Chapter 23
Aubrey
Sunday Afternoon
Three Days After the Outing
Aubrey sprinkles blue stars around the base of her wineglass. She plays with them, making a smiley face, drawing a snowman,
arranging them in ones and zeros to write code. She sticks her hand in the bag from the party store and grabs a fistful of
pink hearts. She mixes the pink confetti into the blue, takes a sip of her rosé, and outlines a crude tulip on the bar top,
a single stem like on her “Be you, be true” rock. Is it still on her desk in her world? The same way that glass octopus from
Kai is here?
The lion on her wrist continues to glitter, but he’s missing an ear. She should probably scrub the rest of the tattoo off,
especially before Ilena’s dinner party, but she’s not ready to let go of last night. If she closes her eyes, she can still
feel Ethan’s hand on her lower back, his bottom lip tugging on hers, smell his scent that’s more clove than it used to be,
and she doesn’t really even like clove or nutmeg or any of those fall, pumpkin pie spices even though she loves pumpkin—and
who decided pumpkin had to be mixed with clove and nutmeg anyway? Everything was the same and everything was different. But
still, it was Ethan.
He asked her for drinks. He asked her for a second date.
Maybe all this guilt that had been making her lose focus and interest and filling her with so much doubt was misplaced.
Maybe this version of Aubrey—maybe every version of Aubrey—is supposed to be with Ethan.
Is that why she’s here? So the universe can correct itself because of Aubrey’s careless mistake?
And it brought along her two best friends because even the universe knows Aubrey can’t really function alone.
She sends Mallory a message. No gifts? You’re sure?
Mallory: I’m sure. And we really need to talk. Where are you?
Aubrey: Meeting Ethan, remember? Best Bar, across the plaza.
Mallory: Best, not Better? At least someone’s got full confidence here.
Aubrey: What?
Aubrey: Am I wrong? Is it not Best?
Mallory: Never mind. But get to Ilena’s early. OK? I . . . I just need . . . just get there.
Aubrey nearly cringes at the desperation of her usually cool-as-a-cucumber friend and sends her an encouraging thumbs-up,
except getting to Ilena’s early is becoming more difficult with every minute Ethan’s late. She flicks a pink heart. Maybe
she does have the wrong bar. Maybe she misheard, and Mallory’s right that there is a Better Bar and she’s sitting here in
Best, making him wait.
What if he doesn’t? What if he thinks she stood him up?
She seizes her phone, and she sorta hates how quickly she’s fallen back into the texting world. She hesitates. She hasn’t
learned her lesson. What if he’s on his way and what if her text stops him? Hurts him. She sets down her phone.
If this is the universe correcting itself, then she shouldn’t interfere. Maybe they all just need to stop, give themselves over to the multiverse or many worlds or whatever, and see how things shake out.
The door to the bar opens, and Aubrey straightens her spine, anticipating Ethan. Instead it’s a collection of smooth skin
and blowout bar hair and trendy rompers and two-day-old scruff. They tumble in, laughing, and heading for a booth across from
the bar—AIM employees, including Noreen, Ella, and Kai.
Instinctually, Aubrey waves. Noreen and Ella wave back. Kai pauses, seemingly unsure after last night. Aubrey turns away from
them, wishing she’d sat on her hand. She’s here waiting for Ethan and she’s not supposed to interfere with the universe.
But then again, the universe must be busy. She should meet it halfway, shouldn’t she? She has Ethan’s full contact information.
She could send him an email, less urgent than a text, but maybe if she is at the wrong bar, it’ll prompt him to ask where
she is. She starts a new message with a casual “Hey,” realizes she needs an actual reason to be emailing him, and invites
him to the gender-reveal party, after drinks, if he’s free.
There. Perfect. Right?
She finishes her drink just as a server sets a second glass of wine in front of her.
“Consider it a thank-you,” Kai says, sliding onto the barstool next to her. “For finding this.” He wiggles his wrist with
the tigereye bracelet, but then his face goes slack. “Maybe that crosses a line? Or is patriarchal? I should have asked. Sorry,
yeah, I should totally have asked.” He pops off the barstool. His flurry of nerves makes the ones she’d expected to have in
his presence again lie dormant.
“It’s nice. Thank you.” She takes a sip.
“Cool.”
“Yeah, cool.” She never says “cool.” She never feels cool enough to say “cool” for real, or hipster enough to say “cool” ironically, or to even know when to say it which way, or even if hipsters are still a thing.
Kai lingers behind the stool, as if it might bite him if he gets too close.
“You can sit,” she says, the words sliding out before she can stop them.
“That I can. Learned when I was a wee babe.”
Her brows scrunch together.
“To sit.” He runs his hand through his hair. “This isn’t like me. I’m not normally such a cornball. No, sorry, that’s a lie.
I am. Truly, I’m a cornball. Dad jokes all the way.”
“Dad jokes?” she says.
“You’ve never heard of dad jokes?”
Heat creeps up her neck. Aubreyisms alive and well, Ethan would say if he were here. Then she remembers, Ethan is supposed to be here.
Kai grins and dimples indent his cheeks. “They get a bad rap. Highly unwarranted. I challenge you not to laugh.”
“I’ll warn you, I’m not the hugest laugher.”
“You don’t laugh?”
“No, I mean, I do, just not like at things other people do.”
“Like animals dressed like humans and grandmas tearing down Slip ’N Slides?”
“Do people laugh at those things?”
“Oh, people do.” Kai’s eyes widen in innocence.
She laughs.
“Are you lying to me, Aubrey? Because that sounded like a laugh.”
“Just go already.”
“Okay.” Kai rubs his hands together. “What did the drummer call his two daughters?”
Aubrey stares at him.
He rolls his hand. “It’s funnier if you participate.”
“Oh, okay, then. What?”
“Anna, one, Anna two.” Kai mimes hitting a drum and cymbal. “Ba dum tsh.”
Aubrey smiles indulgently.
Kai frowns. “Hardball. I like it. Now, let’s see . . . maybe . . . got it. I’m reading this book about antigravity.” He rolls
his hand again.
“Oh, really? How is it?”
“It’s impossible to put down!”
At this, Aubrey laughs, not for the joke but for the way Kai’s eyebrows lift in anticipation, the tilt of his body toward
her, the energy releasing from him that she can’t help but absorb. He smiles easily, as if smiling is easy.
“One more,” she says, feeling a lightness she hasn’t felt in a long time, even before Ethan’s death. She hadn’t needed a pro-con
list to decide whether she wanted to date Ethan. Just look at him. And look at her. So of course she was always worried about
saying something stupid or misunderstanding a joke or being the joke without realizing it. There was a weight to living that way. She didn’t realize how much until now. She smiles at
Kai. “Your absolute best.”
Kai nods slowly as if rotating through a database in his mind. “So, yeah,” he says like he’s in the middle of a casual conversation,
“I ordered a chicken and an egg from .” Aubrey’s grin comes even before he finishes. He gives a playful shrug. “So,
I’ll let you know.”
The tingling that precedes goose bumps whooshes through her, followed by a ripple in her belly, and her laugh releases from somewhere deep and true.
She remembers the feeling she had when she first woke up in this topsy-turvy world two days ago.
Not fully asleep, not fully awake, with this warm body beside her and a sense of comfort and contentment that she wanted to burrow into and never let go.
“And there it is,” he says. “A laugh. Looks good on you. You can repay me tomorrow by bringing me that succulent you promised.
Otherwise, I might have to take back the octopus. We did have a deal.” He smiles broadly, and those dimples scoop farther
in, and Aubrey resists the urge to trace them with her finger. The bartender approaches, and Kai orders a dark beer. When
the bartender asks for his ID, Kai’s cheeks flush, and his eyes dart to Aubrey’s. To the thirty-two-year-old woman sleeping
with a kid. Grad school or not, that’s what he is.
Aubrey’s phone dings with a new email.
Hey, Aub, sounds fun, but I’m watching baseball with the guys. Let’s make a plan soon? ??
—E
“That little shit,” Aubrey blurts out, fuming that he didn’t even mention the plans they have for this very moment.
Kai’s hand drops to the bar, not taking his ID back from the bartender.
“No,” Aubrey says. “Not you, sorry, not either of you.”
The guys. How many times had Aubrey gone along to watch the Red Sox with Ethan’s friends in their frat house of an apartment
even though she hates baseball more than she hates cloves?
“Instantaneous” and “Aubrey” do not go together. But still, she turns to Kai. “Do you like baseball?”
“Not especially. But . . . oh, is there a match or something tonight that you want to watch? I’d give it a go.”
A baseball “match.” A total Aubreyism.
“How about gender-reveal parties?” she asks.
“Cakes that surprisingly burst with blue or pink sponge? Sounds cool. Supercool.”
Aubrey smiles. “Cool, for sure. This one’s tonight. For Ilena’s baby. Want to come with me?”
“Absolutely.” His eyes are bright with interest as if everything surrounding Aubrey is something to be explored and he just
can’t wait. And then, the skin between his brow crinkles. “But I don’t have a gift.”