Me vs. Me

by Sarah Mlynowski

  I have to choose.

  16

  Phoneless in Seattle

  The only questions now are which life to choose, how to choose and can I choose? I’ve got to get out of this weird existence warp. If there’s a way in, there must be a way out. The whole situation races through my mind as soon as I wake up on Sunday in New York, with not only the usual mammoth headache, but with Nate beside me. I knew he was going to be here, of course I did, but it still weirds me out.

  “Morning, beautiful,” he says, kissing my forehead.

  “Hi.” I let him wrap his arms around me.

  “How’d you sleep?”

  Interesting question. Ever since the switcheroos started, I don’t think I do sleep. Not much, anyway. Maybe that’s why I’m so tired all the time. “All right.”

  We have breakfast and, after a quick kiss on the lips, he takes off. He has to get home to pack for a weeklong business trip to Seattle. “I’ll call you when I get there,” he says, and kisses me again, this time on the nose.

  As soon as he’s out the door, I search on the Internet for information on how to make wishes come true. I check back on the multiple-worlds sites but find nothing helpful. Getting desperate, I start randomly searching how to undo a wish. Christmas wish, wishbones, wishing wells, wish upon a star, Make a Wish Foundation. It would probably be wrong to ask the Make a Wish Foundation for help. If only it was my birthday and I could blow out the candles.

  I wonder if killing myself in one life would work. But what if one of them is just a dream (a really weird, lifelike dream, mind you) and I end up killing the real me? Or what if both are connected in some way like Siamese twins? Kill one and we both die. Anyway, how would I do it? Shoot myself? I don’t have a clue where to buy a gun in New York. Although, in Arizona you can practically buy them at the local convenience store. But do I want to kill off the Arizona me, or do I want to kill off the New York me?

  It’s also possible that I’m totally off the mark about this whole multiple-world theory. There’s still a chance that I’ve just gone crazy. And in that case, killing myself won’t help.

  Moral, practical and theoretical issues aside, the bottom line is that I’m just plain chicken.

  I wonder what would happen if I stayed awake all night in the life that I like. Would that close out the porthole to my other life?

  Or maybe it has to be a wish. I can try out various techniques to see if they work. If wishing is what got me into this predicament in the first place (I think), why can’t it get me out? Of course, first I have to decide which life I want. I start by making lists:

  Pro Arizona

  Con Arizona

  1. fiancé I love

  1. psycho mother-in-law

  2. house with Jacuzzi

  2. house near psycho mother-in-law

  3. great winter

  3. hotter than hell in summer

  4. cool gifts arriving from registry

  4. backstabbing best friend

  5. can drive a car (and park it, too)

  5. disgusting bitten nails, fatter body

  6. less expensive to live

  6. no job

  Pro New York

  Con New York

  1. job I love

  1. talent who molests me

  2. adorable Elevator Boy

  2. psycho roommate

  3. restaurants & nightlife

  3. more expensive

  4. FreshDirect

  4. damn cold winters

  5. nice nails, slim body

  5. miss Cam

  6. more confidence

  6. miss Cam

  Sigh. I wish I could have all of the pros and none of the cons. Oops. Better be careful what I wish for…

  Monday: New York

  Surely Nate will call me tonight. We’ll talk, we’ll laugh, we’ll make plans for the weekend.

  Monday: Arizona

  Why didn’t Nate call me? He said he would call. He’ll call tomorrow. Won’t he? If he doesn’t, I’ll choose Arizona.

  Tuesday: New York

  I’m sure he’s just really busy in Seattle. That’s why he hasn’t called. And if not, I’ll move on. I’m not wasting my time on some guy.

  Tuesday: Arizona

  But why hasn’t he called? I almost slept with him, for heaven’s sake. Actually, I did sleep with him, but not sleep-sleep with him. Is that why he’s not calling? Because I didn’t do it? What, is he sixteen?

  Wednesday: New York

  I change the channel to the news. Partly for work, partly to see if there’s been an accident in Seattle that would explain his lack of calling.

  “He’s probably met someone else,” Heather says. “Maybe he hooked up with a coworker. Late nights, business travel, a few too many cocktails…It happens. When a guy likes you, he calls you every day.” She grabs the remote from me and changes the channel to some reality makeover show.

  True, when Cam and I first hooked up, he called me daily, but that was in college. I’m sure grown-up daters don’t call each other every day. And anyway, Heather is the last person I’d take advice from.

  I’m not going to let some random guy turn me into an insecure mess. I clench my hand into a fist. No way. I didn’t come this far in this world to slip back to where I was. My nails are digging into my palm, so I unclench my hand and admire them. My beautiful strong nails.

  No, I’m not going to let some guy, even if he is an Aries, make me doubt myself.

  On Wednesday in Arizona, Alice comes with me to my next dress fitting.

  And it’s all Cam’s fault. I told him I was going, and he said his mother kept bugging him about why I didn’t invite her to come and that she wanted to come, and could she come, and then he asked me to please invite her along. If Cam knew I was in the process of choosing between a life in Arizona and New York, he probably would have kept his mouth shut. Not that I even know if I can choose. But still. There’s no way a full day alone with Alice is going to help his cause.

  But anyway, here she is. “What do you think?” I ask nervously, stepping out of the changing room. I don’t think I can handle her telling me it’s all wrong. I just can’t.

  But her eyes actually tear up. “You look like a princess,” she says, then gingerly pats my satin skirt.

  “Thank you.” Holy shit. We are having a moment. Is it possible?

  “Put on the veil so I can get the full picture,” she says.

  “I’m not wearing a veil.”

  “Of course you are, dear.”

  “No, really, I’m not. They symbolize…I forget, but it’s not good.”

  “You can’t not wear a veil. Excuse me, Aurora? Can we see some veils, please?”

  “Absolutely,” says Aurora. She scurries off.

  So much for a moment. “I told you, I don’t want one,” I say, and then I wonder if that’s even true. My mother didn’t want me to wear one, so I didn’t order one. But I’m not even sure if I want one or don’t want one, or if they’re sexist or sexy or what.

  “It won’t kill you to try it on,” Alice says when Aurora returns, practically invisible behind a handful of veils.

  “Personally, I think this one is the nicest,” Alice says, grabbing the one at the top of the heap. Its train is at least six miles. She fixes the veil to my head and stands back to scrutinize.

  “I think it might be a little much,” I say. “I prefer one that comes down just past my shoulders.”

  She shakes her head. “That’s a mistake.”

  Of course it is. After all, I suggested it. I want to tell her to get off my case. To go nag someone else. I want to, but I can’t. I just don’t have the energy. How can I be so different in New York than I am here? It makes no sense. Shouldn’t my personality from my other life spill over? I want to stand my ground here. I’m itching to tell her where to get off, but I can’t. I just can’t. I’m frozen in a role I can’t stand. “Fine,” I hear myself say. “The long one. Whatever.”

  “So beautiful,” Aur
ora says, nodding her approval. Of course, she approves—the long one is two hundred dollars more. “Your wedding is your day. You should go all out. Soon enough, it’ll be all over, the honeymoon, too. Before you know it, you’ll be chasing after two or three kids.”

  “It does happen fast,” Alice says.

  “Not that fast,” I add quickly. I don’t want her to think there are grandkids on the horizon. At least not in the next few years. If I choose Arizona, I absolutely have to get my career on track before I even think about having kids.

  Alice waves a finger in my veiled face. “You can’t wait too long. You never know what could happen.”

  “I’ll be right back,” Aurora says. “I’m going to find you some different combs to go with the veil.”

  Might as well take this opportunity to set Alice straight. “You should know, I’m not even trying to get pregnant until I’m at least thirty.”

  “And what if you have problems?”

  “Why would I have problems?”

  “You never know, dear,” she says as she fluffs out the top of my veil. “I wanted to have four children, each two years apart.”

  “But Cam is five years younger than Blair.”

  She pulls the bottom of my veil so that it perfectly covers the train of my dress. “I had three miscarriages in between,” she says matter-of-factly.

  I am unable to hide my surprise. “You did?”

  “Yes. It was horrible. Absolutely gut-wrenching.”

  For the first time I notice how tired her eyes look. “I’m sorry,” I say. “Cam never told me.”

  She pats my bare shoulder through the gauze. “That’s because I asked him not to tell anyone. It was so hard for me,” she says quietly. “The worst time in my life. I pray every day that neither of my kids ever feels that type of pain.”

  For a moment I’m speechless. And then I sense she wants to tell me more, but that she won’t talk unless pressed. “When did you have the miscarriages?” I ask gently.

  She stares at the ceiling when she talks. “I miscarried the first time when Blair was a year old. The second time a year later. The third time, about a year and a half after that.”

  “How far along were you?”

  “The first time, seven months. Three months the second time, five months the third. The first and third were boys. The one in the middle, I don’t know.”

  “That must have been terrible.” Which might explain why she is so overprotective of Cam and Blair. Especially of Cam, after losing two boys.

  “It was. But you move on.”

  Aurora returns with a handful of sparkling combs. “I have a few options for you.”

  “That one is beautiful,” Alice says, smiling and admiring a jeweled comb. “We’ll take it.” Her shift in mood is so swift that I wonder whether our conversation took place or if I imagined it.

  The closer the wedding approaches, the more I obsess about Nate.

  The weekend comes and goes. Nate doesn’t call. They must have asked him to stay longer in Seattle. That must be it. He’s working his ass off and he’s too busy to call. We’ve only gone out a few times anyway; it’s not like we were ever on a daily phone schedule. I’m sure he’ll call me when he gets back, no matter what Heather says. She claims that the hardest part of dating in New York is that everyone’s always traveling somewhere and that it totally kills the relationship’s momentum.

  When my phone rings at 1:00 a.m. the following Thursday, I’m certain it’s Nate. Finally! It’s been almost two weeks since I’ve seen him, and I was about to (unhappily) write him off. I reach out of bed and pick up the phone. “Hello?”

  “Did I wake you?”

  It’s not Nate. It’s Ron. Since I have to listen to that voice all day, I’d recognize it anywhere. I have no idea why he’s calling me at home. He’s never called me here. “No, I’m still up.” What would have happened if I had fallen asleep? Would I have awakened in New York? Or would he only get me after a day in Arizona? Where the hell am I in the middle of the night? “How can I help you?” I ask tepidly. This had better be work-related. And, at this hour, it had better be important.

  “I can think of plenty of ways, Arizona. I’m at the Soho Grand and I’m feeling lonely. You can start with coming over here.” His words are slurring together. I can practically smell the booze through the phone.

  “Ron, you know I’m not coming over.”

  “You’re upsetting me, Arizona. You don’t want to upset me.”

  Is this a threat? I’ve managed to avoid his stupid come-ons so far, but I’m not sure what I can do if he puts my job on the line. I’m obviously not the first woman this has ever happened to, but it doesn’t mean I know how to handle it. “I don’t want to upset you,” I say, “but I can’t come over.”

  “Is your boyfriend there?”

  “No.” Mistake. “Yes.”

  “Tell me what you’re wearing,” he says, ignoring my answer.

  “Give me a break.”

  “Don’t be a baby, just tell me. Do you sleep naked?”

  I cannot deal with how highly improper this is. But I can’t hang up on him. I can’t make him angry. “Come on, Ron. You need to go to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  “What’s the big deal? I sleep in the nude all the time. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  “Ron, I don’t want to be having this conversation.”

  “You’re right. It’s ina-inap—”

  “Inappropriate,” I finish for him. Ad-libbing sober is hard enough for him, never mind drunk.

  “But admit it, you’re in-in-treeked. We should be having this conversation over drinks.”

  “I’m already in bed.”

  “Fine, let’s have it at your place.”

  Patience, I remind myself. Think of your job. “Definitely not. I have a roommate.”

  “The more the merrier.”

  And then I laugh. I can’t help it. His audacity amazes me. “I don’t think that’s her thing.”

  “I’ve been known to change a girl’s mind. What’s your address?”

  “You are so not coming over.”

  “All right, Arizona. I give up for tonight. Tonight only. I’ll see you in the morning. Wear that silky pink top of yours. The one where I can see down your shirt. Sweet dreams. I know you’ll be in mine.”

  I knew I shouldn’t wear that pink shirt to work. From now on I’m only wearing turtlenecks in front of Ron. “Good night, Ron.” I end the call and stare at the dead phone.

  Fuck. What the hell am I supposed to do? Maybe I should tell Curtis. She can tell me what to do. Although her first warning to me was that Ron was married and that I should keep my hands off. I doubt telling Curtis that I’m having personal issues with her bread-and-butter is going to help me. If she has to take sides, she’s going to take his. And if it gets messy, I’m the one who’ll be shown the door.

  Perhaps I should go to HR. Maybe they can help. Or maybe not. I don’t have any proof. Ron = ratings. Gabby = gone. I toss and turn and toss and turn.

  Hire a lawyer? Go to the press?

  Heather throws open the door.

  Wonderful. Just who I feel like talking to now. “Yes, Heather?”

  “Please ask your friends to not call in the middle of the night. Some of us are trying to sleep.”

  I so don’t feel like dealing with her right now. “I thought you’re an insomniac.”

  “That’s hardly the point. New rule. No calls past eleven.”

  “Heather, as long as I’m paying half the rent, I’m going to get calls whenever I want.”

  “Then maybe you should find yourself a new apartment.” She slams my bedroom door.

  Excellent. A perfectly shitty end to a perfectly shitty night.

  A thought occurs to me. If I leave this reality, will it cease to exist altogether? Or will Heather soon be advertising for another roommate? Will there be an investigation regarding my sudden demise?

  Will Cam be too busy bopping Li
la to give a rat’s ass?

  Three weeks to the wedding! All the reply cards have been received. (Sent to Alice’s of course. “But dear, it makes more sense this way. You’ll probably lose them.”) The orange flowers, the party favors (silver picture frames), the menu (salad, dumplings, orange chicken or teriyaki salmon), the five-tier white wedding cake—everything has been arranged. Alice has taken care of it all. Except for the part about me in the white dress, I am practically a guest at this wedding.

  I am sitting in the living room listlessly watching TV and packing Cam’s stuff while he works on his insurance case, so we’ll be ready to move into the new place right after the wedding. I wanted to move in earlier and take a honeymoon right after the wedding, but I was told that that was a bad idea.

  “It’s better that you go after Blair’s baby is born,” Alice said. “You don’t want to have to come home for it.”

  Of course there’s the issue of where to go. I want to go somewhere exotic. Like Kenya or Fiji. Alice disagrees.

  “You should go to Hawaii. Richard and I loved it there. And you can get super specials in the summer.”

  Ever since I found out about the miscarriages, it’s been hard for me to put my foot down. Not that I was great at it before, but at least I was trying. These days I’m pathetic. I finally relate to Viagra commercials—I feel seriously impotent. I would have thought that the strength I’ve been gaining in New York would spill over. But instead, it’s inversely related. The stronger I feel there, the weaker I am here.

  I think this box can fit one more book, tops. There we go. I close the folds, then tape it all the way around so it stays closed. “Hey,” I say to Cam, realizing that he’s joined me.

  He shakes his head. “That’s not the best way to do it.”

  “To do what?”