Chapter Thirteen
By the time I got back to the apartment it was almost two, and I was certain I’d have to come up with an explanation of where I’d been, but it was empty. Something twisted inside me at the realization. Was Ollie missing me right then, or was it totally one-sided?
I pulled open my laptop and dutifully attempted to learn more about the “multiple worlds interpretation,” but the gap between “have you heard of Schrodinger’s cat?” and “the Universal Wave Function can be expressed in this case as a salad of Greek letters that each individually stand in for another complicated math and/or physics equation, all of which are way beyond your comprehension, in fact even attempting to wrap your brain around what are apparently pretty basic concepts to the average quantum physics enthusiast will just confuse you further and really, Laurel, why do you think this is going to get you anywhere?” was yawning.
Unable to stop myself, I made my way to Ollie’s dresser and tugged open his underwear drawer, unearthing the ring box from its place at the back. If I had just said yes—thrown myself into whipped cream dreams of billowing white dresses and hand-fed cakes and rustic trellises dripping with fairy lights, ignored the cold sweat that prickled along the edges of my hairline at the mere mention of the slavering monster Forever crouching just outside that glowing moment—would any of this have happened?
But did I really feel more ready for that now than I had a few days ago? I felt more confident that I wasn’t meant to be with Drew, which was a start, but if anything, I felt more confused than ever about where Ollie and I stood. I’d been worrying about some unknowable future moment, but I’d seen his disappointment when I blew past the idea of kids, wasn’t sure where he was right this second, or what he was hiding from me. Wasn’t it possible we were already on shaky ground?
I was still staring at the ring, turning it back and forth in my hand to make the ruby sparkle, when my phone gave a chirp that immediately tensed my shoulders. The Pixel messaging app—I was so conditioned to respond my fingers itched.
It was from Drew. Guilt twisted my stomach as I opened the message—apparently some part of me felt like my actual existence now constituted cheating on him, which was a frankly impressive level of self-flagellation.
Drew:
quick q if you’re around
Laurel:
I’m around now
why are you working rn btw? I command you to go enjoy one of the ten perfect fall days new england has deigned to grant us this year
Drew:
lol
that’s the plan as soon as I sort this out
just wanted to see if you had logged into altr since yesterday?
Laurel:
nope—why?
Drew:
I figured
something wonky is happening with the ai, it says it’s running operations pretty much continuously but as far as we can tell no one is logged in rn
Laurel:
that sounds…bad?
Drew:
it’s not great
but bugs are part of the process
hopefully it will sort itself out by Monday
Laurel:
…which means you’re going to log off now and NOT WORK for the rest of the weekend?
Nisha told me she loves apple cider donuts fresh from the farmstand
Drew:
wait you guys talked?
Laurel:
no, Drew
I don’t even know her last name
I’m just trying to nudge you into doing something romantic with your new gf since the gods are practically gifting you this day
for a genius you’re kinda slow on the uptake
Drew:
not a genius
but advice taken;)
A few seconds later, the green circle next to his name went blank again. I tried not to let my anxiety win out—just because I was pretty sure the problem had something to do with me, that didn’t mean there was anything I could say or do that would help Drew fix it, especially if I wasn’t even logged in. Maybe he was right—maybe the program just needed time to sort itself out, and then I could stop worrying about any of this. Besides, he should be enjoying himself with his new lady friend. Because even more ridiculous than feeling like a cheater was feeling mildly betrayed by the fact that the man who I had never actually dated, and who I had actually turned down when given the chance, had a fun new thing starting up.
Out of habit I flicked through my work emails, my fingers twitching into autopilot after the unexpected jolt of adrenaline from Drew’s messages. Only one caught my eye, mainly because the sender’s name hadn’t shown up in my inbox for over a year.
From: Maren Elifritz
SUBJECT: getting the band back together?
Hey lady—
Hope fall in NE is like something off a cheesy postcard. But if you wanted to give that all up…
xx,
M
Maren had started at Pixel at the same time Drew and I had, but on the sales side, quickly earning a reputation as one of the most adept client managers in the Boston office, landing huge ad spends and content partnerships from all kinds of major brands, from sports teams to snack food juggernauts. The same wit and warmth that won over clients immediately drew me to her, and our jobs were adjacent enough that we could easily trade ideas, something that was often hard to manage in an office so heavily indexed toward engineers and devs. When she’d snagged a VP role in the flagship office in Redwood City, I’d been happy for her, but sad for me—not only was she climbing the ladder faster, I’d be without my work bestie.
In retrospect, her departure had channeled a lot more energy into my friendship with Drew. In a way, maybe this whole thing was Maren’s fault? If I ever got out of it, I’d tell her that.
The job posting she’d pasted below her signature was for a user acquisition role, informed by my marketing work but definitely not the same, and the VP title meant it would be a lateral move as far as advancement. Still, broadening my expertise wasn’t a terrible idea—Pixel loved an internal hire as much as anyone, and the more hats you could wear over time, the better positioned you were to snag one of the really plum roles in the rare instances that they came up. Plus, knowing Maren would be waiting with open arms gave the idea of a cross-country move a sprinkle of excitement. A quick peek at the internal job board showed the role had only gone live a few days prior. The odds of my actually applying were near zero, but it was still fun to imagine myself into another life, all towering redwoods and foggy mornings and the seeming endlessness of California, its expansiveness a rebuke to the cramped confines of New England, where winding former cowpaths stood in as full-fledged city streets, and a state border was no more than an hour away no matter where you started. When I’d first moved here I’d been dazzled by how accessible everything was—a few hours on the train and I could be in New York? Even getting into Chicago from my suburb had taken over an hour on the interstate. Now, of course, I was so spoiled that I would seriously weigh whether seeing friends was worth hauling myself all the way over to Jamaica Plain.
I glanced at the clock in the upper corner of my screen. Almost four, and still no sign of Ollie. Not like he’d given me a firm time he’d be back, but he had to know I wouldn’t still be working. Most Saturdays I was home before lunch. Which made me wonder if my inkling was right— were we on shaky ground? We always spent Saturday afternoons together; the only explanation I could come up with for his missing that without even a text was that he’d rather be somewhere else…with someone else.
It shouldn’t be that surprising—just because he had a ring didn’t mean Ollie might not have his own doubts—but somehow the idea that he might be anything less than totally sure about us had never occurred to me until now. Ollie was such a romantic, it felt like he spent as much time lingering fondly over memories of past trips we’d taken, meals we’d shared, private moments I’d long since forgotten as he did actually experiencing the present. He had such a rose-tinted view of the world, past and present, that I just assumed he was happy, fulfilled. But…had I been taking him for granted? Possibly. In fact…almost definitely. But had he noticed ?
Buzzing with anxious energy, I grabbed a jacket and headed for the door. Maybe being the romantic one for once would show him how much I still cared, that even if forever scared me shitless, there wasn’t anyone I’d rather try to get there with.
Ever since that dinner with other-Drew, I’d started to realize: The grass on the other side might be greener at first glance, but the fence was topped with razor wire. One casual comment—so offhand he clearly didn’t even realize it would hurt me—had made a life that had looked so perfect feel claustrophobic, all the luxuries, even the luxury of taking a stab at a writing career, just the springs and clamps of a beautifully designed trap. He didn’t support my writing because he believed in me. He supported it because it was a shiny, expensive present he could give me, proof not of my value but of his . I’m sure neither of us saw it that way in that life, but I was just a visitor there, and sometimes outsiders have the clearest view of a thing.
Yes, that life had things that I sometimes wished I had in this one—having someone take care of me instead of always being the one who kept all the balls in the air, for example. But the price of that security had been my freedom. And something else I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Spontaneity? Possibility? There was something hermetic about all the resort trips and fancy meals—all of them different on the surface but not at their core—that I’d started to feel after just a few days there.
I needed the anti-that. Something from the heart, not the wallet.
A picnic by the Charles—we’d gone on them all the time when we first started dating, the sweetness of the concept dovetailing neatly with cost-effectiveness. Ollie would love that, and watching the sun set over the water would be a perfect moment to try to tell him what had been going on lately. Not the body-switching part—that would freak anyone out—just the emotional stuff. Ollie knew that marriage freaked me out—how could it not after what had happened to Mom and Dad? We’d only ever skimmed over that feeling, me joking that marriage was a trap, him grinning and telling me that he was a Maine Man, traps were his specialty. But he was always so good at listening to me, at validating what I was feeling, maybe if I really let my guard down he’d manage to guide me to a place where forever didn’t feel like a threat. And even if he couldn’t, I at least owed him an honest explanation. And it was easier to say those things when you were looking away from each other.
I was lingering over the cheeses in the Cambridgeport Whole Foods when a wave of vertigo crashed over me.
Fuck. Not this again.