I wanted to say something, but Drew excused himself to refill his drink and then the holiday high wore off and things went back to normal and I convinced myself that was for the best. From afar, I couldn’t fuck things up with him, but now…
Now I know I was wrong? At least partially? Maybe?
I don’t know what any of this means! I fucking time traveled, and the crystals to get me back are the thing that brought us together! And I might lose everything I’ve just built with Drew when I go back in time to the wedding night I ruined.
I don’t know what to do.
All of this is to say…I miss you. I know that’s unfair, but I do. I would give anything to sit on the beanbag chair in your room and vent while you paint your toenails like we did at the beginning of high school. To look at the 1989-era Taylor Swift poster on your wall and know that no problem couldn’t be fixed with ice cream and a “Shake It Off” dance party.
“Where were you?” Jessalynn asks as soon as they find me in the office of my apartment, ready to pounce. I send the email and turn toward them.
“Visiting my mom,” I say, which at the very least is not a lie.
They narrow their eyes at me. “Is that code for something?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Why would it be?”
“Because you haven’tvisitedanyone in the last few years. You once said, ‘People outside of New York City don’t exist.’”
While that doesn’t sound likeme, it certainly sounds like this costumed version of me. “I’ve changed my mind.” It’s dinnertime for Milkshake, so I head toward the kitchen—without getting lost. I pour some dog food into Milkshake’s bowl, and he comes bounding into the room, tail wagging, tiny feet clacking on the wooden floor. “Speaking of change, I’m updating the set.”
The conversations with Wanda and Mom and kissing Drew all made clear that this may not be my reality, but it’s still real. Though I have faith that the crystals will work their magic again, I can’t completely ignore the possibility that I could get stuck here. At least for a time. And I’m responsible for this timeline while I’m living in it.
“For the special?” they ask, sounding borderline infuriated. “Like hell you are.”
Now that Milkshake is fed, I search around for some nourishment of my own. Jessalynn is breathing down my neck. “It’s my words coming out of my mouth, and I should get the final say over them.”
“No,” they say, furiously stabbing something into their phone.
I grab a chia pudding from the fridge. “What are you going to do, ventriloquist-dummy me then? Pull aSingin’ in the Rainand force me to mouth the words someone else is saying offstage? Some of those jokes are mean-bordering-on-cruel, and I won’t say them.”
They roll their eyes. “Oh, so one trip to visit Mommy and you’re suddenly questioning your morals? Give me a break.”
I hate how snide their tone is. Maybe I used the same one before arriving inside this body, but no more. I refuse to be ruled by pessimistic hate.
Things are finally looking up in this timeline. Drew is on the way to fully forgiving me, or at least he kisses and texts me like he is. Mom might be coming to my special taping. I still have made no headway with CeeCee, and I haven’t seen Dad, but I want to leave this timeline better than how I found it.
Again, it’s good practice for when I’m back.
“I’m making edits. End of discussion,” I say, borrowing some of my onstage confidence. Wanda’s encouragement gives me the bravery to stand my ground here.
Jessalynn sighs with the strength of a cyclone. “The network approved the jokes. The director approved the jokes. Our editor—responsible for knowing your jokes inside and out so they can be spliced—has committed the set to memory. Why must you do this to me?”
“To you?” I ask, dropping my spoon in my cup. “You know, when we worked at the Hardy-Har Hideaway and we made fake plans for the future, dreaming of all this”—I motion around me, at the excess and the luxury and the stupid automatic vacuum—“you always said we’d be partners. This feels a bit like you’re bullying me into what you want, and that’s not okay with me.” Maybe time travel is exactly what I needed to finally grow a backbone, enough of one that Jessalynn backs down slightly.
“We were children then. You have a fan base. I have a business,” they begin, less fight to it. “We have people to answer to. If it were up to me—”
“It’s not,” I say, cutting them off. “It’s up tome.”
They slip their phone into their bag with a huff. “Fine. Make your changes,” they say, putting sunglasses on. “But they better be done before the next rehearsal or else.”
Their warning follows them out, but I’m undeterred because a massive weight lifts off of me for finally getting rid of those jokes that aren’t me. That won’t be me ever again. I can promise myself that much.
Only now I have to do the hard work of editing them to reflect this positive confidence.
After several SOS texts to Drew, he tells me to come by the store so I can workshop my edits while he mans the register and, from what I’ve overheard so far, argue with a fickle man about folding chairs.
“No, I promise you, sir, I did not fill out the form incorrectly,” Drew says sharply yet politely into his phone. “I’m a triple-checker. I would not have put five when I need fifty. I own five chairs, so it would be quite silly of me to hire your company to provide something I already have.” Tucked into one of the jade-colored wingback chairs across the way with my notebook open in my lap, I’m in perfect eavesdropping distance. Even though I should be scrubbing through these setups.
