“I know, I know. Big-time CEO doesn’t want to play cops and robbers with her pops anymore.”
Pops. He’s a “Pops.”
“Can I at least get a hug?”
He lumbers toward her, and his arms encircle her stiff torso. Her eyes lower to the gun on his hip and the realization that he’s not here to arrest her isn’t as relief-inducing as it should be. Because he’s not just a “Pops,” he’s her “Pops.”
Inside Noreen’s car, a phone begins to ring, playing someBeatles song she’s never heard, which might be because she’s not a big Beatles fan or because they have different songs here. Either way, it’s not her ringtone. It’s Grayson’s.
“Let me,” the man—her father—says.
Before Mallory’s instincts kick in, he’s already hunched himself inside the car.
“It’s okay, I don’t need—”
“Here you go.” He plunks it in her hand, and she sees “Heidi Hoffman” on the screen before she hits the decline button and feels her chest and hope deflate as she reluctantly shuts off Grayson’s phone.
“Two phones. To think my genes helped create a daughter who’s important enough to have two phones. You definitely got that from your mom.” He smiles, so wide and genuine and warm, and a thousand thoughts funnel like a tornado in her mind: He’s not here to arrest her and he doesn’t know about the dead body in the freezer and he seems to love her mom and maybe her. But one single thought eclipses all the rest:You left me, you left me, you left me, you left—
“And when did you get a car, MallieMoo?” he says.
23
Aubrey
Sunday Afternoon
Three DaysAfterthe 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.
