Page 12

Light It on Fire

Marsh has been staring at her reflection in the mirror for five solid minutes already, unable to look away.

She looks so young.

She is so young.

The show has sent her back ten years .

Of course it did, because this is the moment of her life she chose to jump to, but she hadn’t thought about what else it would mean. That some of the wrinkles would evaporate, some of her bits would lift a few millimeters. Her hair would get a little shinier, her cheeks a little plumper—both sets.

This is incredible .

She had no idea All This and More could do this.

“My God,” Marsh mumbles, watching herself touch the smooth skin around her eyes, where there should be a feathering of crow’s-feet.

The first time through this age in her life, all she was worried about was her little leftover pooch from her pregnancy with Harper, and the first fine line threading itself across her brow. At forty-five, she can’t believe how good that body was, how she hadn’t known it then.

Well, she’s not going to waste it this time.

Then another realization hits her. In this path, Harper’s still just a kid. Not only does Marsh have a fresh chance to start over with Dylan, but with her daughter, too! Now, she can make sure they build the mother-daughter relationship they deserve, and never grow apart.

Overjoyed, she finishes brushing her teeth with her eyes closed so she won’t keep gawking at the mirror, then hurries downstairs. Marsh had forgotten what her house had looked like, so many years ago—the bones are the same, but the walls are bright, happy yellow instead of sensible, suburban white, and everything is a little more cluttered. Harper’s toys everywhere, dishes waiting in the sink, a pile of clean laundry that still needs to be folded on the couch. The endearingly chaotic home of two busy parents with a young child.

There’s more life, more love, in this decade.

She remembers how this day goes. She woke up before Dylan, or perhaps he was pretending to still be asleep to avoid an awkward conversation, and was already in the kitchen when she told him she didn’t want to try a threesome after all. It seems important to preserve some of the logistics, for some reason. Enough is already changing, or about to.

At the fridge, Marsh pulls out the carton of eggs and a jar of fruit jam. She’s putting some bread into the toaster when she finally hears footsteps thudding down the stairs.

Her heart soars as Dylan comes into the kitchen.

He’s really here.

She’s found him at last, and they’re together once more.

“Morning,” Marsh says casually.

“Morning,” he replies, not quite making eye contact.

Marsh has the coffee ready, but he looks a little less hungover than he seemed the first time around. Or maybe she’d remembered the two of them as drunker than they were, because it had made it easier to blame the wine for his bold fantasy, and her initial agreement to it.

“Sleep well?” he asks Marsh as he plants a chaste kiss on her cheek. He kept some stubble in his thirties, and it tickles her slightly.

“Mm,” she replies.

His shoulders say that he’s nervous. He’s not sure if Marsh is upset this morning. If she took what he said seriously last night, or if she even remembers.

Harper skips in and climbs into her seat at the kitchen table, greeting the animals on her place mat as she does so.

Her daughter! Marsh’s heart sings. Her baby girl!

But she does a double take when she sees her. Harper’s only five now, of course, but that’s not what it is. In the real world, and in every other episode so far, her hair has always been curly like Dylan’s, but today it’s straight, just like Marsh’s.

Before she can remark on it, Dylan is next to her at the cutlery drawer, and the clink of silverware provides cover for a quiet conversation.

“About last night,” Marsh starts.

“Yeah?” Dylan responds. He was getting out the forks and napkins, but he’s stalled now, waiting for what Marsh is going to say. He’s attempting to look casual and doing a terrible job at it.

Marsh turns on the burner, and the little blue flame roars to life under the pan.

“I’ve been thinking...”

“You don’t want to do it?” he asks, voice low.

Her heart flutters as she hesitates. This is the moment when she said no, she wasn’t sure. The moment she started giggling nervously, and then he started giggling nervously, and suddenly it was over, before it had even started. A bullet dodged, a potential disaster spared. It would never come up again.

She still wants to say no. It just feels too scandalous, too dangerous. Maybe if they’d just been dating, but this is their marriage. It’s a much bigger risk.

But then again, she didn’t do it the last time, and her marriage ended anyway.

“I do,” Marsh whispers, so quietly she’s not even sure she actually said it.

But the look on Dylan’s face makes it clear beyond a shadow of a doubt that she did.

“Wait.” He’s staring at Marsh in disbelief. “What?”

“I do,” she repeats, a little more confident this time.

Moms4Marsh: Goooo Marsh!

JesterG: Woot woot!!

Dylan leans even closer, so that they’re both hovering over the pan now, their voices completely garbled by the sizzle of the eggs. His eyes are huge. Every part of him is tuned to her, like he’s an antenna in the cold vacuum of space and she’s a mysterious, distant pulsing signal.

“Are you serious?”

“Sure,” Marsh replies.

She’s smiling, enjoying this now. Dylan is normally the smooth one of the two of them, but here he is staring open-mouthed at her as she calmly stirs the eggs, a flirty smirk creeping across her lips.

“After all, you gotta light it on fire sometimes, right?” She winks.

Dylan is still so gobsmacked, he just keeps staring. Then a laugh escapes him—a boyish, uncontrolled snort that makes them both giggle harder.

“What’s so funny, Daddy?” Harper calls from the table.

Dylan stammers, trying to come up with some kid-friendly excuse as Marsh flips an egg onto a plate and delivers it to Harper’s butterfly place mat. The butterflies look different than she remembers. Or, were they not supposed to be butterflies at all? Weren’t they always fish?

“Well, honey...” Dylan is fumbling miserably.

“It’s a secret,” Marsh says to her, and winks.

“A secret? What kind of secret?!” Harper asks excitedly.

“It’s for his birthday,” Marsh continues, back at the stove scooping up another serving for Dylan. “I have a surprise present for him.”

“Is it a good present?” Harper asks, picking up her fork.

Marsh glances sidelong at him. She lets her eyes pan subtly down, then back up again, the way she’s seen actresses do in movies. Dylan is frozen in place, his eyes locked on her as if it’s the first time he’s ever seen her. Perhaps it is—this more adventurous, sexier version of her.

“I think he’ll like it,” she finally says.

“Okay. But you’re sure sure?” Dylan clarifies again, later that night. Harper’s in bed, the dishes are done, and the two of them are on the couch with some wine, whatever’s on television in front of them long forgotten.

“I’m sure sure,” Marsh says. She smiles pointedly at him. “For once in your life. Stop. Nitpicking.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he concedes, and holds out the wine bottle. “Refill?”

“Are you getting frisky with me?” Marsh teases, noticing how close he’s leaned to her to top up her glass.

“I can’t help it,” he replies, stealing a kiss. “I can’t get enough of you right now.”

Maybe Dylan was really right about all this, the first time around, she has to admit. It’s unconventional, but who can say what works in any relationship except the people in it? Maybe a little bit of risk and thrill was exactly what they needed. Maybe this would make them grow closer, and keep them that way, rather than let them slowly spiral apart again. Maybe Marsh can have both things—romantic excitement and a happy family with Harper.

“Was Harper’s hair always so straight?” she asks suddenly.

Dylan pauses, confused by the abrupt change of subject. “What?”

“Nothing,” Marsh says quickly, wincing at her mistake.

That was the wrong thing to bring up. She doesn’t want to lose the vibe.

“Cheers.” She raises her glass. “Tell me about how this works.”

“I don’t know,” Dylan replies, fidgety with excitement. “I guess the first thing is we find someone?”

“How? Not from either of our jobs. I don’t want it to be anyone we know.”

“No, no one we know,” Dylan confirms. “There must be an app or something.”

Marsh is laughing now. “A dating app for threesomes?”

“Why not?” He grins goofily.

It takes a little bit of Googling, but a few minutes later, a new little colorful square is downloaded on Dylan’s phone, and they’re both snickering as they input a profile and choose a sufficiently anonymous photo of the two of them together.

“Not our faces!” Marsh cries, rejecting one he’s just picked.

“I know!” He laughs back, still scrolling. “This one—no, this one, you look really hot in this one.”

Marsh glances at him as he selects the picture of them on a beach and crops their heads out of the frame. It’s been a long time since he’s said something like that—marriage and the baby made it easy to be lazy—but the casual way with which he tossed it out now is somehow more exciting than if he’d delivered it like a pronouncement. Like he still thinks it’s true that she’s attractive, not like it’s something he feels he needs to say to be a good husband.

“Ready?” Marsh asks him nervously.

Dylan looks down at the phone again. His thumb hovers over the JOIN button.

“Do you want to look through people together?” he asks.

Marsh considers this for a moment. “I want you to choose,” she says.

“Really? All on my own?”

Marsh nods. It feels right. She’s already been in charge of so much, thanks to the show. Because she said yes to the threesome this time, their relationship has changed dramatically. It’s only fair that Dylan gets to make this choice now.

“I trust you,” she says.

She means it. She really does. In this life, things are still good between them. They haven’t grown apart, haven’t started neglecting each other, haven’t given up trying, even after they realized that they needed to, or they were going to lose it all. Dylan hasn’t betrayed her yet, and hopefully never will.

Dylan explores the app, trading messages with other people and showing Marsh some of their pictures. For the first few days, everything seems perfect. He’s so excited he can barely sit still, every look they give each other turns flirtatious, and the petty domestic arguments have dwindled to almost nothing.

But after about a week, things start to go downhill.

“They’re all so young, ” Dylan complains to Marsh quietly at the coffeepot as he assembles Harper’s school lunch box. “They’re just not interested in us.”

“Are you saying we’re old?” Marsh asks, pretending to be affronted. She sneaks in an extra peanut butter cup for her daughter when Dylan’s not looking.

“No!” he groans. “But they’re infants, practically. Not married, no mortgage, no desk jobs, no kids of their own. I guess being in your thirties is ancient in the hookup world.”

Marsh stifles a laugh. If only this Dylan knew that both of them are actually in their forties, outside the Bubble. But still, she has to find some way to make this work. It might be the key to saving their marriage.

“I’ll keep looking,” Dylan says. “Maybe I’ll expand our search parameters a bit.”

And he does. He sends more messages, spends more time scrolling. Marsh starts to worry that she might not actually be able to follow this path to fruition. Can it really be that hard to find another adventurous woman who isn’t more than a decade younger than her and Dylan? Has life really gotten so boring for them already? Does she need to go back even farther to have a chance at fixing things?

But one day at last, Dylan comes home from work with a mischievous grin on his face, and she knows he’s finally found someone.

“That’s just it,” he says that night as he and Marsh recline into the couch together, twisting the wine cork off the metal spiral. “ They messaged us .”

“Ooh,” Marsh says, a bolt of flattery pinkening her cheeks for a moment, and then pauses. “Wait, did you say ‘they’?”

Dylan nods nervously. “It’s not just a woman. It’s a couple.”

Marsh stares at him, then takes a long, deep drink of wine.

Hmmm.

This was not what she was expecting.

She’s not really into women, not like Dylan is, but she could imagine that kind of a night, if necessary. Both of them flirting with each other to excite him, touching each other softly, maybe kissing a little, and then letting him take over and lead the encounter.

But now it wouldn’t be just a woman there.

There would also be a man.

A man who would be doing things to Marsh. In front of Dylan.

“Too much?” Dylan asks, studying her hesitantly.

“Well,” she starts to say.

She’s about to tell him that it is too much, that she’s not sure she can do this anymore, but she bites her tongue at the last moment.

It’s true that a couple is a lot more than she bargained for. But that’s what this show is about, right? Not letting chances she’d been too meek to risk the first time around pass her by again?

If she’s not going to try it now, when will she ever?

The look on Dylan’s face when Marsh agrees to change the threesome into a foursome is almost reward enough all by itself.

“The couple’s username is Chrysalis,” he whispers to her later, after the two of them are snuggled into bed for the night.

She nearly sits upright.

Chrysalis.

She doesn’t like this.

She doesn’t like it at all.

Why does that word keep appearing, over and over, no matter where she goes?

“Are you okay?” Dylan asks.

“What kind of a username is that?” Marsh replies, putting her head on his shoulder so he can’t see that her brow is furrowed.

“I think it’s the little cocoon caterpillars transform into butterflies inside or something,” Dylan replies.

Marsh tries to roll her eyes. “So poetic!”

“Oh, stop.” Dylan laughs. “Everyone has a cheesy username.”

It’s true. The username the two of them chose is Kurremkarmerruk, which is a character from an old book they both love that they were sure no one else on the app would know—especially if they’re all mostly as young as Dylan insists.

Marsh allows herself a quick blink to glance at the comments, to see if any of the viewers have noticed that strange word, Chrysalis , has cropped up again, but everyone is too busy discussing just how much skin they’ll get to see in the upcoming scene to notice.

Or, maybe it’s not as big of a deal as she thought. Maybe she’s blowing this out of proportion.

Still, Marsh can’t shake the uneasy feeling.

“Okay, okay. What’s this other couple like?” she asks instead. She cuddles closer, trying to stay in the moment.

“About our age, somewhere in their thirties. The woman is tall and redheaded, and the guy has dark hair,” Dylan says, nervously but with excitement. He looks at Marsh, trying to make sure she’s still up for this. “I think... I think you’ll like him.”

Marsh is surprised that even though she’s still nervous, the jitters seem as much from anticipation as they are from fear.

She’s actually looking forward to this, she realizes, starting to grin.

Dylan and Marsh decide on Saturday night. They’ll have a sitter come over for Harper and go to dinner first, just the two of them, and then their amorous guests will meet them at home. Marsh considered booking a hotel, but at the last second, she backpedaled. If she was going to do this, she wanted to do it on familiar turf. A place where she felt confident and in control. Harper’s bedroom is on the other side of the house, and she’s always slept like the dead, even at five years old. Dylan, the original Dylan, once burned some popcorn and set off the smoke alarm, and Harper didn’t wake up the whole time the two of them were fanning the kitchen with towels to make the screaming wail stop.

Harper never heard Marsh sobbing into Jo’s shoulder late at night in the early weeks of the divorce either, no matter how anguished her cries became, she can’t help but also remember.

The date with Dylan is weird, of course. Tense, flirty, nervous, silent, then a rush of conversation, then more fidgeting. They tip the waiter way too much, then drive home a little over the speed limit, staring at each red light. Dylan sends the sitter home while Marsh peeks in on Harper, who’s snoring soundly, and when they both meet back in the bedroom, they have fifteen minutes to get ready before their guests arrive.

“I bought a little something,” Marsh admits. “To wear, I mean.”

Dylan’s eyes light up. “Oh yeah?” he asks.

She winks. “I think you’ll like it.”

He watches Marsh slowly saunter into their small walk-in closet and flick on the soft light with stunned captivation. It’s so funny how just a few days ago, or fifteen years in the future, depending on how she looks at it, Marsh was mortified to try on Le Fascination with Jo. Now, as she holds up this set of lingerie—which oddly does look a lot like the original Le Fascination, just pink instead of red this time—she’s not intimidated at all. Maybe because this young body still doesn’t quite feel like hers yet. Or maybe because this time, she has the power, rather than the other way around.

Once she’s closed the door, Marsh reaches up to the top shelf, where she stashed the shopping bag with the lingerie earlier that day. As she pulls it down, she accidentally dislodges the things stored beside it and almost dumps them onto her head.

As she starts to shove it all back into place, she pauses, and then takes down a box from the clutter.

It’s medium-sized and rectangular.

Like what a dress shirt might come in.

“Oh, yeah,” Dylan says when she comes out of the closet with her robe on, the lacy pink getup hidden underneath it, and he sees what she’s holding. “I forgot about that old thing.”

He takes it from her, and then opens it to show her what’s inside, even though she already knows.

“It’s a briefcase,” he explains.

“For a lawyer,” Marsh finishes, barely more than a murmur.

Is it strange that she’s found this box here, and now? Or does it not count because she’s years in the past in this episode?

Does that mean this is the first time it’s happened?

Slowly, Marsh reaches out to touch the soft leather.

Or not?

Dylan has misread the quietness of her voice for sadness, rather than apprehension, and steps closer to her.

“I should have told you,” he says. “I bought it just after we found out you were pregnant. Cost me my whole grad school paycheck. You were so happy, though, both about our daughter and about becoming a lawyer, and I wanted to surprise you.”

“You don’t have to explain,” Marsh says. “It was a sweet gesture.”

He scoots closer to her. “I know a lot of things changed after Harper was born—and that’s okay. But, it felt wrong to throw it out. For me to be the one to do it, I mean. But you can do whatever you want with it.”

Marsh nods as she listens, studying the briefcase. She lets him tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear.

“You know, sometimes, I wish I could leave something behind,” Marsh starts.

She’s thought about telling him this over the years, many times, but she’s always stopped herself. The sting of humiliation, the shadow of that drab student auditorium, always stilled her tongue. And then eventually, it was so late, and she and he were so old. All the plans already long made, all the roads already started down. It seemed like it would be embarrassing, or ungrateful, to say.

But this is a new chance, and a new Marsh. It’s ten years earlier. This time, maybe she will.

“A mark of some kind on the world, I mean.”

“Like Harper?” Dylan asks.

She shrugs. “Yes, but something else, too. Or, maybe now, it’s that I wish that I could leave something behind for Harper.”

She gives the briefcase a little shake.

“I used to think maybe it could be a groundbreaking case, or a new precedent, but it doesn’t have to be law, even. Just some kind of mark. Something for her, and for me. Something to show her that she can do anything she wants to do—because I did, too.”

When she looks up, Dylan touches her cheek.

“Well, now I’m really glad I kept this old thing all this time.” He smiles. “It sounds like you might need it after all.”

“You’d really be okay with that?” Marsh asks softly. “If I did want to restart law school, all these years later?”

“Of course,” Dylan says. “I love you, Mallow. I want you to be happy.”

Marsh looks at him, at a loss for words.

Maybe this choice really was the right one, after all.

With perfect timing, Dylan’s phone buzzes. Their guests have texted rather than rung the doorbell, as planned.

“They’re here,” Marsh says.

For a moment, Dylan doesn’t know what to do. He just stands there, excited and nervous, until Marsh starts laughing.

“Go get them!” she urges. “Before the neighbors see.”

“Right!” Dylan jumps into action, awkward. “So, this is it.”

“This is it,” Marsh says.

Dylan smooths his hair down and then musses it again as he rushes to the bedroom door. But as his hand touches the handle, he pauses, his eyes unfocused, as if momentarily lost.

“What is it?” Marsh asks.

“It just feels like... I already did give you the briefcase, somehow,” he muses. “But that’s impossible.”

Marsh shudders at a sudden chill.

But then Dylan shrugs, unconcerned again.

“Must have been a dream,” he says.

“Must have,” Marsh finally agrees.

He winks, then disappears, closing the door behind him. “Be right back.”

Marsh waits in silence, trying to push the unsettling exchange away. She attempts to lounge sexily. Tugs her robe open a little, just enough to show a flash of pink lace, rearranges her legs. Get back in the moment, she urges, but there’s so little time. Before she’s even counted to ten, she can already hear Dylan returning from the front door.

“Sometimes, you gotta light it on fire,” she whispers desperately as two more sets of footsteps begin to echo softly down the hall after him. “You gotta light it on fire.”

She can do this. She wants to.

Dylan slowly opens the bedroom door, and beckons in these mysterious strangers to meet Marsh. A shadow falls across the rug, and another man’s hand appears. Marsh is so full of butterflies, she worries she might float off the bed.

But as soon as she locks eyes with the mysterious man, her stomach hits the floor.

It’s Ren .

“What the fuck!” Marsh shrieks, scrambling to her knees, trying to get off the mattress.

“Whoa!” Ren gasps, jumping back at her outburst.

Moms4Marsh: OH MY GOD!!!

C0c0drilo: ???Puta madre!!!

The comments scream.

LunaMágica: PLOT TWIST!

StrikeF0rce: Okay, this is hilarious!

“What’s wrong?” Dylan asks, rushing toward Marsh protectively. “Are you okay?”

“You...” Marsh says to Ren. She’s fighting with the sheets for her robe and wrapping it around herself as fast as she can. “Why are you here?”

Amid the chaos, Marsh vaguely notes the poor woman, tall and redheaded, looking equally bewildered as she hesitates in the darkened doorway behind Ren, but she ignores her. She’s not important right now.

“Because...” Ren falters, looking at Dylan. “The app. I thought...”

“But how?” Marsh hisses. “Why does this keep happening?”

She wants to laugh, or cry, she’s not sure which. Was this really what would have happened if she’d gone through with the threesome, in the real world? Was Dylan always going to have unknowingly found Ren? Or is this the show, pulling the strings again?

“Why does what keep happening?” Ren repeats, unsure of what’s going on.

Does he just not recognize her yet in the semidarkness of the bedroom, because the app hides their real names, and this version of Ren hasn’t seen Marsh since high school? Or has the show changed something else, and this Ren really doesn’t know her?

It doesn’t really matter, she decides. All of this is just wrong .

“I’m sorry,” Dylan is saying to Ren and his partner as he urges Marsh toward the bathroom. “Just give us a second.”

“Totally okay,” Ren replies, still rattled.

“Are you all right?” Dylan asks her as he closes the door.

“I’m so sorry,” Marsh stutters, gripping the sink.

“No, don’t apologize,” he says. “I knew this was a bad idea. It was too much. Way too much. We should have started with holding a match to the marshmallow, instead of shoving it into a house fire, or—”

“Dylan, please, stop,” Marsh says, before he can turn it into an argument. She rubs her temples and sighs. “Enough with the goddamned metaphor already.”

He winces. “I only meant, we don’t have to do this, if you don’t want. Really.”

“I know,” she replies. “I’m okay. I just...”

She stares into Dylan’s face, searching for a sign. Disappointment, or relief, or something else.

“I just need a second,” she finally says. “I want to call Jo.”

“Oh,” Dylan replies. “Okay, yeah. Maybe that’s a good idea.”

Marsh nods. “Go back out there so our poor... friends aren’t stranded alone in our house, and I’ll come out after I talk to her and tell you how I feel.”

Dylan kisses her, then slips out, closing the door behind him. As he awkwardly reassures Ren and the other woman, Marsh snatches her phone from the pocket of her robe.

But it’s not Jo she’s calling.

“Marsh,” Talia says when she picks up. Her voice is a little teasing. “I just got settled in for a long night on call here at RealTV. I thought I wouldn’t hear from you for hours—”

“What is going on?” Marsh hisses, cutting Talia off. “What is Ren doing at my fucking orgy ?”

Talia’s office chair squeaks sharply over the line as she sits straight up. Even amid her confusion, Marsh is vaguely pleased that this curveball seems to flap even the unflappable Talia.

“Is something wrong with the Bubble?” Marsh asks. “Because I don’t remember anomalies like this happening to you in season one!”

“ Nothing is wrong with the Bubble,” Talia promises. “It’s totally stable. But even if it wasn’t, the network would pull us out immediately. That’s the first rule of the show.”

Marsh is still pacing the tile floor, but talking to Talia is working. She’s starting to calm down.

“Remember, what you’re doing here on All This and More is monumental, Marsh. A few anomalies are inevitable along the way,” Talia continues. “But put that aside for a second. This is what you want, right?”

“Yes,” Marsh agrees.

Talia hmm s, prompting Marsh to give more.

“I guess, despite this complication, my relationship with Dylan has never been better,” she adds. “Things are really great with him.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Talia says. “You’re doing great. Even better than I did!”

Marsh manages to laugh a little at that.

“So, which way are you leaning?”

“I don’t know!” she cries. “I have no idea which is the right choice.”

“Why, that’s easy,” Talia gushes. “It’s the one that will get you closer to perfect by the finale.”

“Perfect.” Marsh repeats the word, clinging to it like a life raft.

Yes. That is the point of this incredible show. That’s why she chose this moment to go back to. For the chance to save her marriage, and make it perfect. She’d been willing to try, at least. But the partners Dylan brought in weren’t supposed to have made things this complicated. On the other hand, turning down Ren now means that this night will end up just like it was in her original life.

Marsh shifts the phone to her other ear, stalling Talia.

“Come on,” Talia needles charmingly. “Admit it. You still kind of want to go through with this, even with this surprise.”

“I—” Marsh gasps, affronted.

“Think about it. How often does a person get to both have their cake and eat it, too?” Talia cuts her off. “In the real world, you can only have one—either Dylan or Ren. But here, if you can get over the bizarreness, you can have both tonight.”

Marsh frowns.

It’s a good point.

But on the other hand, she can’t shake the feeling that something is just too off about all this. Both emotionally and quantum-ally. It’s like the harder she tries to get back to Dylan, the more the show pushes her toward Ren, in some way. Is it simply because the show can see everything, and is smarter than her? Or because something else is going on?

“I have the Show Bible here,” Talia says. Pages fan over the phone line as the all-important soundtrack starts to jingle. “I’m ready.”

Marsh looks at the bathroom door again, where Dylan, the redhead, and Ren are waiting for her on the other side.

“Me too,” she finally says.

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