Chapter 46
Aubrey
Wednesday Morning
Six Days After the Outing
They’re going back. Back to a world with no Ethan and with a Kai who doesn’t hate her and to an Aubrey who hasn’t done all
of this—lied and cheated and made a mockery of this other-world Aubrey’s life. She needs to let this Aubrey return to her
yoga and succulents and the small apartment with the pink chair and the cloud of a blanket and the perfectly organized closet
that Aubrey hasn’t earned.
Aubrey fluffs the pillows on the bed and scans the apartment to make sure she’s leaving it as she found it. With no trace
of her left behind, just as Mallory said. Aubrey hopes everything’s erased—everything she did, gone from this Aubrey’s mind.
She wants this Aubrey to be able to live her life without the knowledge of what her genetic match is capable of.
Aubrey pauses in front of the Women Who Code poster. Even if this Aubrey doesn’t remember, everyone else here will. There
will still be consequences. All Aubrey can do is try to lessen them.
She hurries to the closet and pulls out the outfit she labeled for today.
Dark-wash skinny jeans and a coral T-shirt.
Yesterday, the day the world found out Grayson was dead, the day the news and social media blew up about what that means for AIM’s stock price, the day pundits and critics asked if AIM’s bubble had finally burst, relegating it to the rest of the troubled tech world, the day that should have seen her, Mallory, and Ilena not collapsing under the pressure and instead putting out a thousand fires to save the company they built over the past eight years, that day—that day instead saw them shopping.
Aubrey runs her hand along the AIM logo freshly embossed on this brand-new coral shirt. It’s not the AIM logo of here. It’s
the AIM logo of home. Aubrey had nearly forgotten they weren’t the same.
She slips her feet into a pair of flip-flops, peels off the price tag, and grabs the tote by the door. It’s full of all the
ingredients for a strawberry mule, a bottle of sparkling wine, and a facial serum made of lactic acid, which supposedly attracts
mosquitos. She slides the rock Ilena painted last night into her pocket. A white daisy with “believe” written across it, a
duplicate of the one she had at the outing in their world. It settles beside the glass octopus from Kai. Then she says a silent
goodbye to this life she shouldn’t feel this sad to leave behind.
Aubrey’s finger hovers over the buzzer. Just as she presses the button beside “Lauren Stevens,” the woman herself appears
on the other side of the glass door. Aubrey knows it’s her thanks to her pictures on social media, but also, Ethan’s at her
side. He freezes when he sees her, his lips thinning, his eyes full of anger. Full of threat.
Drops of sweat prickle the space between Aubrey’s breasts, and she’s sixteen again listening to the tapping of the pool skimmer against the wall of the shed that wasn’t really the pool house the boy said it was, having a first time she would forever regret, twenty-four and hiding in the bathroom stall at the start-up program, thirty-one saying yes to marrying a man who made a list of her flaws before proposing.
She doesn’t want to be any of those Aubreys.
She straightens her spine and steps back as Lauren Stevens exits the apartment building. “I’m sorry,” Aubrey says.
Lauren smiles bemusedly. She’s lovely, and Aubrey’s going to break her heart.
“We can go around,” Ethan says, a hand on Lauren’s back, the other balled into a fist at his side.
“I wasn’t talking to you, Ethan,” Aubrey snaps.
Lauren’s face shifts, instantly wary, and again Aubrey wonders about that déjà vu thing. Somewhere, in some reality, does
another Lauren Stevens know what’s coming?
“I’m sorry I don’t recognize you,” Lauren says. “Do you live in the building?”
Aubrey shakes her head.
“But you two know each other?” Lauren’s voice lifts a pitch. “From work or—”
“Socially,” Aubrey says. The way Lauren leans into Ethan, Aubrey almost feels bad. Her words will change Lauren’s life. Even
though Aubrey thinks she should say them, she won’t be here to deal with the consequences. The sense of female loyalty she
feels toward Lauren won’t make up for that. And maybe this isn’t really her choice to make. It’s Ethan’s. And yet, he’s been
lying to them both—and maybe they aren’t the only ones.
Aubrey pulls the “You are somebody’s reason to smile” rock out of her pocket and pushes it into Ethan’s hand.
Lauren looks at her with a puzzled expression. “What’s that?”
“Just something I needed to return,” Aubrey says.
Lauren swivels toward her fiancé. “Return? Ethan?”
“It’s nothing,” he says, barely covering his growl.
This is as much as Aubrey can do. Once she’s gone, the other Aubrey might not have any memory of all this. How far Lauren pushes Ethan for an answer will be up to her.
Aubrey lets her gaze settle on Ethan, with any luck, for the last time in any reality.
She has one more thing to do. For this Aubrey, yes, but even more, for herself.
She’s waiting outside the deli, two iced rooibos lattes dripping condensation onto the bistro table. He pauses when he sees
her, lets his hand slip from the door handle. A woman approaches, and he reclaims the handle, opening the door for her, causing
his T-shirt to rise, the indentation above his hip to be exposed. Aubrey feels a twinge of desire.
He approaches, and Aubrey holds out one of the drinks. He doesn’t take it from her.
“Why am I here?” Kai says. “Can’t you fire me at the office?”
“You’re not being fired.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t sue you or anything.”
Aubrey puts down the tea. “You shouldn’t joke about that. It’s not funny. It wasn’t right, me sleeping with you, and it’s
not something we should gloss over. We should talk about it.”
“It’s cool, I told you it’s cool. Maybe you think because I’m such a child, you need to keep repeating it for me to get it?”
Disappointment gives way to frustration. “Yeah, so how’s that shoulder?”
His brow furrows. “My what? Shoulder, what do you—”
“From the chip. It’s heavy, right?”
“That’s not fair. You said I was young yourself.”
“I did, because I couldn’t say what I really wanted to say.” Her fingernail finds her thumb and she scratches the phantom
mosquito bite. “You weren’t Ethan.”
“Uh, yeah, I should go.” He starts to turn, and Aubrey wraps a hand around his forearm, his muscles taut beneath her palm.
She says softly, “I was glad that you weren’t him, but I felt guilty, and I didn’t know how to deal with it all.”
“Deal with what?”
“This feeling more real than my real life.”
“I don’t know what that means.” He sighs. “I like you, Aubrey. But you’re confusing as hell, and I don’t think it’s just your
bullet-train mind. Something’s going on with you. And you either trust me enough to tell me or you don’t.”
Aubrey stares at him blankly, trying to come up with an Aubreyism to explain all this away. He’d never believe the truth.
He waits, longer than most would, before resting his hand on top of hers and slipping his arm free.
Her heart deflates. But she can’t force him to stay. “At least take the tea.”
This time, he accepts it. “I know this is complicated. I’m not naive. But I also know there’s something here.” He sips the
tea, giving her a last chance that she doesn’t take.
He’s halfway down the block by the time she whispers, “I know it too. That’s what scares me.”
Aubrey watches him go, her brain launching into overdrive—succulents and her rock collection, Lauren Stevens and Ethan’s dirty
mug, that pool shed and the start-up program, and the family she doesn’t know here and the family waiting at home, and her
grandmother’s afghan.
She loved running her fingers along the bumps on the blanket, which had perhaps helped her grandmother understand Aubrey’s
obsession with coding in a way her parents didn’t. Coding wasn’t all that different from those knits and purls, each strand
of yarn important but unable to do much on its own. But together, loop after loop, knot after knot, row after row, the strands
formed something new, something complete, something that couldn’t be broken.
She sits at the bistro table and pushes her tea to the side. From the tote bag she grabs a pen and the slip of paper with yesterday’s shopping list. On the back, she draws a straight line down the middle. She writes “pro” on one side, “con” on the other. And then she makes her list.
Visually, it’s clear. On one side of the column, there’s a single entry. But it carries a tremendous amount of weight.
She studies it, willing herself not to make the decision her head knows is right despite it tearing off a chunk of her heart.
The familiar ache of grief spreads across her chest as she pulls the glass octopus from Kai out of her pocket. She forgot
to give it back, not that she wanted to, but she also couldn’t leave it in the apartment. She finishes her tea, tucks the
octopus back into her jeans pocket, and heads off to meet her two best friends.