There’s silence at the other end of the phone. And then finally, “Sadie, are you okay? Did you get blackout drunk after you left last night or something? Where’s Alex?”
“I’m fine, Alex is… here.” Except Alex shouldn’t be here. Alex is a hallucination. All of this is a hallucination. Isn’t it? “Please, just tell me. Where was the party?”
“It was at the apartment of one of Alex’s finance friends. Zach, or something? That guy hit on me and got creepy close when I came out of the bathroom, by the way.”
I seize on the party at Zach’s place. Okay, I was there. I remember it. Except that party was last New Year’s Eve. A year ago. Not last night. Last night was the carnival party.
Is it possible the fortune teller and the acrobats and all the rest were just some vivid dream? But how could it be? It all feels too real. The smell of the warehouse and the taste of a sickly buttered popcorn cocktail and the feel of Jacob’s stubble scraping my cheek as he kissed me. And there’s no way I imagined the entire last year of my life. Getting fired. Moving in with Jacob. Working at Higher Grounds.
I drop my phone to my lap and click to my home screen to look at the date. And suddenly the room is spinning. Because though it’s January first, just like I expected… It’s January first, twelve months ago. The entire last year of my life is—gone.
Gone.
Just like I wished for.
I slap my face and pinch my arms again. Fortune tellers aren’t real, and wishes don’t come true. So, maybe this is a dream. Maybe I went to sleep last night, and I’m still sleeping, and any minute now my alarm will go off—
“Sadie?” Kasumi’s voice carries up from the phone in my lap. “Are you there?”
Am I here? My gaze skates around the bathroom. The shower curtain with the watercolor print. The crack in the tile by the mirror. My eyeliner and lipstick on the counter, left there from when I did my makeup before Zach’s party.
Surely, if this were a dream, or a hallucination, it wouldn’t feel this real. Something would be hazy or out of place. That crack in the wall would be talking to me. Kasumi would suddenly turn into my mother. But none of those things are happening. It feels like an ordinary day in an ordinary apartment. They just happen to be the wrong day and the wrong apartment.
So, that leaves just one possible scenario.
Last night, I asked for a second chance, and today, it’s January first of last year. Not only do I still have my apartment, but that man out there in the bed is still my boyfriend, and I have a job as an assistant pastry chef to get to. That old fortune teller with her colorful powder and her weird vodka spell came through for me, and this is my opportunity to do it all differently.
“Sadie?” Kasumi repeats, her voice rising now.
I lift the phone back to my ear. “Stall Xavier a little bit longer, okay? I’ll be right there.”
Chapter 6
Back in the main room of my apartment, I’m faced with my first dilemma. In the second chance universe where I’m currently residing, Alex and I have been together this whole time. But according to my secret internal calendar, I haven’t seen him in months, unless you count the Instagram photos that I spent too many hours dissecting.
Last night, I kissed someone else. It feels real to me, even if technically, it never happened. I’m still hurt that Alex broke up with me and started dating someone else. I feel disloyal to Alex that Jacob is still on my mind, and irrationally, I feel a little disloyal to Jacob, too. If you’d told me twenty-four hours ago that I’d wake up with Alex in my bed, my heart would have leaped with joy. But my entire world flipped like a pancake last night, and now I’m not sure which way is up.
I grab my uniform and carry it into the bathroom to change because I suddenly feel shy about stripping right there where Alex could roll over and see me. I’m sure it will just take a while to get used to having him back in my life. After I brush my teeth and pull my hair into a ponytail, I tiptoe out to look for my shoes.
Alex is sitting up in bed, shirtless, with the duvet resting on his lap. My gaze traces his muscular torso down to the little strip of hair on his navel that disappears beneath the covers. My face heats up, and I’m sure I’ve turned bright red. If I remember correctly, Alex likes to sleep in the buff, which means if the duvet shifts, I’m going to get a front-row view of—
“Hey, babe. Off to work?” He stretches his arms above his head, and I look away.
It’s not like I haven’t seen him naked before. We dated for three years. But that was before he broke my heart, and I’m not sure I’m emotionally equipped for a peep show right now. Besides, I’m late for work, and if I plan to take this second chance seriously, I need to keep my job.
“Yep. Gotta go.” I face away from him to put my shoes on, and then I search for my purse. Where would I have put that thing when I came home from the party last-night-slash-a-year-ago? “You have a key to lock up, right?” And then I stumble to a stop. We’d made kind of a big deal about exchanging keys to each other’s places, going out to dinner, and toasting with cocktails. And I’d ugly cried when, a couple of years later, he gave my key back. “I mean, of course you have a key.”
He looks at me sideways. “Don’t worry, I’ll lock up. Have a good day at work.”
Am I supposed to kiss him now? Is this how we said an ordinary goodbye on an ordinary day? It’s funny the things you forget. I hesitate before I finally settle on leaning over to give him a peck on the cheek. “You have a good day, too,” I say.
“Hey.” He takes my hand before I can step away from the bed. “Are you okay? You seem a little out of it.”
In this moment, my brain is so fried you could serve it with toast and a side of potatoes. But I can’t tell him any of that. “Of course! I’m fine. Just tired. It was—uh—a long night.” About a year long, to be exact. I try to tug my hand away, but Alex holds on.
“Let’s get dinner tonight. I’ll meet you after work?”
I gaze across the rumpled duvet. The styling product Alex uses to tame his wavy blond hair rubbed off while he slept, and now his cowlick is sticking up in the back. Or maybe he isn’t using that hair gel yet. In this time line, he’s still a brand-new graduate of Columbia’s MBA program, and he only started the investment banker job a few months ago. It’s disorienting to catch a glimpse of him looking like the Alex I met three years ago. By the time we broke up, halfway into my Very Bad Year, he was wearing the same slicked-back hair and designer suits as the other guys at the firm.
I give his hand a squeeze, half expecting it to disappear in a puff of smoke. But Alex returns the pressure. He’s really here. This is really happening.
“Sadie?” He nudges me.