What If It’s You?

Chapter Eight

When I woke up the next morning I felt totally normal, rested and content, like I was where I was supposed to be. My hand drifted through the soft sheets, automatically searching for Ollie’s.

The mattress creaked as he rolled toward me, letting out a huge yawn before he wrapped his arm around me, nuzzling his mouth into the crook of my neck.

“Morning, beautiful,” he murmured, his breath whispering over the delicate skin of my collarbone. I tilted my head to the side, offering myself to him automatically, and he pressed a soft kiss to my skin, his hand sliding over my hip to my waist. Heat flared in the wake of his touch, swirling through my core slowly, almost lazily, a luxurious blend of desire and the last remnants of sleep. His fingers slid beneath the hem of my oversized T-shirt, wrapping around my ribs, trying to pull me to him. My breath hitched as his other hand tugged the collar of my shirt aside, his lips moving over my shoulder, their pressure firmer now, more focused. I yielded to the strength of his arm, rolling toward him, and his hand slid to the base of my spine, pressing my hips against his insistently. His erection pulsed along the inside of my thigh, and blood surged between my legs in response. I opened my eyes, delicious desire making my voice a purr.

“Oh, Oll—”

I stopped short, body stiffening all over. It wasn’t Ollie hovering just inches away, it was Drew. The memory of the last twenty-four hours pounded into me so hard it took my breath away. Drew raised an eyebrow, questioning.

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll…need to deal with this knot in my shoulder,” I said, the awkward so thick I could practically taste it. Luckily, Drew didn’t seem to notice.

“Let me help with that.” He rolled me toward him, fingers massaging deftly even as he pressed me along the length of him, and it felt incredible…and also entirely wrong. I’d managed to stop short of calling out another man’s name, but I was less worried about Drew’s suspicion than about the fact that what we were doing right now felt like cheating. But on who, a person that functionally didn’t exist in this world? I hadn’t even been able to find him on socials.

Still, even though Drew and I were clearly together here, even though I might actually be stuck here—that particular shard of memory sliced through me anew, leaving me gasping—I couldn’t shake the conviction that if I went any further, gave in to the thrum of lust that Drew’s touch had awakened, I’d be betraying Ollie. Worse, betraying myself. I pinched my eyes shut, grimacing. If I had one bright line in relationships, it was cheating. Cheating was weak. It was cruel and selfish, and the fact that I didn’t even know Ollie in this world didn’t erase the gut-deep certainty that what I was doing now would hurt him, would ruin us, a feeling so intense it felt like it might choke me.

“Laurel?” Drew pulled back, his gentle blue eyes quizzical. “Still with me?”

“Yes, but…I’ll ask you to hold that thought,” I finally managed, rolling away slightly. “My stomach is feeling a little off. I think I might be about to start my period,” I lied. Well, not about the queasy part. The conviction that this was cheating seemed to have churned up an entire vat of acid.

“You know I don’t care about that.” Drew half-smiled, looking bewildered, and ran a hand through my too-short hair, cupping my nape and running his thumb over the line of my jaw. Ignoring the renewed heat that flooded through me at the touch, I pulled away again, more insistently this time.

“I know, but I do.” I took a deep breath, trying to tamp down the annoyance at his response. Not now means not now . “I’m just crampy, and I want to, you know… enjoy it. Rain check?”

“For sure. If you’re not feeling it, you’re not feeling it.” Drew smiled gently and leaned forward to plant a soft kiss on my mouth. Part of me still felt like I should pull away, but surely this—a single kiss—wasn’t something I had to feel guilty about.

For a person that for all you know you’ll never see again.

Drew rolled across the mattress and I raked my fingers through my hair, pulling until it started to hurt.

I might be able to put off morning sex for today, but this couldn’t last forever. My stomach roiled threateningly.

As he padded over to his dresser, I took a few deep breaths, trying to reorient myself in this room, this body, this life. Some part of me had really believed I’d wake up and this would be over, that my abortive attempt to sleep my way back to the right reality had failed only because of my overactive brain, not a flawed principle. That I’d wake up next to Ollie again and the entire previous day would have just been a really strange, extremely involved dream. That’s how it always happened in movies, after all.

But no. I was still in the wrong world, with the wrong man and his daily morning wood, and I had no idea how to deal with any of the above.

I rolled onto my back, staring at the tray ceiling. That was a nice detail. There were so many nice details in this life. Upgraded features, small luxuries like the fancier face cream, frictionless tasks everywhere—the condo had clearly been cleaned while I was out the previous day, the fridge and pantry restocked to boot. And thank god, the too-healthy deliberately-forgotten-grains granola seemed to have been the dry goods equivalent of wearing your swimsuit bottoms on laundry day because you’ve run out of underwear.

But that didn’t make this world, or this life, feel like it belonged to me. Yes, I cared about Drew, even found myself regularly falling into the easy rhythm I remembered from our friendship, and for a few minutes, the idea of spending a life with him felt…if not perfect, at least possible, an intriguing path I might have taken, might still want to take.

But none of that made the ache in my chest whenever I thought of Ollie, of waking up with a faceful of cat fur between us and our hands clasped, disappear. In some ways it just sharpened it.

This life had so much to offer, all kinds of things I’d always wanted. But it didn’t have silly songs to cheer me up when I was nervous or feeling low. Didn’t have spontaneous day trips to some “cool little spot” up the coast that Ollie thought I’d like—I’d managed to unearth Drew’s and my shared calendar during my afternoon attempts to memorize the basics of our life, and judging from its regimented blocks, spontaneity in any form didn’t seem very likely. This life didn’t have the bevy of quirky, inspiring friends Ollie and I had accumulated, most of them artists of some variety or another—musicians, illustrators, poets—who refused to let the realities of adulthood, and their often lackluster day jobs, snuff out their spark. And even though I hadn’t written a thing since Ollie and I had been together, had no right to call myself a writer in that world, everyone accepted me as a creative person too, treated the occasional ideas for a novel I spouted off over drinks at some cool new music venue or beloved dive as though they had value. And Ollie was always the most enthusiastic one, eyes warm with pride as he asked exactly the right questions to convince everyone, at least for a moment, that the idea had legs, that this time I might really do the thing. Hell, he even convinced me sometimes. Here I was a writer, had given up the grind to do it, but none of the stories I’d started felt half as interesting as the ones I’d shared with Ollie and our friends, and in a way, I felt less authentically creative here, even though writing was ostensibly my career.

But really, the biggest thing that was missing in this life was just…Ollie. I knew that this life couldn’t exist with him, that the fundamental split was him, but the idea of never seeing him again tore a hole in my center.

“Were you gonna shower?” Drew said as he rifled through his underwear drawer. “It’s your day.”

“Right. Umm…yeah, I should get moving, huh?” Drew glanced back at me, smiling his agreement. I threw the covers off and headed for the bathroom, the same leaden feeling I’d had while I forced down the all-super-seeds granola weighing me down. We scheduled whose day it was to shower? It was practical, but the whole “life optimization” vibe made me a little sad.

I quickly showered, did my makeup, and dressed, finding a pair of leather-fronted leggings in the bottom drawer that felt a little more like me than the luxurious office wear that filled most of the others. By the time I was done, Drew was in the kitchen sipping a mug of coffee.

“Are those new?” He nodded to the pants, lips quirking with interest.

“No, I just haven’t worn them in a while.”

“You should wear them more. They’re…different. But in a good way.” His eyelids lowered suggestively as he handed me a mug across the breakfast bar. I laughed and took a grateful sip.

“Thanks. For the confidence boost and for this.” I raised my mug to him in a little toast. “It’s so nice to have a cup of coffee waiting.”

“That’s why we do it, right?” Drew smiled at me over the rim of his mug. “I’d love to stay and talk—or, you know, reconsider that rain check.” His eyes telescoped me again. Clearly World D Laurel needed to update her wardrobe a little. “But sadly, I need to head in early.”

“Oh. Right, of course.” I frowned. Drew hadn’t made it home from the office until almost eight the night before, and he’d spent most of the evening working. “Any particular reason?”

If he’d already told me, I could just “remember” the reason as soon as he said it, Oh right, I forgot that was today. It should probably unnerve me how easy it was to just slide sideways into a life with the absolute bare minimum of knowledge and a few cover-your-ass phrases. Turned out there was a surprising amount you could fake your way through if you looked the part.

“Jim was messaging last night while you were getting ready for bed, he said he’d let me set him up on AltR this morning before his first stand-up.”

“Oh? What’s the angle?”

“Angle?” Drew scrunched up his nose. “He’s offering to go through the whole calibration sequence first thing, then planning to commit however many more hours just to help us train the AI. I told you we need as many users as possible right now. If anyone is benefiting here, it’s me.”

“You sure he isn’t trying to sabotage you from the inside?” I waggled my eyebrows mischievously. “Maybe he’ll try to go back to the inflection point where you’re assigned to lead this team and make sure it’s him instead. Oh, or maybe he’ll go back to the night before your presentation to the senior staff and give you norovirus so you miss the meeting entirely and then he can claim all the credit.”

“He’s interested in what I’m doing and he wants to help. Why is that so hard to believe?” Drew’s lip curled with disgust. “What’s your problem with Jim, anyway?”

I blinked. It hadn’t occurred to me that Drew might have formed an alliance—possibly even a friendship?—with Jim Donovan . In World O he was our mutual nemesis, Drew’s biggest fear in senior-level meetings specifically because his sneering I’m not convinced attitude flustered Drew. Surely Jim wouldn’t have changed in this world.

But that sneaking suspicion that Drew had —changed—flared to life again. I glanced at his plain black shirt and slim black jeans, an updated rip-off of Steve Jobs. Why was he different?

“He just always tries to pick everything apart.”

“That’s how you make something better. You find the bugs and correct them.”

“Sure. But with Jim it feels…petty. Especially since he only ever does it when there’s an audience. It’s a lot easier to find fault than it is to build something.” Drew was still eyeing me, wary. “I just don’t want him latching on to this and finding a way to steal your thunder. You’re the genius behind this thing, not Jim.”

Drew’s expression softened, and he reached up to cup my cheek with his palm.

“I love that you’re in my corner, but trust me, I don’t have anything to worry about from Jim. The guy can barely code, no one’s gonna think he came up with this, no matter how many meetings I miss.” Drew laughed, rolling his eyes at Jim’s obvious inferiority. “I won’t be able to start staffing up until we officially get the green light from the board, but it’s just a formality at this point, the entire senior team is behind AltR. Which they’re very aware is my program.” Drew took a long sip of coffee, gaze turning thoughtful. “Honestly…I think Jim just wants a chance to work on something interesting. Maybe he figures if he goes out of his way to help now, I’ll bring him onto my team down the line. I feel bad for the guy, really. He knows he’s vestigial.”

Clearly this version of Drew was a lot more confident of his place in the pecking order. That’s what was different. The confidence. Not that Drew had ever had self-esteem issues—he was at least as opinionated as I was, and he dug in hard when he was convinced he was right, which was often—but this Drew seemed awash with self-assurance, not even protesting the dreaded “ g word.” There was something unexpectedly appealing about it, but it was also disorienting. It made me realize that I’d been operating on the assumption that this Drew was fundamentally the same as the one I knew…but if he was different in this way, what else about him might have changed?

“As long as you’re sure.”

“I am. And on that note, I’d better go. It’ll take at least an hour to get Jim set up. I want as much time as possible to mine his experiences before the board meets next—the more robust the AI looks, the more money they’ll throw at me.” Drew flashed an uncharacteristically cocky grin—or was it characteristic here?—bent to kiss me on the cheek, and walked out, leaving his half-full coffee cup on the edge of the counter.

It should have been a relief not to have to play along for that much longer—I still had a lot of catching up to do, both factually and emotionally. For one thing, Drew was probably going to have some more probing questions if I kept rain-checking sex indefinitely, and I currently had no solution—or explanation—for the overwhelming guilt the prospect brought on.

But even if he wasn’t the same Drew that I knew so well, as the door clicked closed on his receding figure, the only thing I felt was overwhelming loneliness, the wide-open career vista I’d created in this life perversely claustrophobic.

Drew might have changed, but all the important traits, the qualities I loved in him, were still there. Drew I could figure out if I wound up stuck here.

The person I still couldn’t get a handle on was… me.

I clattered down the steps of the Kendall Square T station, the familiar warm, stale air enveloping me as I made my way to the turnstiles. A busker had set up on one of the benches that punctuated the inbound platform. She was playing a song that was only vaguely familiar, picking out jumping minor key intervals on her scuffed acoustic guitar. It was only halfway through the first mournful verse that I realized it was a cover of “Mamma Mia,” the slower tempo and half-step shift of the melody enough to turn the song into a ballad of despair.

Ollie would love that.

I pulled out a five-dollar bill and dropped it into the guitar case at her feet.

“Thanks, Laurel.” The girl smiled at me with genuine warmth before she moved on to the chorus.

“Oh, uh…yeah, of course. Thank you for the music.” If she could see my surprise at being recognized, she didn’t show it, her soft smile lingering as she played on.

I stopped thirty or so feet beyond her and started scrolling through my phone, trying to look as if I was doing something important. My plan was to head to the glass flowers display at the Harvard Museum of Natural History, in the vague hope that the surreal perfection of each of the hundreds of models might unstick whatever part of my brain was sputtering out on story ideas…or execution…or both. In school it had always been a reset button for me; it might not solve my immediate problem, but it always managed to shift my perspective enough that whatever had gone wrong didn’t feel quite so overwhelming. I’d brought along a pristine Moleskine notebook and a really good pen—never underestimate the value of a really good pen—with vague thoughts of starting an outline with more detail than “barn sex?”

My eyes drifted back to the busker, the lights in the station flickering briefly, disorienting me. The sound of the train approaching rumbled through the tunnel, and around me people started to herd toward the edge of the platform preemptively. I swayed slightly as they moved past, a wave of dizziness blurring their forms eerily.

“Hey, Laurel? You okay?”

I could see the busker standing a couple feet away, staring at me with obvious concern—had I missed her walking over somehow? But the buzzing in my ears was making it impossible to focus on that thought, and the edges of my vision were starting to blur, the people around us seeming to shift and jump at sudden, unpredictable intervals, like the rapid-fire frame switching in a horror movie, the monster is far away, closer, suddenly too close.

“Sorry, I think I need to…sit down…” I stumbled to the nearest bench, collapsing onto it and dropping my head between my knees.

“Do you need me to call someone? You look really pale.”

“I’m fine,” I forced out, eyes squeezed so tight that red was pulsing behind the lids in time with the heavy bass beat of my blood. “Just light-headed…”

I could hear the train creaking to a stop on the tracks. Swallowing hard, I sat up. When I opened my eyes, the girl was hovering a foot away, face crumpled with concern.

“I’m fine, I promise. Go, you’ll miss out on all the commuters who tip big.”

I expected a laugh—or at least a faint smile, clearly we knew each other—but the girl just frowned, then shrugged, glancing back at me over her shoulder as she walked back to her folding chair.

“If you say so.”

Too dizzy to focus on the shift in her demeanor, I dropped my elbows onto my knees again, eyes trained on the six inches between the toes of my sneakers, breathing heavily until the worst of the dizziness subsided.

My whole body stiffened.

Sneakers?

When I’d walked out of the condo half an hour ago, I was wearing ballet flats and the pants Drew was so taken with. But the black leggings I was currently wearing were sporty, ones I recognized as my go-to running look…

…in my life with Ollie.