Now that they were in a quieter space, Oona chewed her lower lip and fended off dread. She was a body snatcher, an impostor that had to pass as her host. This meant watching every word out of her mouth, avoiding any more slipups—nothing about post-1991 technology or any other knowledge she’d accumulated last year.
Problem was, the drugs made her want to talk talk talk. Impossible to curtail the verbal deluge that slipped past the dam of her lips.
“I thought I was insane the last time this happened,” she blurted, scooting up against the door to look at Crosby. “Or at least—I don’t know, senile or something. I had to wait a year to find out for sure, and tonight I did, and you know what? I’m not insane. I did the math and today is my twenty-seventh birthday. I get to spend the next year being twenty-seven.” She made wild gestures with her hands. “Do you have any idea how happy this makes me? I’m young.” Her elation made Crosby watch her with bemused, uncertain eyes. “And I’m here with you, and you are gorgeous. I mean, wow, you are a really, really good-looking guy, with an aura of cool about you. You’ve got kind of a young Jack White thing going on.”
A nervous laugh. “Uh, thanks? Who’s Jack White?”
“From the White Stripes.” Shit. “A local band I was into in high school. You’re much cuter than Jack, though.”
“Well, that’s good. I’d hate for you to be pining over some teenage crush.” He slid over, closed the space between them.
An image of Dale flickered into Oona’s mind: winking at her during band practice as Corey and Wayne argued about a song’s tempo, crooking a finger to bring her over, only to whisper something silly into her ear. The flash in his eyes before he kissed her.
The same flash now in Crosby’s eyes. Crosby was her boyfriend now, and he was going to kiss her.
Oona put an arm out to stop him.
It made no sense. An hour ago, she’d been so quick to have frivolous, drug-fueled sex with a stranger. Now here was a stranger that actually wasn’t one, here was an attractive man who cared about her, and she wouldn’t let him near her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I think hurting my ankle put me off my high. And then losing track of you, and the lights, and the people … it was too much. Amazing and surreal at first—but then it got weird and scary when I couldn’t find you, and I wasn’t sure I’d even be able to recognize you.” She pressed her lips shut before anything else escaped.
Taking the hint, he slid back. “Why wouldn’t you recognize me?”
“Well, you know … it was dark, and I was kind of seeing things. People looked like they had all these weird Instagram filters on them.”
“Insta-what? What are you even talking about?”
I have to get out of here.
They were in Brooklyn now, but how close to home? How much more time to say baffling, incriminating things?
“That drink I had, I think it was laced with something,” she said. “I’m sorry I’m being so weird. I … don’t feel like myself.” At least that part wasn’t a lie.
Crosby reached out and rubbed the base of her neck. She stiffened, but forced herself to accept the gesture, though she wanted to squirm away. You don’t deserve his comfort. She could still feel that other man’s hands on her, inside her, bringing her so much pleasure then, making her queasy now.
The taxi pulled up to a familiar corner. “Oh, thank god. It’s the same house,” she said.
“Why wouldn’t it— Never mind. Hang on, I’ll come around to help you out.”
“I’ll be fine. Really. I just need to sleep it off.” She opened the car door, letting in a gust of cold air.
“You don’t want me to come in? We were gonna spend the night and go out for a big birthday breakfast tomorrow. I mean, I should at least be around in case … with all the drugs you took—in case you have a bad trip.”
“You’re really one of the good ones, aren’t you?” She put a hand to his cheek, which was shaved smooth. “I’m sorry, but I have to be alone right now. Could we postpone that breakfast?”
“Yeah, okay.” His voice was tight. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
A stab of remorse, for hurting his feelings, for the other ways she’d hurt him he wasn’t even aware of.
“Tomorrow.” She lunged forward and gave him a peck on the lips, hoping to conjure instant familiarity, a modern fairy-tale curse broken to unlock the love she’d felt for him before midnight. But his lips were as foreign as the stranger’s at the club. Only this mouth was a little fuller and firmer with disappointment.
Once inside, Oona took off her shoes and threw them across the foyer.
Stupid shoes.
Stupid girl.
It took a beat to register the quiet of her house. The sameness of it. Same checked marble tiles, same chandelier made of spokes and gears and crystal and light, same blue glass vase on the entrance table filled with white lilies. Such a sweet scent from those funereal flowers. Such relief to have some consistency.
“Hello?” she called out. “Mom? Kenzie?”
Silence.
The kitchen should’ve been her first stop, for an ice pack, but instead she limped upstairs.
The library was also the same, though the armchairs, red leather in 2015, were currently brown suede. A series of shivers cascaded through her body. She built a small fire and moved one of the chairs over to it.
On the mantel, a sealed envelope with her name and the current year, followed by DO NOT READ IF UNDER THE INFLUENCE.
Seriously?
She rolled her eyes and was distracted by the carved wooden ceiling, its ornate grooves rippling like water disrupted by a thrown pebble. A quick jerk of her head, attention forced back to the envelope, block letters wavering before her eyes. Okay, maybe 1990 Oona had a point. Better to wait, read the contents sober.
But.
Something about the warning grated on her. Made her want to read the letter then and there.
“Future me is one bossy bitch.” She tore open the envelope, tossed it aside, and unfolded the letter. Yawning, she lay with her legs across the arms of the chair and began to read.
Dear Oona,
Congratulations on getting through that first leap, I know it was tough. This year will be a lot more fun, though not without some drama.
I hope you got my earlier note. Maybe this time was different and you didn’t cheat on Crosby. If you did, well, things will play out the way they have to.
Except … I don’t want them to play out that way. I want a redo. If you fucked that random guy in the club, DO NOT TELL CROSBY.
Sustaining a relationship from year to year is hard enough without our bullshit time sickness on top of it, and I know it feels like you just met him, but Crosby is incredible …
Oona’s eyes drooped, her chin dipped to her chest, and the letter slipped from her fingers as she fell asleep.
9
Oona woke up with a happy murmur, as if somebody was whispering her name. Except she was alone, which made her sit bolt upright. A moment to remember the where and when as she rubbed the back of her stiff neck. Acrid remnants of smoke and burnt wood tickled her nostrils. Shit. The letter.
It was on the floor beside the fireplace, intact. Oona slowed her panicked breathing and skimmed to where she’d left off the previous night.