Aubrey launches herself out of the Adirondack, tears sliding down her cheeks. She circles Mallory’s chair and wraps her arms around her neck from behind. She kisses Mallory’s cheek and whispers, “I owe you everything, Mallory. I’ll make you proud, I promise.”
“Aubrey, you already do. You always have.” If only the opposite could be true.
The screeching of tires, the shattering of glass, the pounding of her heart, the reaching for Ilena’s hand.
Mallory watches as Aubrey kneels in front of Ilena, rubbing her belly, clasping her hand, touching the ends of her shorter hair. Aubrey lifts herself to peck Ilena’s cheek, and Mallory lowers her eyes, struggling to hold in the sob building from the depths of a soul she wasn’t sure she had. When she looks up, Aubrey’s holding some sort of glass figurine in one hand and setting the rock with “believe” written across it on her chair with the other.
“I’ll get to take care of you the same way you took care of me,” Aubrey says. “And finish what we started by taking AIM public amid a murder investigation. Thanks for that, by the way.”
She smiles with such confidence that Mallory almost wants to stay to see the woman she’ll become here. Mallory always thought Ilena was her person. And she is, but so is Aubrey.
But then Aubrey’s smile fades and hints of her old self slink in. “I do want this, but we are AIM, always. If you truly think this won’t work if I’m not sitting beside you, I choose you. Us.”
Mallory fights the seizing in her chest. This is the thread she can grab ahold of, the way to force Aubrey to come back. And in some universe, that’s exactly what Mallory does. But not in this one.
Here, in this universe, Mallory gives her choice to Aubrey. She puts on her widest smile and makes a decision that goes against her every instinct. “Nearlyidentical. That’s what Jonah said. Two-thirds feels ‘nearly’ to me. Go home, Aubrey. We’ll see you in ours.”
Against every instinct but one: to stand by her best friend.
Aubrey grabs each of their hands and squeezes one final time. She then scoops up Harley. With a final nod of goodbye, Aubrey chooses her life and walks away.
Mallory reaches for Ilena’s hand at the same time as Ilena reaches for Mallory’s. They’re both shaking and their eyes meet. The impossibility of this working at all collides with the impossibility of this working without Aubrey. What if it doesn’t, and this is all they have? Mallory sees everything in an instant: chocolate ice cream all over the face of Ilena’s baby girl; an engagement ring gleaming on Aubrey’s finger as her hand entwines with Kai’s; AIM breaking every Wall Street record; Mallory visiting Grayson’s grave. The multiverse theory means they get to live every life, for better or worse. They get to do everything. Here, at least whatever they do, she’s certain they’ll do it together.
Ilena says, “That was very brave. I’m proud of you. Truly, you really are an exceptional liar.”
“Shut up.” One hand still holding Ilena’s, she looks out at the river and all those people running, ponytails of brown andblack and blond and red swaying, backpacks filled with work clothes weighing them down, all aiming for home. Mallory picks up her phone and hits Send on her statement to Officer Middlebury.
“She’s going to be okay,” Ilena says with the confidence Mallory has known for more than half their lives. “And so will we.”
Interstitial
Your neighborhood book club choosesAnnaKareninaand you profess to love it. Your girlfriends from college call all male authors misogynistic and you agree. The women at your ladies’ night out insist tequila doesn’t give hangovers and you toss back your third shot and say you read it’s because of the low sugar content. Your yoga friends extend Dry January through April and you stock your fridge with drinks made of hemp and adaptogens. Your work friends blame their chronic carpal tunnel on bosses who feign Excel ignorance and colleagues who can’t unpack the dishwasher and you pull on your wrist brace and say you’ll absolutely refuse to plan the next holiday party. Your mom frowns during your third rescheduled coffee date as you clutch your latte, create a spreadsheet of coworker allergens, and insist you don’t mind that it’s not in your job description, the company has been good to you. Because you believe that it has. In that moment, at that time, you are sure.
Not because you are a liar, but because you are a chameleon. You slip in and out of versions of yourself, consciously and subconsciously fitting in with friends old and new, colleagues and bosses, partners and siblings. As many versions of yourself as there are seasons of housewives who claim to be real. Though some say there are only three: the one you see yourself as, the one others see you as, and the one you truly are. Maybe it’s that last one that all the others are trying to find.
And maybe, finally, I have.
49
Aubrey
Thursday Morning
Seven DaysAfterthe Outing
The Day AIM Should Go Public
Aubrey knows exactly what to do, but she keeps messing up. She keeps scratching at the back of her hand and now she’s drawn blood and she doesn’t have a Band-Aid and she’s wearing this outfit labeled “Special Occasion, Summer” and she doesn’t want to get blood on the white-flowered skirt.
She blots the blood with the side of Harley’s leash and whispers an apology and a promise to buy him a new one. He lies at her feet in agreement, and she doesn’t hesitate, she knocks twice and fast like the beating of her heart.
Dark hair rumpled, bare chest creased from bedsheets, eyes still crusted with sleep, Kai furrows his brow in confusion. He’s not the reason she stayed, but she hopes he’ll become one of the reasons she’s glad she did.
“Aubrey, what time—”
She hands him the succulent with the pink tips. “It’s 6:23 a.m. I’ve always liked numbers. They’re concrete. They just makesense to me. There’s no need for a pro-con list, no weighing of options. There’s a right, and there’s a wrong. But deciding which flavor of yogurt to have for breakfast? I give up and make do with the dregs of the latest vendor-sent bribe of a gift basket at work. Jerky, by the way, it’s always the jerky.”
“Aubrey, I—”
