“Fine! Whatever. Japanese is just easier right now.”
“How much do you know?”
“I know enough to get by. Used to speak it more when I was a kid. But I still know the important stuff. Like… basic conversational stuff. I can say ‘Watch out!’ and I can tell someone I’m from America and I can ask where the bathroom is. Everything else is incremental.”
Will considered the three sentences and decided they were pretty useful in any language. “I think you mean incidental.”
“Blame the tequila.”
He toasted her with his water and drank half the glass. When she only stared at hers, he put it in her hands.
“You’ll thank me later.”
She shrugged and drank more slowly than he had. They sat in silence for a couple minutes. Will stared at his TV. If he turned it on now, would it even work? Or would his newfound self-awareness make the TV play only static? He was afraid to check. Maybe tomorrow he’d try to browse Netflix.
“This one guy in the coffee shop used the adjective ‘stellar,’” Emmy said into the silence. “Who the hell says ‘stellar’ anymore?”
“I have no idea. He sounds like a tool.”
“He probably was. He sure didn’t pick up on my fuck off signals,” Emmy grumbled.
“Maybe you need to work on clearer fuck off signals.”
“I don’t know. I’m pretty good at those already. I think he was just…” She wiggled her fingers. “Bespelled or something. The romance novel forced him to try to be in a romance.”
“Or he saw a hot chick in a coffee shop and decided to try his luck,” Will suggested.
“I was wearing a man’s sweatshirt, oversized sandals, and duck pants.”
“And still.”
She waved this away. “Anyway. I don’t think I’m escaping this book tonight, so um… can I bunk here? I’ll sleep on the couch.”
Will sighed. “I’ve got a spare bedroom. Come on, I’ll get you a toothbrush. You can borrow a shirt to sleep in if you want.”
*
As Emmy snuggled down under the covers in Will’s guest room, she welcomed the weighty pull of sleep. Maybe this really had been a dream and she would wake up at home where she belonged. Then Will would be rid of her. He could…
Her eyes shot open. He could…what? She’d ended up in Will’s house after falling asleep. Would she return to her own bed by falling asleep again? Would that make Will cease to exist as he had feared? What would that make her? Not a murderer. Not that. But… just the thought of being responsible for his existence—or lack thereof—made her feel sick to her stomach. More sick than she already felt after downing half a bottle of tequila. Will needed to know her suspicions. It was unfair of her to keep them to herself, knowing she might wake up in the morning having ended him in her sleep. She was halfway out of bed when she paused, reconsidered. Should he know? Or would keeping it to herself be more…God… merciful?
Feeling lower than she’d ever felt in her life, she crept out of bed and tiptoed over to his door, which he’d left ajar. He was already asleep. The dim hall light cast a dreamy glow into his room and showed her that his sleeping face was relaxed and peaceful. Her gut clenched, and she felt the sting of tears gathering in her eyes. How could she wake him up just to tell him he might not be real in the morning? Clutching one arm around her stomach, she retreated to her room. Back in her borrowed bed, she allowed a few tears to slip free as she gave in and closed her eyes. Sleep came quickly on the heels of the tequila binge, and her pillow dried her tears as she drifted off.
She woke in the same bed the next morning and felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. On the one hand—Yay! She hadn’t murdered Will. On the other hand… Well, she was still stuck, wasn’t she? She needed to leave at some point. It was impossible to say how time was passing back in her world, but she doubted time there had simply paused when she disappeared. Then again, she’d gone to sleep on a Tuesday night and woken up on a Thursday morning. In a book. So what the hell did she know?
Feeling groggy and desperately grateful for the spare toothbrush Will had found her the night before, she got up to use the bathroom and brush away the taste of old tequila. A few minutes later, the smell of bacon guided her to the kitchen. Will was at the stove. Coffee in the pot. She felt like kissing him. Then remembered that would be a supremely bad idea. Best to maintain a platonic relationship with the hunky romance novel character.
“Morning,” she said, helping herself to some coffee. He’d kindly left a mug out for her.
Will turned to her, and his eyes flicked up and down. She knew what he saw—her hair was mussed, she was wearing nothing but his t-shirt, and her eyes were still half closed from sleep. In other words, she was a mess. But the way his gaze lingered for a moment before he turned away said maybe he didn’t think so.
“Sleep okay?” he asked.
Emmy thought of her crisis of conscience the night before. “Fell asleep almost immediately. Thanks for letting me crash here.”
“I’m not about to turn you out on the street. You can bunk here until… until you don’t have to anymore.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly, knowing he was hurting still.
