His anger mutates into audible sadness. It fills the whole store, so potent I could almost choke on it. “Drew, I’m telling the truth. It sounds absurd, I know. I swore this was a dream, yet I haven’t woken up. This body is not mine. This life is not mine. I wish I could explain it better, but I can’t. Last night, you walked out of our hotel room after telling me you loved me but needed space, and this morning I woke up in an apartment I’ve never been in next to a man I thought I’d never see again.”
Maybe it’s hope messing with my vision, but I could swear Drew cringes at the mention of another man in my bed. The nearly imperceptible squeeze of his body is gone the minute he shakes his head. “I lost my trust in you a long time ago. Maybe youbelievewhat you’re saying is true, but I’m not your person anymore. I haven’t been for a long time.”
Any optimism I held drains out of me and swiftly gets replaced by desperation. “But, Drew, please. I need your help!” Milkshake howls alongside me, underlining my plight.
“I can’t help you!” Drew snaps.
“Oh, are you closed?” In the howling and shouting, neither of us heard the twinkling bells over the door. A stunned elderly gentleman with tufts of white hair sticking out over his ears stands with his hand still on the doorknob, one foot inside the shop.
Drew shakes off our fight like water droplets right out of the pool. “No, we’re open. My apologies. Please feel free to browse and let me know if you need any assistance.” Before my eyes, he transforms into the supreme professional he’s always longed to be, in an environment so antithetical to everything he loved when I knew him.
I couldn’t have caused this drastic shift, could I? I’m only one person. My actions don’t reverberate that widely.
As soon as the man picks up a hardback on the far side of the store and begins reading the jacket, I turn back to Drew, face-to-face with his stormy expression. “Fine, I understand. I won’t bother you again. I’ll, uh, go find CeeCee. She’s blocked me on everything, but I’ll show up at the Doop offices, I guess. Maybe she can help. See if they’ll let me in and tell me what the hell they did to those crystals.” Drew’s expression is a neutral mask, even at the second mention of the crystals, which I hoped might intrigue him. “Wish me luck?” I ask, like I used to in the old times, which were really yesterday times. Only not for him.
He opens his mouth, and it seems like he’s about to say something unexpected. My heart ignites for a moment, only to be extinguished when he grabs a stack of books, turns away, and says dismissively, “Good luck.”
Chapter Seventeen
Drew’s luck doesn’t work this time.
Perhaps because he didn’t mean it when he said it.
Or perhaps it didn’t work last time either. I had nearsightedly convinced myself it did. And then proceeded to pitch my life into turmoil anyway.
I dropped Milkshake back off at the apartment and fed him before snagging the poke bowl Antoni left out for me on the island. On the subway ride to the High Line, I shovel food into my mouth with gilded, reusable chopsticks. This body may be borrowed, but I intend to treat it right while I’ve got it.
I can’t stop replaying the hostile words Drew spewed at me. That was clearly a deep hurt manifesting into an uncharacteristic rage. Though, I suppose, after seven years, I’m not an expert on what’s characteristic for Drew anymore.
He did say in the hotel room that he needed to find out what he wanted independent of me. Is this what he wanted—whohe wanted to be?
I ponder that question for so long that I nearly miss my station.
Depositing the last of my tuna, ponzu, sesame oil, and avocado into a nearby trash bin, I stare up at the regal tower of glass andsteel, bracing myself for my first encounter with CeeCee in this new timeline.
The rooftop is a tree-lined garden much like the one in my new apartment. Folks in ties and skirts lounge by the ledge, looking out onto the water. Terraces hang from the right side over the High Line, where couples take springtime walks and buy gelato from carts. A memory of Drew and me there when we first moved to New York City arises, sharing one tiny cup of stracciatella with two flat spoons in the sweltering heat of July.
The future felt rife with sweaty, beautiful possibility then.
Strange that the future is now.
Inside, Doop’s name doesn’t appear anywhere on the commercial signage in the massive, marble-floored lobby. Their upper-level office space, with sandy tan and muted pink accents, yoga mats instead of foosball tables, has seemingly relocated.
When a Black man wearing nearly imperceptible earbuds comes up beside me, I politely ask for his attention. “All good?” he asks.
“Not quite,” I say, frazzled. “Doop…they, uh, moved?” I point to the board where their name has been replaced with a tech company’s.
“Yeah,” the man says with a laugh.
“Do you happen to know where?”
“Sure,” he replies, “the graveyard where all fad businesses go when they die out.” The shock on my face must look like hurt because he adds quickly, “Ah, damn. Sorry. Did you work there or something?”
“No, but I know someone who did. I thought I’d find her here.”
He nods, eyebrows raised. “We’re all looking for that special girl, aren’t we?”
“It’s my sister,” I tell him. “And I’m gay.”
