Chapter 19 #2
I do my best to start at the beginning, the beginning being another lifetime ago. I don’t make it far before Kimiko cuts me off.
“Wait a second. Are you talking about Alex Aquino?”
I sigh—I should’ve seen this coming.
“One and the same. We weren’t close back then—”
I continue, but I’m cut off again when I get to the night of Ellie’s wedding.
“You fucked Alex Aquino?”
“Stop saying his name like that.”
“I can’t believe you let me drone on about my sob story when you’re having tabloid-worthy drama with a veritable celebrity,” she says, so blasé about her trauma.
“It’s not anything-worthy, because he’s literally an eighteen-year-old freshman right now. And I think he might’ve decided he wants to be a movie director instead of a billionaire.”
“Alex Aquino wants to make movies?” she asks, face contorted with disgust. “Good Lord, what have you done to him?”
“I didn’t know him at eighteen the first time around. He might’ve always wanted to make movies until something changed.”
She lets out a contemplative “Hmm,” then pulls out her phone and makes a note.
“What are you doing?” I lean over to see her screen. She turns it ever so slightly away.
“Reminding myself to change my investment plan—his company is one of the ones I wanted to get in on the ground floor of. If you’re changing the course of his life, there are too many variables even if he does start the company.”
“So things like that can change?”
“Oh, yeah. You know Tinder?”
“Tinder?” I repeat, confused.
“Yeah, Tinder.” She perks up. “Wait, did they not have Tinder in the reality you came from? I have to tell Noah. He’s been trying to find proof for this theory he has that not all of us second-lifers came from the same original reality, but nothing has stuck.”
“No, of course I remember Tinder. But what does Tinder have to do with Alex?”
“Oh.” She sighs. “Damn. I thought we were onto something.”
“You were saying? About Tinder?” I prod.
“Right. It doesn’t exist.”
“Tinder doesn’t exist?”
“Nope.”
“Should it exist yet?” I frown. Did Tinder exist in 2012?
“It should. It came out September 2012. Except it didn’t, not this time. It isn’t there. Go ahead, check,” she adds after a moment, and I realize that my doubt must be obvious.
Frowning, I open the App Store on my phone and type in Tinder. An app pops up. I open my mouth to tell her she’s wrong and stop when I realize—
“You found the artificial-lighter app?”
I deflate. It’s an artificial-lighter app. “But maybe you misremembered the timing, and the dating app will overtake the lighter.”
“Nope. I remember the exact timing because a girl in my company showed it to me after rehearsal the week we went into previews for Swan Lake. And Swan Lake was 2012.”
Shaking my head, I muse, “But why would someone come back and make it so Tinder doesn’t exist? Why not just invent it and reap all the glory and money?”
“Maybe someone will.” Kimiko shrugs. “You could if you know anything about coding.”
The fact that Tinder doesn’t exist has my brain spiraling.
If things are so in flux that Tinder never appeared, it’s probably a terrible idea to invest all my eggs in one basket.
Did I screw up by throwing all my money into Bitcoin?
Kimiko continues, unaware of my internal panic, and sufficiently distracts me. I’ll worry about Bitcoin another day.
“Shit, I’ve gotten us really off topic, haven’t I? So, you fucked Alex Aquino—”
She prompts me to continue. Magically, she refrains from cutting in again, though I can see she’s tempted several times; she goes so far as to open her mouth, then stops herself, pantomimes zipping her lips shut, locking the zipper—which makes no sense—and throwing away the key.
I talk about sleeping with Ellie and getting ghosted.
I talk about dating Alex. I end on tonight’s revelation that my best friend is hooking up with the boy I was obsessed with for fourteen years and, even worse, doesn’t even consider us friends because I’ve been blowing her off during the period that cemented our friendship the first time around.
“Do you even want to be her friend?” Kimiko asks.
“Of course I do. She’s my best friend.”
“No, she’s your best friend fourteen years ago. Think about it. You’re thirty-two. She’s eighteen. I know you love her, but trust me, you’re going to notice that difference. You probably already have. Maybe that’s why you’ve been blowing her off.”
“I don’t think that’s why, considering I’ve been spending all my time with a different eighteen-year-old.”
“That’s not the same. When you’re fucking someone, all your hormones go haywire, and you can’t see them clearly.”
I’m not sure why, maybe because we’ve moved on to the subject of my age difference with Alex—something I’ve felt weird about but mostly managed to shove to the back of my mind—but all of a sudden that word sounds way more crass, more grating than it did when she used it minutes ago, and I wince at the sound.
Fucking.
A cold, sharp, meaningless word. Such an incongruous term for how I see my relationship with Alex now, even how I saw it on the night of Ellie’s wedding, when there was no relationship to speak of, and it really was that meaningless.
“Maybe—except we’re not.”
“You’re not fucking?” She says this like it’s blasphemy.
I wince again, but if she notices, she doesn’t say anything.
“We’re taking things slow.”
“Well. Okay. That’s weird, but okay. What I said still stands, especially now that you’re back in an eighteen-year-old body. All the time and wisdom and perspective in the world wouldn’t be a match for teenage hormones and an underdeveloped prefrontal cortex.”
“If we’re still subject to the same biological pitfalls and weaknesses we always were at this age, does it matter that I know better if I can’t get myself to act better? If that’s true, how can any of us be expected to actually fix anything?”
Kimiko shrugs.
“Who’s to say any of us do? Except whoever erased Tinder. They did good.”
I’m overwhelmed; everything we’ve discussed is roaring around in my head, and none of it makes any sense. As I struggle to process the implications of what she’s said, I realize—
“I still have no clue what to do about Madison.”
“You might have to wait and see how it plays out.”
“Wait? I can’t just sit back and be a passive character in my own second life,” I cry rather dramatically.
Damn. I really do have an eighteen-year-old brain.
“You don’t have to be passive… just be careful,” she tells me.
“Try to machinate too much, and you might drive everyone away. Take some time and consider if you really want these people in your life. You grew apart from Madison in your previous life. Is it the end of the world if it happens a little sooner this time? Not just with Madison—with everyone. Who do you want in this new life you’re building?
It’s up to you, and you don’t owe it to anyone to keep them around if they’re not additive.
Just because they were there before doesn’t mean they need to be there this time.
It’s hard to write a new story when it’s populated by all the same characters. ”
I leave soon after, Kimiko’s words swirling through my mind.