Your Perfect Life

“There was a bartender there that we think is involved in this.” I wave my hand back and forth in the space between Casey and me and start speaking quickly. “But he’s disappeared . . .” I trail off, realizing we haven’t yet spoken aloud about what’s really going on here. Will it help to tell this woman or does the fact she hasn’t mentioned it mean she’s just a hack with tarot cards she ordered off the Internet? But then again, she did know about the party and that we’re masquerading. Not exactly something you bring up in everyday conversation.

Masquerading. That word makes it sound like we’re playing dress-up, like we chose to disguise ourselves. But we didn’t . . . did we? Who would choose this for herself, let alone her worst enemy?

I look at Casey, suddenly appearing so fragile, the circles around her eyes deepening, her face pale. Each day we’ve been switched seems to be taking more of its toll on her emotionally. The last eight, nine—what’s it been?—maybe ten days that we’ve been like this. You’d think I’d know the exact amount of minutes, hours, days, but I don’t.

I decide to go for broke and trust Jordan. “We are masquerading. But it’s a little bit more literal than you may realize.” I hesitate. What do we have to lose by saying this out loud? The worst that can happen is she’ll laugh at us and kick us out of here for wasting her time. It does seem like she has higher standards than maybe most. “You see, the thing is, I’m her and she’s me.” I exhale for maybe the first time in days. It feels good to say it.

“Can you be a little more specific?” Jordan asks in a way that tells me she cares about my answer.

Casey jumps in. “I’m in her body and she’s in mine. We woke up like this the day after the reunion. We got in a fight, some jerk bartender named Brian brought us each a shot, and after we drank them, we woke up like this.” She puts her arms out to her sides.

I jump in. “I’m really Rachel Cole. I have three kids. I live in the suburbs. I’m not famous unless you count my mean karaoke rendition of ‘I Think We’re Alone Now’ by—”

“—Tiffany,” Jordan finishes. “I know the song. Some high notes there. Impressive.”

“Do you get what we’re saying here? We’ve switched bodies!” Casey raises her voice impatiently.

“And?” Jordan stares at us blankly.

“And what? Aren’t you the least bit fazed?”

“Look around, ladies. Think about what I do for a living. I’ve seen and heard it all. People talking to the dead, being married to the dead, dead people that reincarnate as their former spouse’s pet . . .” She pauses and I can’t help but think what if that happened to me? If I died unexpectedly and came back as John’s pet. The only pet he has is a garden snake that he keeps in one of those tanks at his office. How much would that suck? I didn’t consider until this moment that there could actually be a worse situation than the one I’m in now, a worse body to be in. I think of myself hissing, spitting out my long tongue, hitting it against the glass of the tank, desperately trying to let John know that I’m hungry for my next mouse. I make a sour face imagining it.

Jordan snaps me back to the moment. “The question is, what do you need from me?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Casey asks, not rudely, just more like a person who wants to make sure she gets her money’s worth.

“I can’t read minds. I can only get what I get when I meditate the night before I see a client. What I write down. What they—”

“We know. What they want you to know.” I think of the snake again and curtly finish her sentence and then rethink my attitude. “I’m sorry, we’re just frazzled here. We’re looking for answers on how to switch back, get our lives back, be who we were.”

Jordan frowns. “But they’re telling me you weren’t happy with who you were.”

I think about John. Our marriage. How our relationship has been strained. When did it start? When did we stop kissing each other good-bye in the morning? Sending playful emails? Sharing a glass of wine at the end of a long day? I think of Casey. I had never stopped to ask myself if she was happy. I had always assumed that she was. The life she lived, the success she has achieved, they were all things our society considers valuable. But I realize now that she’s been living an empty life for years. And I was so caught up with my own crazy world I hadn’t even noticed. She never even mentioned Charlie to me, a relationship that clearly upset her. What does that say about the kind of friend I am?

Jordan looks at me. “You. You, Rachel, not you, Casey, have a lot of angst inside of you. I wrote this down last night.” She consults her notebook again. “You’re confused about love. And stressed. Look here, I wrote the word stress in all caps. It’s at a higher level than I have seen in most people. I also wrote the name Jack. Does that mean anything to you?”

My eyes fill with tears. “That’s John, my husband, that’s his nickname. What I used to call him . . .”

Casey squeezes my hand. “Things haven’t been so great between them.”

Liz Fenton , Lisa Steinke's books