“All’s good. I really just wanted to check in with you. To see how you were.” Something she needs to start doing a lot more of with her mom in her world.
48
Mallory
Wednesday Evening
Six DaysAfterthe Outing
Mallory tugs a red starfish out of Harley’s mouth. What began as her making sure he wouldn’t choke on a piece of plastic turned into a game, but only for him.
“Screw it.” She releases the starfish, and the gloating Harley escapes into the sandbox she had delivered that morning. The gastropub’s here—different name, same kitschy offerings like bacon-wrapped figs and oysters with freeze-dried watermelon. There’s also the dock renting paddleboards and kayaks and a lawn full of Adirondacks. A server who earns the “fuck” vote in any game of FMK carried three white chairs to the sandbox thanks to Mallory’s smile. (Actually, her breasts.)
She loops Harley’s leash around her ankle and lets the deep chair swaddle her as she holds up her phone and reads over her statement to the police. She drafted it here, wearing the cat-eyed reading glasses she’s come to despise slightly less, with a view of the river and a glass of sparkling wine—or two.
Details on waking up with no memory of the night of theouting, insinuating too much to drink followed by panicking—a shock-induced spiral that led to a string of behaviors she can’t fully recall let alone explain. She didn’t say the truth: that she consciously used her father to subvert the investigation, a part that swells a lump in her throat.
Across the lawn, Aubrey and Ilena arrive together. Like Mallory, they’re wearing clothes similar to what they wore to the outing in their world. They settle into the Adirondack chairs, and Harley wheels around in a circle, trying to decide whose toes to lick first. He gives up and chooses his balls.
Mallory rests her reading glasses on the arm of the chair. “I sure hope we’re doing this in our world.”
“We promised,” Ilena says. She’s calm, relaxed even. She did her best to dress the same despite her round stomach. Long-sleeved white shirt and a stretchy navy skort. She even trimmed her hair. She looks very much like the Ilena of home. “We promised Aubrey we’d gather for luck the night before AIM goes public. So, yes, we’re there.”
Because Mallory and Ilena owe Aubrey. They will forever owe Aubrey.
Aubrey opens the tote bag and pours two glasses of pink liquid from an insulated water bottle. “No doubt about it.”
“That’s definitive,” Ilena says.
“I’m trying it out,” Aubrey says. “Plus, I’m still waving that dead fiancé card at home. No one says no to that.”
Ilena looks at her. “And you’re not here?”
Aubrey shakes her head.
“Seems I have some catching up to do,” Ilena says.
Aubrey smiles slightly as she hands Mallory a bottle of sparkling wine.
Ilena lifts her glass, and Aubrey’s arm darts out. “It’s not a virgin. I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”
“It’s fine. The doctor even said so. Just a little. Special occasion and all.”
“Let’s hope so,” Mallory says, trailing a finger along the seam of the cheap grape jumpsuit she hopes to never see again. “Special enough that all this disappears.” As she says it, Ilena touches her stomach, and Mallory wishes she could take it back. “Oh, Ilena, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Ilena blinks back tears, and Mallory’s heart sinks. “I mean, it’s not fine. Of course it’s not for a thousand reasons I know and ones that I can’t yet fathom.” Ilena presses her ballet flats into the grass. “But this baby isn’t mine. She belongs to this Ilena and this Felix. It’s not my place to stay here.”
Aubrey bends to pet Harley. “What makes you so sure?”
“Because I have my own place.”
Mallory knows that Ilena can say this with such confidence because her place has been with Jonah since the day they met.
Mallory never thought she needed what Ilena and Jonah had. She had Ilena, and then, Aubrey. More was a distraction. Grayson proves it.
He hurt her, the her who was letting herself feel something for him, something she hadn’t let herself feel for anyone. She’s not sure if that makes it more or less likely that she could have killed him. But she’s choosing to believe the crackers were an accident. And so she’s not confessing to murder, but she is taking control, feeling more like herself, and giving this Mallory the best shot she can. She put the top criminal lawyer in the city on retainer that afternoon.
“When were we supposed to get here?” Mallory asks.
