get to know here.
“That has never been in doubt,” Ilena says.
Aubrey’s eyes begin to well.
“None of that.” Mallory swats the air in front of Aubrey. “I hired this Mallory a lawyer so expensive I’m positive she can
bribe her way to an acquittal.”
At that, Aubrey takes a long swig of her drink.
“I’m kidding, of course,” Mallory says, hoping she isn’t, wondering if she could have paid extra for that. She looks past
her friends and out on their uninterrupted view of the river. The path that runs alongside is transitioning from moms and
the occasional dad behind a stroller to that irritating class of exercise fanatic who runs back and forth to the office. A
dog on a leash barks, and Harley rams his foot into Mallory’s crotch. “Oh shit. The dog.”
“Noreen.” Ilena unlocks her phone. “I’ll text her to come just in case. Tie the dog to the chair.”
“No,” Aubrey says, quietly. “I’ll take care of him. Because I think, because I might . . .” She inhales, inflating her chest,
stretching her neck, growing taller. “I’ll take care of Harley because I’m staying.”
Lightning snaps through Mallory’s body.
“Staying?” Ilena’s brow crinkles. “What does that even mean? You won’t return with us?”
Tears overflow Aubrey’s eyes, and she wipes at them with the back of her hand. “That burns.” She blinks. “The lactic acid.”
Immediately, Mallory and Ilena reach for their purses.
“I have a tissue,” Mallory says.
“Water bottle, I’m sure I have one,” Ilena says. “Just blot some liquid on the tissue and—”
“You two . . .” Aubrey smiles. “At least we really are making this as close to our world as we can.” She rubs her palms together
in her lap before clutching them between her thighs. “But that’s the problem. Our world doesn’t feel like mine anymore.”
“And this does?” Mallory says curtly. “Have you truly thought this through?”
Aubrey doesn’t respond. Conflict has never been in her nature. Mallory needs to appeal to Aubrey without anger or accusation.
Aubrey is a coder with an understanding of math and logic. Reason is the way to convince her to come back with them.
Mallory forces an outer calm. “Remember what Ilena said? You might be here with no memory of where you came from. Or perhaps
with every memory. I’m not sure what’s worse.” Mallory pauses to let that sink in. “But let’s say you can do this. Let’s say
you can just decide to stay. And you do. Let’s even say your consciousness remains. So what then, you’ve simply replaced the
version of you who was here? How is that okay?”
Ilena leans forward. “Maybe the universe has been showing us that we shouldn’t be the ones judging what’s okay and not okay.”
Twenty-one years of loyalty, huh, Ilena?
“Oh,” Mallory says, “is that whose side you’re on? The universe’s?”
“No, Mallory,” Ilena says, “there are no sides, not anymore.”
Yes, there is, there’s mine.
Which by extension is theirs. Mallory knows what’s best for all of them.
Aubrey rubs the back of her hand, then stops. “It’s just that replaced isn’t the right word, at least not in the way you’re suggesting. That’s too narrow a view of what we now know is possible.
See, I’ve been thinking . . . maybe there are slips all the time—like I had this déjà vu the other day and thought—”
Mallory gives a dismissive wave. “Come on, Aubrey, that’s not relevant.”
Aubrey’s cheeks flush the way they do when she makes an “Aubreyism.”
“And that’s not fair,” she says, not with embarrassment. With hurt. And a little anger. “All I was trying to say is that it’s
highly improbable that this is the first collision ever and might not even be the first for the three of us. Any one of us
could have been in another universe before and not even know it. For a second or for a lifetime. Intentionally and unintentionally.
Maybe we slide all the time but can only see how the world we happen to be in at the time is playing out.”
“Schrodinger’s cat,” Mallory says, remembering the research she did. (Reluctantly.) “The role of observation in determining
the state.”
Ilena nods. “Jonah said something similar about the frequency we’re tuned to. And it doesn’t contradict what Aubrey’s suggesting,
that a brief cross could be like déjà vu.”
Mallory gets the feeling that Ilena has more experience with this than she’s letting on. “Regardless, a brief cross is not
what we have. We have time to think things through, to make decisions.”
“That according to the multiverse theory causes more splits,” Ilena says.
“Which really messes with your head, right?” Aubrey says.
And when did this turn into a Philosophy 101 debate?
“But also,” Aubrey continues, “like, I mean, it reinforces that anything’s possible, doesn’t it? That consciousnesses might