Whoa. My eyes get wide. I’ve never actually seen a Nobel Prize before, but I’m about 95 percent sure that’s what they look like.
As I heft the prize into my hands, marveling at how heavy the solid gold is, I realize that Mom and Dad must have made their breakthrough a couple of years earlier in this dimension. I look down at the Nobel Prize and think, Way to go, Mom.
What about the rest of us? What about Josie? Yes, she’s still studying oceanography at Scripps down in San Diego; she bought us some fridge magnets down there, which are indeed on our refrigerator. In fact, according to the whiteboard calendar in the kitchen, she’s coming home tonight to visit for—holy crap, for New Year’s Eve. That’s today. I sort of lost track of the date while I was in Russia, what with the violent bloody rebellion and everything.
Theo? He’s one of Mom and Dad’s graduate assistants here, too. That, or they have another hipster wannabe who left his thrift shop fedora on the coatrack. Even now, Theo’s probably materializing in this dimension, in his ratty campus apartment. I bet he’ll be here within the hour.
And Paul—
The kitchen door swings open, and I hear Mom say, “If dog cognition is truly closer to human than that of our closest primate relatives, must we then begin to consider dogs our partners in the evolutionary process?”
“Really we ought to have bought that puppy back when the girls wanted one.” Dad walks into the kitchen after her, both of them carrying overstuffed cloth shopping bags. “It would’ve given us a canine subject to observe, and besides, we could’ve named him Ringo.”
Mom and Dad. Both alive, both well, both right here in our kitchen like nothing ever happened—because here, everything is as it should be.
Mom sees me first. “Hello, sweetheart. I thought you’d be painting by now.”
“Hi,” I say. It’s completely inadequate, but I can’t think of anything else. So I bound up the two steps that lead to the kitchen and take both of my parents into my arms.
“What’s this for?” Dad laughs.
Somehow I keep my voice steady as I say, “I just—I missed you guys.”
Dad pulls back, looking wary. “Did you spill paint on something?”
“No! Everything’s fine, I swear.” I let go of them, but I can’t stop smiling stupidly. Being near them doesn’t heal the wound of Paul’s death in Russia—but it helps me feel almost complete again. “Everything is totally fine.”
Mom and Dad exchange glances. She says, “I suppose eventually a teenage hormone swing had to work in our favor.”
“About time,” Dad replies.
I push back at them, but playfully; Mom and Dad could tease me a thousand times worse than this and it wouldn’t bother me, not today. “What did you get?”
“The makings for some lasagna. And a little red wine—Josie might want a glass.” Mom starts unloading her grocery bags, but I take one of them from her.
“Why don’t you let me make dinner? You guys can sit down and relax.”
When Mom and Dad look at each other this time, they seem less amused, more worried. Mom says, “Are you feeling all right?”
Dad shakes his head. “You’re going to ask to borrow the car.”
I laugh out loud; apparently I dodge working in the kitchen as much in this dimension as I do at home. “You guys, stop. Everything’s fine. I just feel like it would be fun. That’s all.”
Although Dad clearly isn’t convinced, Mom says, “Henry, don’t fight it.” She places a package of lasagna noodles in my hands, then turns to my father, pushes him gently by the shoulders and points him toward the sofa. As he walks off, chuckling, Mom pauses at my side. Very softly, she adds, “Thank you for helping out, Marguerite. Right now, it means a lot.”
Right now? What does she mean, right now?
“Okay,” I say. That seems safe.
“I know this—it didn’t only happen to us.” Mom keeps her voice low; her fingers brush through my curls. She did that when I was little. The last few years, I’ve found it annoying, but I never will again, not after two worlds without her. “Even if the police find Paul, we may never understand why he did what he did. Your father and I would gladly drop any charges once we got some answers, but Triad never will, so—” Her voice breaks. “I hate what he’s done to us, but I can’t bear what Paul’s done to himself. He’s ruined his whole life, and for what?”
I can’t answer her. Right now I can hardly breathe.
“Forgive me. You were trying to cheer us up. I’ll let you keep trying.” Mom pats my shoulder, and goes after Dad.
All I can do is stand there in our kitchen, stupidly clutching a box of pasta, thinking, What the hell?
Even without the details, I understand what happened here. Paul betrayed Mom and Dad. Betrayed us. Again.