Page 151 of Under Story

Every month, Laurel grew stronger. She knew joy more fully now that she knew its opposite. The sun felt warmer. Food tasted sweeter. When Gloria took her to a rave, Laurel danced for hours, feeling hope but remembering despair, so full she could burst from the both of it.

She peeled back like petals around a stem, opening, opening.

In April, Laurel brought her laptop to the kitchen. She sat at the island with an apple, intending to send a note to Samir. When she opened WiscMail, though, she realized that she’d made a mistake. Laurel and Eli both had iBooks—Apple’s latest model—and she had accidentally taken his device.

On screen was an email from Stanford. Eli had been offered an endowed professorship.

Laurel shut the computer. She felt ill even as she realized that she shouldn’t be surprised. The Duoverse was a mirror. In their world, Eli had moved from Stanford to Madison that year.

She opened the laptop again. This time, she read the thread from top to bottom. Stanford had first made an offer six months earlier. Eli had passed politely, and he had never told Laurel. Now Stanford had written again. They proposed a higher salary in the hope that he would join them for the fall semester.

In a saved draft, Eli had typed:

I’m truly honored by your interest. Your previous offer was so compelling that I confess I’ve often wondered whether I made the right choice. After much consideration, I

Laurel changed into her exercise clothes. She ran to Picnic Point and followed the Lakeshore Path toward campus.

Dusk fell in a wash of purple. The academic year had begun one month earlier, in May, and the university buzzed with back-to-school energy. Outside Memorial Union, septuagenarian undergraduates huddled, wearing backpacks. Laurel continued straight on Langdon. The Greek houses here were astonishingly grand, and age did not prevent their members from hosting raucous parties. Right on Wisconsin Avenue, left on Gorham. The latter was a one-way street, so Laurel ran against the flow of traffic. Shops and restaurants gave way to student rentals, which were followed by a synagogue called Gates of Heaven, and then Tenney Park spread along the lake; and all around were other students, reading on blankets or writing in notebooks, people whose lives were just beginning.

Laurel turned around and ran home.

Eli met her at the door. Laurel saw that he knew she had seen the email. In her haste, she must have left his laptop open.

“Laurel,” he said at the same time as she said, “Eli—”

He looked miserable, even afraid. He must have assumed that she would be angry.

“I wasn’t going to say yes. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I thought about it,” he added, “and that’s what I decided.”

Laurel took his hand.

“I think you should take the job,” she said.

“What?” Eli blinked. “I thought you wouldn’t want to leave the Rhizotron.”

“I don’t. I would stay here.”

Eli stepped back. She moved with him.

“Listen to me,” she told him. “It’s like you said: for years, we’ve only had each other.”

Her mouth began to tremble. It was essential that she express herself exactly. If he misunderstood her reasoning, she wouldn’t be able to bear it.

“You deserve your own life—your own experiences,” she said. “I brought you here. I took you with me. I want you to be free.”

Eli became still. “You don’t think I can be free if I’m with you?”

It wasn’t an accusation. What pained her was the fact that he was genuinely asking.

“I don’t know,” said Laurel. “I just know that I’ve been in your place. I had to separate from you—separate from everything—go to the end of the world…I had to be by myself.” She was crying freely now. “If we go on like this, I’ll worry I’m holding you back. And every time you look at me, you’ll feel guilty, even though you shouldn’t—even though I don’t want you to…”

She was still holding his hand.

“I’ll get better,” said Eli, fiercely. “I just have to figure out how.”

“I don’t think it works like that. The figuring out—it’s a kind of gripping. It keeps the pain close.”

He took her other hand and squeezed so tightly that her skin turned white. She didn’t want him to let go yet. It was the only thing keeping her upright.