Chapter Five
“What the…? No, no, no, fuck. ” I scooted up the bed, back banging against the headboard with a muffled thump that I barely heard over the pounding of my blood in my ears.
“Mmm?” Drew’s face crinkled sleepily, and he squinted against the weak morning light seeping in from…I glanced around, frantically attempting to locate the window. Since when was it to my left? The window was supposed to be on my right side…right? And what were those curtains, heavy and dark and made out of something that looked like velvet? Where the fuck was I, and had I just…what, ported here?
Drew yawned hugely, rolling onto his back and stretching his arms overhead. I inched farther from him, tugging the comforter—something fluffy and white, obviously luxury, not the handmade quilt Shelly had given Ollie and me when we moved in together—up to my neck.
Jesus Christ, was I wearing a satin nightgown ?
“Laurel? What’s going on?” Drew reached a hand toward me beneath the covers, laying it on my thigh, and I yelped. He frowned, pushing up on an elbow and staring at me, the fog starting to lift. “Are you okay?”
“I…I just…” I licked my upper lip, trying to wrap my mind around what was happening. “How did I get here?”
“How did you get…where? Boston?” Drew cocked his head to the side, clearly baffled.
“No, here .” I pointed down. “In this bed. I don’t…Did I come over to your place last night, or…?” I sucked in a shaky breath, tears springing to my eyes. “I don’t understand what happened.”
“You’re starting to scare me, babe.” Drew sat all the way up, the comforter falling away to reveal his chest and abs. I couldn’t help but notice the hard ridges of muscle, a few curls of light brown hair tracing the center line. He reached over to wrap an arm around me and I startled, startling him in turn.
Somehow I’d woken up in the wrong bed, next to the wrong man, and he thought this was…normal? That I was supposed to be here? That I answered to babe ?
“Do I need to call someone? The doctor, or…I don’t know, your dad?”
“No, don’t call anyone.” I pinched my eyes shut, shaking my head rapidly. This didn’t make sense, it was all wrong, but it was happening. I was in bed with Drew, and it wasn’t the result of some somnambulatory booty call—he seemed to think this was just a normal morning. Which meant I must be acting very strangely right now.
The program.
It had to be…right? I reached up cautiously, feeling around my head for the edges of the swim cap-style AltR rig, focusing on my real, physical body the way I’d been able to when Drew first showed me the demo. I could remember pulling it off last night, could remember walking home from the office. But it had to be what was causing this. I must still be running it…somehow.
But my fingers just met slightly night-mussed hair, and try as I might, I couldn’t feel my body existing somewhere else, staring at the inside of the headset screen. Besides, the program had asked for a point where paths had diverged in the past, it’s what the demo had shown too, and this felt very much like the present. Unless…
“Just…What’s the date?”
“Are you sure I don’t need to call anyone, Laurel? That sounds a lot like—”
“Just answer the question, Drew,” I said, a flash of annoyance in my chest that felt both totally familiar and utterly foreign.
“It’s September nineteenth,” he said, staring thoughtfully at me. “Twenty twenty-five.”
“I know the year, ” I said, only realizing I hadn’t known that for certain until he’d confirmed it. But anxiety sounded close enough to exasperation, apparently, because Drew shrugged as though it had settled a point. But if that was right, then…it was tomorrow . I’d woken up in Drew’s bed not in some hypothetical past, but in the future. Or, well…the present, one that should be taking place somewhere across town, next to a different man, clad in very different sleepwear.
What in god’s name was Drew building behind those frosted doors?
I exhaled shakily, eyes closed, then summoned all my reserves of calm as I opened them on Drew. Just pretend you’re presenting to the C-suite.
“Sorry, I was having a really vivid dream, when I woke up I just felt…disoriented.” I glanced down at the navy satin slip skimming over me, the thin fabric seemingly chosen to accentuate my nipples, standing at attention in the slightly chilly air of the bedroom. “It didn’t help to look down and see that I’m dressed like the seductress in some forties-era noir film.”
After all, whatever was happening, I seemed to still be me . And I couldn’t imagine any version of me regularly going to bed in something like this, slinky and strappy and riding up my hips and slipping off my breasts in ways that would have to be super annoying as you rolled around in wrong-colored sheets trying to find a comfortable sleep position. Drew’s nose wrinkled slightly, and for a moment I worried that I’d miscalculated, but then he laughed, the same staccato burst that was familiar from years of friendship, as though delight had crept up from behind and surprised him.
“What can I say? I had a vision. I wanted to wait until our anniversary, but…” He shrugged, then reached over casually, hand trailing over the side of my waist. I forced myself not to flinch at the intimate touch, heart hummingbirding again. “I’m glad I didn’t. It’s so much better in real life.”
His fingers skimmed down my hip, along my thigh, lingered on the hem of the flimsy nightie, and I could barely breathe with how wrong it was—what would I do if he took things further? But desire was swirling through my core, lazy but definitely there —did some part of me want things to go further? How guilty should that make me feel?
Fortunately for my anxiety-spiraling brain, after toying with the fabric between finger and thumb for a few long moments, Drew sighed contentedly and sat up.
“If I didn’t have an early meeting this morning…” He shook his head, rueful, eyes twinkling with desire. I could feel my shoulders loosen with relief. “You might need to wear that again tonight.”
“I’m not making any promises. Seductresses must get really tangled in the sheets.”
Drew laughed and flipped the covers off him.
“Oh!” I couldn’t help the exclamation, hand jumping to my mouth. Drew glanced over his shoulder as he stood, eyebrow raised in question.
“Everything alright?” He laced his fingers together overhead, tilting from side to side to stretch out his shoulders. The muscles in his bare ass—easily as well defined as the ones in his stomach—tensed at the movement. Desire pulsed hot between my legs, undeniable this time.
“Fine,” I chirped, staring at his ass…and at the lingering morning hard-on that was visible when he turned. I’d never gotten so far as imagining Drew’s dick—him kissing me, sure, once or twice, but my fantasies had always been more idle than anatomically precise. Still, I was confident this was… more than I’d ever have dreamed up if I’d let myself go there.
Drew grinned as he noticed my stare.
“Enjoying the view?”
“Something like that,” I murmured, guilt washing away the lust. Mostly. “Early meeting, go.” I made a shooing motion, and, with a last grin, Drew ambled across the large bedroom and pulled open the door to what looked like a very fancy bathroom.
“You sure you’re okay?” he said over his shoulder.
“Positive. Just a dream.” It felt traitorous dismissing Ollie, really my entire life, but…I reached my hand to my head again, feeling around the edges for the swim cap that should be there if this was something I could just pull the plug on. But it wasn’t—there—which meant that whatever the program had done to deposit me here, I had no immediate ideas about how to reverse it. Until I figured out what was going on, ranting about my “actual” life in another universe probably wasn’t the best tack to take.
Hearing the thrum of the shower turning on, I rose from the bed, moving around the room cautiously, as though something might jump out from a dark corner.
I made my way to the long, low dresser opposite the foot of the bed, its minimalist lines and blond wood vaguely midcentury. It was attractive, upscale, the kind of furniture I’d always thought of as for real grownups, apparently eliminating myself from that dataset. In fact…I spun around slowly, taking in the slate-gray walls with simple white crown molding, heavy floor-length velvet curtains, light gray padded headboard in a blond wood surround. The whole room felt very chic, cohesive in a way you saw in design magazines, intentional . Other than the stacks of books on either nightstand, and the sprinkles of jewelry clustered around the bases of the two organizers sitting on top of the dresser, there was nothing out of place. Either Drew didn’t need help remembering to pick up the towels, or this version of me had a very regular cleaning service. Assuming I lived here with him? Drew had mentioned an anniversary, but not which one. And while Ollie and I had moved in together within mere months, I had a feeling Drew wasn’t as much of a caution-to-the-winds type.
As I finished my assessment, I jumped when I noticed a strange woman staring back at me through the…mirror?
I moved over to the large gold-rimmed circle, eyes narrowing and mouth hanging open as I confirmed that yes, this was my face. I pressed a hand to my cheek, turning back and forth to really take myself in. I looked mostly the same—the pale skin of an inveterate indoor kid, the hooded blue eyes so like my mother’s—except for the severe dark bob framing my face.
And I had bangs . I hadn’t had bangs since the third grade, when I’d had to beg my mom to let me grow my hair out, desperately jealous of the girls who could pull their hair up into what I’d then felt were more sophisticated styles.
I tugged at the ends of my hair—sharp along my jaw, even just after waking up—half expecting it to come off like a wig. For years I’d worn my hair the same way—long layers, leaning into my natural waves with a carefully curated array of products, highlighting the caramel color in summer and lowlighting it in fall. This haircut wasn’t bad—it was flattering, actually, in a takes no prisoners kind of way. But it was so much more intense than what I was used to, not least in its uniform near-black hue. Blinking a few times, I forced myself to look away from my reflection. I only had so much time before Drew emerged from the bathroom, after all.
I pulled open one of the dresser drawers at random—boxer briefs and men’s socks. The one next to it was stuffed with silky panties and bras, many of them clearly sets, the sort of thing I theoretically aspired to owning but never bothered to spend my ample paychecks on.
Except apparently I did . In this world, at least.
The other drawers were similarly split, the majority filled with clothes that must belong to me but weren’t familiar—silk blouses and delicate cashmere sweaters, luxury-brand jeans and well-tailored…really, the only word for them was slacks . It looked sort of like my current work wardrobe, but marginally more adult, and significantly more expensive.
“What was it about?” Drew’s voice was muffled by the bathroom door. I slammed the drawer I’d been sifting through—one of his, filled with neatly folded identical T-shirts in a range of neutral tones. Was it possible that Drew was also different in this world? In my mind he wore a lot more logo shirts than this, his wardrobe generally hewing to the “hoodies and jeans” vibe that seemed to be de rigueur in coding circles. This was like that, but again…a little fancier, a little more streamlined. But then…look at where he lived . Clearly this Drew, different or not, had his shit together in a serious way.
“What was what about?” I said, turning over a gigantic jack on the dresser, apparently solid metal, given the heft of it. What was this for?
I moved back to my underwear drawer and tugged it open just before his face appeared around the edge of the bathroom door.
“The dream. You said you had a really vivid dream?”
“Oh, umm…” Well, shit. Did I just…make something up? Mention one of the recurring “shoeless for some reason in a really gross public bathroom” dreams that had been my anxiety staple since high school? It didn’t seem like that would disorient me enough that I’d need to know the date .
Might as well go with the truth. Or at least a version of it. The longer I stayed here, examining my underwear options, the harder it was to believe this life wasn’t fully real .
“I had like…a whole other life.” I glanced over my shoulder at him, flashing a pained smile. He was wearing the focused look I knew so well. The familiarity of it reassured me somehow. “Different apartment, different clothes, different…person,” I said, worried that even this slim reference to another partner would set something off—Ollie had never been particularly jealous, but Drew might be. Maybe even a sex dream would bother him. The fact that the “dream” was in fact my entire actual life wasn’t something I planned to mention—that might shift the needle on anyone’s overall jealousy levels. Luckily, Drew’s apparently fell somewhere below the “I feel threatened by what I reasonably believe to be your subconscious” threshold, as he just nodded, thoughtful.
“It all felt so real, when I woke up it was almost like I was in the wrong place for a minute,” I finished with a shrug.
“I’ve had dreams like that,” he said, gaze going distant, then shrugged and exhaled audibly. “Probably all that talk about AltR last night put it in your head.”
“Sorry?” My hand was suspended over the underwear drawer, breath held, my entire being trapped in amber.
“My project at work? The one I’ve been killing myself over for upwards of a year? You were paying attention, weren’t you?” Drew’s voice had tightened slightly, not quite annoyed yet, but staring over the precipice of it, ready to jump.
“AltR, right.” I exhaled a laugh that sounded painfully fake in my ears. “Sorry, I thought you said… potter for some reason. I was like ‘Is he seriously suggesting ceramics classes?’?”
Dear god there was no way he wouldn’t see through that.
“Nope! That could be fun, though. I bet you’d be good at it, too, you’re so creative.” When I turned he was grinning again. “I’m so glad we can finally talk about AltR, it’s been weird having this huge part of my life that I couldn’t discuss with you at all,” he said, moving back into the bathroom. “And we’ve just scratched the surface of what we’re hoping to achieve. Sure, right now it’s just demos, but within five years I think we’ll have a consumer-facing experience that offers a real glimpse at how different choices could have played out in each user’s life. You should have seen Jim Donovan frothing at the mouth about the go-to-market strategy.” From the change in sound, I could tell he had stepped into the shower.
He’d only told me last night. I tried to scan my brain for any memories of the conversation—if I was really me, and I was really here, shouldn’t I be able to remember?—but it was a total blank. Actually, no, that wasn’t quite true. I did have memories from last night; they just weren’t of Drew.
But if he hadn’t told me about the project until now…why not? And was it even the same thing? Clearly he wasn’t weighed down with worry about Jim’s opinion of it in this world. I tried to run through the possibilities rapidly, the steam billowing from the bathroom in dense, humid clouds like a metaphor of imminent threat. How many times do I have to remind him to turn on the damn fan? The thought felt strangely familiar again, though I couldn’t remember having had it before. Was this-world Laurel still lingering around the edges of my brain, her annoyances with Drew seeping past whatever barrier existed between her history and my own? The thought was simultaneously thrilling and terrifying.
But for now I needed to sort out the immediate issue: Who was I in this world? I couldn’t exactly ask Drew for basic life details without convincing him I really did need medical attention. So what could I verify on my own?
I scanned the room, eyes catching on the phones on the nightstands, then a large purse, tucked in the same spot behind the door as in my other life. The purse was subtly different—the mouth more open, the handles thinner—but otherwise it was a near-duplicate of my current cherry leather tote. Apparently “loving a red bag going into autumn” was universal across all possible iterations of Laurel. It was just reassuring enough to give me the courage to rummage through the purse— my purse, even if it felt like I was pawing through someone else’s life.
There was nothing revelatory in my wallet or the various pouches that held pens and lipsticks, a few “just in case” Band-Aids and a set of AirPods. My keychain seemed to have gotten the same upgrade as my wardrobe. Instead of the dingy panda bear stuffed animal I was used to—Ollie had used all his tickets to “buy” it on one of our first dates, an only semi-ironic trip to Dave and Buster’s where we’d both eminently failed at all the games, then hooked up in the back of his car in a darkened corner of the mall parking lot, as tipsy on the naughtiness of what we were doing as we were on the mudslides we’d guzzled down between rounds of Skee-Ball—this Laurel had a simple silver loop with a dog tag dangling down, Please Return to Tiffany’s inscribed on one side.
“Whoa,” I murmured, flipping it over. The other side had been engraved with It’s More Than Just Keys, Though, Right? It sounded like some sort of inside joke between Drew and me, a moment in our shared history that he’d memorialized in sterling silver. In fact…it sounded like something I’d say, or had said. That same feeling of déjà vu I’d had two times already overtook me, and I had to place a hand against the wall to overcome the vertigo that accompanied it. Once I was steady again, I kept digging.
A romance novel—one I’d read a few months prior in my other life—a laptop, a travel umbrella, and a small makeup bag that held nothing more significant than a mascara brand I didn’t recognize filled the main section of the bag.
But no Pixel ID badge .
I dug around to make sure—it wasn’t in the side pocket I’d expect it to be in, or in any of the various zippered compartments. So either I kept it somewhere totally different in this world—which didn’t really make sense, this was clearly my everyday bag—or…
“Oh, fuck…”
I dashed over to the nightstand on my side of the bed, yanking the phone off the charger, grateful that my PIN was apparently the same across various lives. I opened my email app, clicking the icon in the corner to swap accounts—there was no way I wouldn’t have my work address synced on my phone. This was a different version of me, but clearly some essential core was the same, and my difficulty unplugging from work had to be part of that. Which…maybe I should examine at some point, but not this one.
But when I clicked to look for other accounts, there…weren’t any. Just a lonely add a new account? prompt and the laurel.d.everett gmail account I’d set up in high school.
Could I be using that for work? Could I be working for Google?
But as I scrolled my inbox, the only emails showing up were a thread with my dad, a class confirmation from an aerial yoga studio, and promotions from half a dozen clothing brands.
Did I work somewhere…that siloed its email servers? Or that forced work-life balance somehow? Did marketing jobs like that even exist?
“Everything okay?”
I glanced up from my phone, mouth still hanging open slightly, a strange buzzing in my ears. Drew was crossing to the dresser, towel around his waist.
“Um…yeah, just zoning out.” I squeezed my eyes tight, fighting the dizzy sensation overtaking me again.
“Are you sure? You look pale.”
“Actually…I don’t feel so good.” It happened to be the truth, if not the whole truth. “I might have to call out today.”
“Consider the call made.” Drew flashed me a boyish grin as he snapped his boxer briefs into place, then moved to my side, pressing the back of his hand to my forehead. “You don’t feel warm…”
Ollie checks my temperature with a kiss . He claimed lips were more sensitive than hands, that they were a better way to tell if someone was running a fever. Over the years I’d gotten used to it, had reset my normal from a palm against the forehead to the soft press of his lips there. The feeling of vertigo intensified and I gripped the edge of the bed.
“Laurel? You look very pale.” Worry corrugated Drew’s forehead. “Are you going to be okay on your own? I could work from home.”
“No!” The word bolted out of me too fast, and Drew pulled back, surprised. “I mean…that’s not necessary. I’m just gonna try to get some sleep, avoid screens for a while. Anyway, I know you’re not nearly as effective when you don’t have all your gizmos. I doubt they have the quantum computer set up for remote access, right?”
His frown deepened.
“We talked about the quantum computer?”
Shit, shit, shit. Why would I know this? I didn’t even work at Pixel anymore, had no idea how long that had been true…
“I mean…not in detail.” I started scrolling through my inbox, trying to make it look like I was looking for something specific. “You just said something about quantum calculations, or maybe it was physics? You know that stuff might as well be in cuneiform as far as I’m concerned. Whatever you said, I guess I just assumed you must be using a quantum computer to power the program. Pixel’s been developing them for a while, right?”
“That’s right,” Drew said, a hint of wariness lingering in his tone. “I didn’t realize that was common knowledge.”
“Not common knowledge. But I make a point of knowing what all the major players are working on. Especially the ones I used to work for.” That much had to be true in this life—it’s where we’d met, right?
Drew stared a moment longer, then exhaled half a laugh, crossing to the dresser again and pulling out a black T-shirt and dark jeans.
“Sometimes I forget how incredibly smart you are. Nice casual reference to cuneiform.”
“I know you’re the genius in this relationship, but I do alright.” I grinned, relieved to be on ground I understood again. This wasn’t all that far off from our work banter.
“I should watch my back. Clearly you’re gunning for my title.” Drew returned my smile, rubbing the towel roughly over his hair before tossing it into a large woven basket so unobtrusively tucked into the corner I hadn’t recognized it as a hamper. “If I’m going in I should really get moving. But do you need anything before I go? I don’t want you pushing yourself.”
Tenderness gripped me—the worry crumpling Drew’s brow was obviously genuine, his hesitancy about leaving me palpable. I smiled.
“I’m fine, really. Probably just fighting off a bug. Go! Do your quantum geniusing!”
“Fine, fine, I can tell when I’m not wanted,” he said, smiling gently. “But if you feel even the slightest bit faint, sit down and call Barry for help, promise?”
“Barry?”
“The doorman?” Drew’s squint bordered on fear. “Laurel, are you sure I shouldn’t stay home? I can call around and try to get you an appointment somewhere, I have some friends at MGH who—”
“Drew, hey.” I laid a hand on his arm, and he swallowed hard, brows clearly still ready for a fight. “I’m sleepy and headachy and a little slow on the uptake, apparently. But I’m fine, I promise.”
“Okay, if you’re sure. But if you start feeling worse, or if anything new crops up—a fever, or a rash or…I don’t know, anything—Iwant you to let me know, okay?”
“Cross my heart,” I said, miming the action.
“I’ll check in later. Do you want me to cancel with Matt and Kari? You know what a hypochondriac she is, and we’ll have a better shot at rebooking the reservation if we give a full day’s notice.”
“No, don’t do that. I’ll be better soon,” I said. Whoever Matt and Kari were, and whatever we had scheduled with them, was not my primary problem right now. Besides, if I said yes, there was every chance Drew would overrule himself and stay home to nurse me back to health, which would be wonderful if, you know, this were my actual life and he were my actual boyfriend.
“Okay, then I’m gonna head. Call or text if anything changes. Seriously, anything at all. If I’m too deep in work—”
“Aaron will give you the message. Don’t worry, I know.” Aaron? Where had that name come from? I shuddered lightly at a new wave of vertigo. “Go. Jim’s go-to-market strategy waits for no man.”
“Fine, fine, I see how it is.” Drew laughed, bent to peck my cheek, and hurried out of the bedroom. I could hear the distant sound of a door slamming.
Finally I was alone. In a life—and a world—that wasn’t really my own.