With shaking hands, I part the tissue paper in each one, settingaside candles and creams and oils and supplements. It’s in the bottom of the very last bag that I find a smaller velvet bag that feels smooth to the touch and looks strikingly familiar.
I undo the drawstring and into my hand plops a collection of crystals.
Different colors. Different shapes and textures than the ones Drew and I painstakingly collected. The same scroll as the original bag from Ryan, but with different words.
In this collection, you will find pink tourmaline, peridot, sodalite, serpentine, anhydrite, citrine, and fire opal. These specially shaped crystals were chosen in consort to help the user make peace with their past.
Instructions:
Hold the crystals close to your chest.
Set a strong intention. Speak it into the universe.
Visualize the ideal outcome.
Place crystals under your pillow for sleep.
Wake up rejuvenated and ready to begin again.
“This can’t be a coincidence, right?” I ask. My thoughts are of two minds: I’m still on that really elaborate prank show I dreamed up when I awoke into this reality, or those folks at Doop played a long con on me. Reconciling with Drew, my family, and finally my sister led to my ultimate escape.
Well played, Doop. Well played.
CeeCee’s eyes scan the instructions. “Those fuckers…” Her laugh is sardonic. “Maybe you were supposed to get both, and Ryan messed up with the goody bags.” CeeCee’s tone suggests that, even as she’s saying it, she doesn’t buy it. “Are you going to use them?”
“Not tonight,” I say quickly, worry impinging on me. “I–I need some time with them. With this.” I know she’ll know what I mean. “This” includes Mom and Dad and Imogen and Drew and her. “All the relationships I restored in this timeline will be lost or changed if I turn the clock back. Embark on my own daylight savings.” I roll my eyes at how cheesy that sounds.
“Yeah, of course,” she says, taking me seriously. Finally.
“I don’t know if I want to give this up,” I say. “And if I do want that, I don’t know if I’m ready to just yet.”
“That makes sense,” she says. “It’s your life, Nolan.”
We work in silence until we’re both a barrel of yawns and worry, the crystals becoming heavier by the second in my pocket. We drag ourselves upstairs and back to our respective bedrooms, and before we part ways, CeeCee hooks her hand in mine. A level of tender we haven’t shared since high school.
Even in the darkness, her voice barely above a whisper, I know she’s crying. “I would give anything to not have lost seven years of this.” She shakes our joined hands. “You know what’s best, and I’ll support you in whatever you choose, but I just had to say that.”
Without another word, she pulls me into a hug that lets me know the sins of my past have been forgiven. Or, at least, forgiven enough that we can start over. In whichever timeline I decide on.
Chapter Forty
When I’m back in New York, I don’t go out and party and drink and make a general ass of myself. I stay home to cook Drew and me a dinner we always loved: spaghetti bolognese. I was never much of a chef beyond instant ramen and instant oatmeal and anything else withinstantin the title, but I collect the ingredients from a nearby organic market, I watch a YouTube video walking me through the steps, and when I’m finished, it feels like I’ve meditated. Zen sweeps through my veins as I set the table and pour the expensive wine, ignoring the mess I’ve made of this luxurious life.
Without Jessalynn on my team, everything pretty much goes to shit. Nobody knows what to do or what to say or what needs paying for or who needs to pay me. I appoint my assistants as the leaders of damage control, tell my business manager to “figure it out,” and get a new phone with a new number with five contacts: Drew, Mom, CeeCee, James, and the memory care facility.
I sneak Milkshake a wayward noodle that landed on the counter. He happily slurps it up, tail thumping against a nearby cabinet. I’m going to miss him. Because even if there’s another Milkshake, it won’t be this exact Milkshake. If that even makes sense.
“What’s all this for?” Drew asks when he walks through the door, rumpled from a day at the store. He’d texted earlier to let meknow the store manager he promoted in his absence had done a decent job, but Drew is a perfectionist, so of course he had to work extra hours to get everything back to his liking.
As I stand here, sweating with nerves, I hope my gesture is to his liking as well. “I wanted to do a little something to celebrate us.”
His smile sends a bolt of love straight down to the ends of my toes. We take our seats, lay down our napkins, and I can’t help but notice how my utensils are shaking as I serve us both. Drew, clearly clocking this, remains mum. Really, I’m worried about what he’ll say when I show him what I’ve been hiding for the past week.
By the time I set out dessert, I decide I can’t take it anymore, and I place the bag between our plates of flourless dark-chocolate tart (not made by me, but hand-selected while starving and rolling a cart by the bakery section).
Drew’s brows furrow. “Did you get me a gift?”
“Not exactly,” I say, before urging him to open the bag and see for himself. I wouldn’t be able to find the right words to explain the serendipity.
