Page 17

Part H

“Written in the Stars”

June

I’ve been riding on an absolute high ever since my dance with Abby at Nate and Isaac’s engagement party. I came so close to telling Abby everything right there on the dance floor. But I just couldn’t. It’s not that I think she won’t believe me or think I’m crazy or something, I’m mostly scared to find out that she doesn’t feel the same way. It’s like Schrodinger's feelings: right now, she both does and doesn’t feel the same. If I say something, I’ll have to know the outcome.

I’m thinking about all of this while I get my workout clothes on to do my morning Up to the Beat dance workout. I hear Abby moving around in the living room while I’m tying my shoelaces, and I’m half hoping she is on her way out the door by the time I get there. It’s not like I’m avoiding her all the time, per se. But the memory of our dance together is still fresh in my mind and dancing in front of her would send me into a bit of a panic.

Pulling on my headband, I give a quick pat to Shelley who is sleeping in the sunbeam on the floor, and I tentatively walk out into the living room. To my surprise, Abby’s sitting on the sofa wearing her workout clothes, punching buttons on the TV remote.

“Good morning!” she says exuberantly. “I thought I’d join you for one of your Gina B workouts, if that’s okay.”

Abby has never wanted to work out with me before—she might take a walk while listening to an audiobook on her lunch break but nothing as heart-pumping as aerobics or dance—so I’m a little taken aback. “Um…sure…yeah. Of course.”

“I know. I don’t usually do aerobics.” She shrugs, laughing. “Okay, I never do aerobics. But I’ve been under so much stress lately with my parents and planning the engagement party—though that’s over now—and work, that I just wanted to do something a bit more up tempo, that wasn’t like running. Ick!”

“You know I agree with you on the running thing.” We both laugh. “I’m happy to have you dance with me. Did you find one you wanted to do already?” I point to the YouTube channel displayed on the TV.

“Not really. I think maybe something with great retro music that’s not too hard for my first one would be good. Not feeling weight training today.” She hands me the remote.

“Just give me one second…” I go back a couple screens so I can scroll through the playlists I’ve curated and try to find the workout I’m thinking of. “Aha! I think you’ll like this one.”

“Cool. Why don’t you stand in front so I can watch both of you. Also, I have no clue what I’m doing, and I don’t want you to laugh at me,” Abby says gesturing for me to being in front. Of course, that means she’ll be staring at my backside the whole time, but I try not to think about it too much.

After a five-minute warmup, a remix of Joan Jett & the Blackhearts’ “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll” echoes from the speakers as Gina leads us through a fast-paced walking workout to classic rock hits. This video is followed by a George Michael and Wham workout and cooldown. We’re both concentrating on the moves and the quick walking sections, but also laughing when we inevitably get our feet tangled up doing some of the dances.

“This…is…hard,” Abby pants behind me as we walk forward and back, our arms going up and out to work the whole body. “Why aren’t you…more winded?”

“Maybe because I do these all the time,” I reply. “I am sweating buckets up here, though.”

“There aren’t enough towels in the world for all my sweat. Oh no!” Abby cries. “Not more triple-step!”

“Yep. It’s her favorite dance, so you’ll hardly find any of her workouts that doesn’t feature at least a little cha-cha dancing.” I throw my arms out as my feet somehow find the rhythm of the quick three-step between the two step backs on either side. The cha-cha hasn’t always been a favorite of mine, but the more I do in the workouts, the more I see the benefits because it really works your whole body. Something Abby is hating right about now.

All of a sudden, Abby flops onto the sofa and throws her hand over her head. “Apologies to Mr. Michael and Mr. Ridgeley, but I cannot do any more. Carry on without me,” she says dramatically. “Let me know how it ends.”

Giving her side eye with a smile, I reply, “Hang on. I can fast forward to the cool down. I think you’re going to like this one.” I pick up the remote and skip to the next video.

“I don’t even think I can bear a cool down. I’m so exhausted.” She still has her arm draped over her face and has slumped down even further on the couch as if she’s melting.

“Give it a moment.”

When the first guitar riffs of “Faith” play, she slowly uncovers one eye, then the other. Almost imperceptibly, her hips start swaying from side to side.

“Come on. You know you want to,” I say, waving my hands from side to side as I sashay toward her singing the lyrics.

“Oh, alright,” she concedes. “I can’t say no to this song.”

She slides the rest of the way off the couch and joins me in the cool down. We both belt out the song while stretching and doing slower dances to bring our heartrates down gradually. By the end, I know we’re both feeling pretty good about our workout.

“Thanks for letting me work out with you,” Abby says, wiping the sweat off her face with the bottom of her shirt. I can just see the pale skin of her belly and the top of her belly button above her shorts.

“Um…yeah,” I stammer. Get it together, Clare. “It was fun. You’re welcome to join me whenever.”

“Great. Though, I might need some slower ones to build up to your level.”

“We can do that.” I take a quick sip of water, then say, “Hey, not to change the subject, but do you think we could try driving next week? I know we’ve both been super busy, but my calendar is pretty open.”

She grins. “Yeah, I think I’m pretty free next week too. I’ll check for sure, but that sounds like a great plan. I’m so excited you’re still wanting to do that.”

“Did you think I was going to back out or give up before we’d even started?”

“No, not really.” She shrugs. “I was only concerned you might be having second thoughts, but I wanted to give you space to work through your feelings.”

“I appreciate that. But no. No second thoughts.”

“Great!” She pats me on my arm. “Right now, though, I suggest we hit the showers.”

My brain does a double take as I realize she doesn’t mean for us to take a shower together, but for us each to take our own shower in our own bathrooms. I turn around and down the rest of my water to hide the flush on my cheeks that has nothing to do with the workout. “Yeah. I’m just gonna go fill up my water first.”

“Cool. Guess I’ll see you tonight sometime? We can compare calendars.”

“Yeah. See you then,” I reply as I head for the kitchen.

* * *

“Don’t you look lovely this evening,” Isaac says as he holds his car door open for me.

“Thank you,” I reply, getting in and smoothing down the embroidered black brocade fabric of my dress. “But you’ve seen me in this dress several times before.”

Isaac nods. “I know. Just…for whatever reason, you look particularly stunning in it tonight. Maybe it’s the hair?”

He’s picked me up for the annual symphony cocktail party for donors of a certain level. This is the first one of these parties we’re going to since my parents died. I’ve been invited every year, but the thought of going has been too painful. When the invitation came this year, I felt something propelling me to RSVP yes. Maybe it was the thought that since my biopsy was negative, I should stop saying no to things. Maybe it was my parents giving me a gentle nudge that it’s time to move on.

“Who knows, but I’ll take the compliment,” I say once he’s ensconced in the driver’s seat. “And you look rather dashing in your suit tonight as well. Is that a new tie?”

“It is. And a new pocket square to match.” He practically preens.

“Ooh la la! Did your fiancé get those for you?”

“Heavens, no!” he exclaims. “You know I’m the fashionista in this relationship.”

I throw my hands up in surrender. “Sorry. I thought it might have been an engagement gift or something. And maybe he got some help from the sales staff.”

“Girl, I would have to tell him what to buy.” He laughs heartily. “No, this was a present to myself, from myself, just because.”

I place my hand on his shoulder. “And a well-deserved gift to yourself, I might add.”

“Why, thank you.” He turns on the car and a podcast starts playing.

“Welcome back to My Big Gay Wedding …”

“We’re your hosts, Tomathy Thomlinson…”

After a lot of fumbling, Isaac finally hits the pause button.

“Wait! What are they talking about this week?” I ask, feigning genuine interest, and feeling a hint of déjà vu. I think I’d remember listening to a podcast called My Big Gay Wedding , though.

“Sorry about that. Nate recommended this silly thing to help with our planning.” Isaac starts driving. “Who knows what they’re talking about this week. Probably something stupid like rainbow centerpieces to really drive it home that we’re queer, we’re here and we’re getting married.”

I chuckle. “I have no problem with the podcast in general, but Tomathy ?”

Isaac nods. “I actually looked it up and that’s his legal name. No idea if he changed it or what, but it’s not a ‘stage name’ or anything.”

“There are no words to explain how…bizarre that sounds.” I shake my head. “I mean, I’m all for being who you are, but who chooses Tomathy for a name?”

“That guy, apparently.” We drive for a few moments in silence, then Isaac says, “I wonder what he looks like.”

“When you looked him up, there wasn’t a photo?”

“Nope. Not in his bio for the show or on his Wikipedia page. I didn’t find any socials for him—separate from the show, that is—which either means he’s got them super-duper locked down and private, or he’s a ghost.”

I pull out my phone to see what I can find. I see everything Isaac said, or lack thereof, but then I scroll farther down on the podcast social media page. “Oooo, I might have found something.”

“What? What?” Thankfully we’re at a stoplight because Isaac looks ready to jump over the center console to get a look at my phone.

“Keep your eyes on the road. It’s a pretty blurry shot of two guys standing on a beach. I’m trying to zoom, but it just gets blurrier.” I’m squinting as hard as I can, and I cannot make out either man’s face enough to tell whether the one guy is Julian or not, based off the photo on the podcast’s website.

“I’ll have to text Nate when we get there. He’s been listening to these guys for years ‘cause they have several podcasts he likes. This is the only one he’s ever asked me to listen to.”

“Yeah, maybe something happened and Tomathy had to take down all his photos.” I put my phone away since the search didn’t bear any fruit. “Or he’s a ghost.”

We arrive at the venue, and Isaac texts Nate immediately but hasn’t heard anything yet. So, we take our time enjoying the food and drinks, waiting for the entertainment to begin. Usually, there is a group of performers who will do a short piece after some speeches, but the selection of music is not told to us in advance. I’m hoping it’s something truly classical and not some modern classical composer who basically just throws all the notes together and calls it music.

I’m savoring a stuffed mushroom cap when the speeches begin, and another one of those intense feelings of déjà vu hits me. I look over at Isaac and he’s typing away at his phone, which means Nate probably answered him back. But that’s not the thing that seems familiar. No, I’m feeling like I’ve heard Rebecca give this exact same speech before.

All of a sudden, it’s as if I’m looking through AR goggles with another party overlaid on this one. It’s exactly the same, but there’s one man standing next to Rebecca in my reality who isn’t there in the other one. Or wait, he is there, but he’s standing next to me.

Looking at him more carefully, I see that it’s the same cello player I noticed at the last symphony concert. Wasn’t he triggering a memory of the dreams then? Yes, the dream sequence I saw that night was flipping between him and Abby, which I thought was weird at the time since I’ve never met that guy before—that I know of. So, why’s he standing next to this other me in the other reality?

Another reality? God, am I going insane? Should I just call it a Multiverse and assume that I’m in a Marvel movie now? Suz would love that. She always wanted there to be different universes layered on top of one another where we’d do different things and be different people. I kinda wanted that too, but for different reasons.

The musicians are introduced, and the man standing next to me in the other reality goes up to the stage where he “joins” with the version of himself in my reality. This is wild. I also see my other self pulling Isaac forward toward the stage to get a better look. As the musicians—a quintet—play, my mind is enveloped by the music. It’s Schubert’s String Quintet in C major and it’s lovely. This man that my other self seems to be with is a really accomplished cello player. And, I wonder, Am I supposed to be with him?

Isaac nudges me and the “goggles” drop away, though the feeling of confusion lingers for hours.

“Apparently, Tomathy had a stalker, so he had to take down all his photos,” Isaac’s saying while scrolling through his texts from Nate. “But, Nate does have a screenshot from last year when they had a photo of the two of them as the cover photo for the podcast.”

He shows me the photo, but I can only pretend to be interested. This experience has shaken me to my core, and I don’t know what I’m going to do about it.