Chapter 15
Kimberly let herself into Mary’s apartment without knocking. She looked absolutely stylish in light-blue pants with a navy stripe and a white midriff shirt. Her hair curled all the way down to her chest. Mary had thrown on jeans with the left knee torn out. Size four! Her fifty-four-year-old self had worn a sixteen. She also wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing jeans with a big ole hole in the leg, but people her new age found them stylish, so she’d bought them on Sunday. Her black tunic had peekaboo holes revealing her shoulders, which thankfully didn’t have brown spots from too much sun exposure. If she were staying in this world, she’d be sure to always sit under an umbrella at the beach or pool. “Hey, make sure you always wear lots of sunscreen,” she said.
Kimberly raised an eyebrow. “What are you even talking about?”
“Never mind.”
Kimberly made her way to the living room and stared down into Belli’s bowl on the coffee table. “When did you get a fish?”
“I had to save him before Brady killed him. He hung him from the ceiling at a party the other night.”
“Is everything back to normal with Brady after last weekend?” Kimberly asked.
Mary’s stomach dropped. “What happened last weekend?” She tried to make the question sound matter of fact and not as if she was desperate for information.
“Sorry. I know you made me promise to never bring it up again.” Kimberly mimicked zippering her lips.
Oh boy, if she’d told Kimberly about it and promised her to secrecy, she must have slept with him. Ugh, she wanted to kick her own butt for being so stupid.
Kimberly’s phone beeped. “Our Uber’s here,” she said.
“An Uber. All the way to Boston. That has to be close to a hundred dollars.” Mary winced because she realized she sounded like her fifty-four-year-old self rather than the twenty-four-year-old she now was.
Kimberly made a face. “Still cheaper than a DUI.”
Down on the driveway, Kimberly slid into the back seat of the Uber while Mary walked around to the passenger side, opening the front door. The driver, a woman who looked the age Mary used to be, startled.
“Why are you sitting in the front?” Kimberly asked.
Mary didn’t know where she was supposed to sit, but it seemed rude to have this woman drive them around like a chauffeur. She’d ridden in an Uber only one other time, when the flight she and Dean had taken on the way home from the Turks and Caicos got delayed and they’d arrived back at the airport after two in the morning, well after the Logan Express bus had stopped running. The ride had cost them $160.
“I get carsick,” she said. She didn’t, but she wanted to save face.
“It’s fine.” The driver snatched an envelope off the seat and tossed it into the glove box.
“Whatever,” Kimberly said. “You’ve never been carsick before.”
“Would you like music?” the driver asked.
Mary answered without thinking. “103.3.”
“We are not listening to the oldies station,” Kimberly grumbled. “What is with you tonight?”
The driver tuned the radio to Kiss 108. “It’s what my daughter likes when she’s forced to listen to the radio and not Spotify.”
Mary swallowed hard. “How old’s your daughter?”
“Twenty-six. She’s getting married. That’s why I picked up this extra job. To help pay for the wedding.”
“I’m getting married too,” Kimberly said. “When’s your daughter’s wedding?”
The two of them talked about venues, florists, photographers, gowns, and bridesmaid dresses while Mary stared out the window with a pit in her stomach, wondering if Nate would propose to Kendra and where the wedding would be. She hoped it would be back in the States so she could help Kendra plan it.
The car jerked to a stop. They’d reached the Seaport. “Have fun tonight, girls,” the driver said. “Look out for each other, and watch your drinks. Don’t leave them unattended.”
Mary had given Kendra the same warning too many times to count.
“I have it on a recording, Mom,” Kendra had once joked. “I play it right before I leave my apartment.”
A tear rolled down Mary’s cheek. She wished that before having her wisdom teeth removed, she’d smoothed things over with her daughter. As soon as Mary returned, the two of them would have a long talk.
“What’s wrong?” Kimberly asked. They were out on the sidewalk, the foul smell of the hot city in the air.
Mary wiped away a tear. I miss my daughter. Oh, how she wanted to talk about Kendra, but of course she couldn’t. “All the talk about weddings, I guess.”
Kimberly wrapped her arm around Mary’s shoulders. “Don’t worry. You’ll meet someone. Maybe even tonight.”
“I don’t want to meet anyone. I came back to focus on my job, not date.” A car honked, and Mary looked toward the street.
“Came back?”
Ugh. She really needed to stop slipping up with veiled references to her old life before people thought she was crazy. “I just want to focus on the opportunity we’ve been given. May the best journalist win.” She’d said the last part to be gracious. She didn’t mean it, because she had to win.
Sipping a dirty martini with blue cheese–stuffed olives, Mary stood next to Kimberly at the bar in the Adult Arcade, a new club in Boston’s Seaport. Kimberly had ordered the drinks, and Mary was surprised how good hers was. The sounds of video games—buzzing, ringing, and electronic voices—echoed through the room. Groups of twenty- and thirty-somethings crowded pinball, Galaga , Donkey Kong , and other similar machines. In the back, lines waited outside rooms for axe throwing, laser tag, bowling, and go-karts. The place reminded her of Chuck E. Cheese, but instead of juice boxes and sippy cups, the clientele here clutched beer cans and cocktail glasses. Once at Chuck E. Cheese, Mary had lost sight of Kendra. Heart pounding, she’d frantically raced around the arcade shouting her daughter’s name, grabbing strangers by the arm to ask if they’d seen a little girl with pigtails wearing a red shirt. She’d eventually found Kendra in a ball pit, but those five minutes her daughter had been missing were among the scariest moments of her motherhood. Standing in this adult club, Mary’s heart pounded the same way it had that day at the children’s arcade. Until she returned to her real life, Kendra truly was lost to her. Using her hand, Mary fanned her red-hot face. Mitchell would make his decision about the promotion soon. She could hang on for a little while longer.
Kimberly grabbed Mary’s arm, pointing to three people leaving. They raced across the room, swooping in to claim the now-empty spot. When Mary sat, she saw the table was a sit-down Ms. Pac-Man machine. She’d loved Pac-Man as a teenager and challenged Kimberly to a game. Kimberly went first, losing her turn in a matter of seconds.
“Ha! I’m going to schmuck you,” Mary said. She reached the next level without losing a life and smirked at Kimberly, who rolled her eyes.
“You’re sure taking this seriously,” Kimberly asked. “It’s just a silly game.”
Silly game or not, there was no way Mary would let Kimberly beat her. She didn’t like losing, never had. People didn’t take losers seriously. She hadn’t even let little-girl Kendra beat her at board games, something that had infuriated Dean. She’d explained to him that most people didn’t get things handed to them in life; they had to work for them. Kendra needed to learn that. Looking back now, Mary thought maybe she should have let Kendra win a few games of Chutes and Ladders and Candyland after all.
Their game of Ms. Pac-Man ended with Kimberly still in “Act 1: They Meet,” and Mary in “Act 3: Junior.” Mary threw her arms up in triumph. “Woohoo!” she shouted.
A man standing nearby pointed at them. Mary wondered if he’d seen her celebration and felt a little ridiculous about it now. “Hey, I know you two,” he said.
He didn’t look familiar, and she waited for a memory dump. It didn’t come.
“I catch you on the news every now and then. You’re both good.”
Mary grinned. People recognized her. First the guy at Brady’s party, then RaeLynn, and now this guy.
Kimberly smiled up at him. “Thank you.”
“Who’s better?” Mary asked.
“Don’t answer that,” Kimberly said.
The horrified look on her friend’s face shamed Mary, but she was curious about this man’s opinion. Knowing what viewers thought could help her get the promotion. She might learn she was the underdog and would have to work extra hard. The thought frightened her. What if Mitchell chose Kimberly? No, she couldn’t let that happen. No matter what.
After the man left, Kimberly stared at Mary across the table. “So, this is how it’s going to be?” The hurt in Kimberly’s voice reminded Mary of when her and Liz’s friendship had started to splinter.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You’re turning this opportunity for the promotion into a huge competition.”
“We both can’t get promoted, so it is a competition.” One that I’m going to win.
“Just so you know, I’ll be happy for you if you win,” Kimberly said. “And I hope you’ll be happy for me if I win.”
“Of course.” Under the table, Mary crossed her fingers. She’d be devastated if she didn’t fix her mistake and return to her old life a success.
Mary arrived at work early the next morning, determined to get the juiciest story. Overhead, the fluorescent lights buzzed; to her left, someone furiously tapped away at a keyboard; and behind her, the police scanner squawked.
She sipped her coffee and leaned closer to her screen to read an email.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Your Wardrobe
Dear Ms. Mulligan,
I saw your story on the Scooper Bowl. I think someone needs to tell you, yellow is not your color. You look more washed out than usual when you wear it. Do yourself and your viewers a favor and stick to darker colors like navy and red. As I’ve said before, the station should really think about hiring a wardrobe consultant. I’d be glad to lend my expertise.
Sincerely,
Barbara M. Kinney
Mary fought the urge to smash her mug into her monitor. She’d forgotten all about the criticism she’d received the first time around, the letters and phone calls from viewers offering unsolicited advice about her outfits, haircut, and makeup. Even though most of the feedback she received was nice, the nasty ones like this one left a scar.
She jabbed at the delete key until the message disappeared.
“You should see your face right now.” Kimberly strode into Mary’s cube with a box of doughnuts. “What’s the matter?”
Mary reached for a honey-dipped doughnut. “An email from a viewer telling me yellow is not my color.”
Kimberly waved her hand in a dismissive motion. “That’s nothing. Last week someone wrote in to tell me I’d gained weight and was becoming unsightly to watch. Don’t let it get to you.” She laughed and tapped the Dunkin’ box. “You can see I don’t.”
The assignment editor raced into Mary’s office. “Massive pileup near the Route 128 / Route 3 interchange—we need someone to get over there. Now.”
“I’ll go,” Kimberly said.
Mary leaped to her feet. “I’ve got it.”
As she walked away, she could feel Kimberly’s eyes burning holes into the back of her head.