Page 160 of Under Story

“A woman can miscarry,” Laurel said. “An infant can be born too early.”

“And here, after a point, it becomes too late: they cannot enter the mother at all. Laurel miscalculated,” Kenji said. “During that window, she was gone.”

Laurel could see that it pained him to say it—to break the code that had governed his life, and before that, his son’s. She could not yet wonder why he’d done it. Lightheaded, she reached for the wall.

“No,” she said, beseeching. “What happened to Celeste?”

“They brought her here. We made her as comfortable as we could.”

Laurel put her hands to her face. She thought of the communion she had experienced with Silas in her womb. To be without that—she could not imagine the torment.

Well, she could.

She had lived her own version.

—

Kenji walked her home.

Green had encroached on the orange of the leaves, and crickets whispered in the grass. Summer was coming—her first summer without Eli in thirteen years.

They stopped beside the moving truck.

“Thank you,” Laurel said. “I can’t tell you how much this has helped me.”

And then, because she had an instinct, a sense that he might want to see them, she showed him the pictures she’d found in the bedroom. Kenji sifted through them. He paused at an image of Laurel Two in middle age. She had strong laugh lines, and crow’s-feet feathered out beside her eyes.

As he looked, Kenji wore the same expression that he had in Laurel’s vision. It was intimate, softened by care.

With a gust of shock, Laurel realized that he’d loved her. Kenji had loved the other Laurel. She realized, too, why he could read her own emotions, why he seemed to understand her…and it was all so strange, so overwhelming; and she wanted him to know that she saw it now, that he did not have to shoulder such complexity alone; so she leaned in—whether because she was subject to the Duoverse’s pull, or because the desire was her own.

Laurel expected resistance. There was none. She had forgotten the ecstasy of a first kiss: how the distance closed by millimeters; the mounting pressure—a fleeting question—before the border was inexorably crossed.

Kenji’s eyes were closed. His hand reached for hers, and she held it as one goldfinch chased another, sensing the change in season.

—

Laurel moved into her new apartment without Eli, but she didn’t feel alone. With her was the other Laurel.

Like the double helix of a strand of DNA, they circled each other. They were two poles, far apart but connected magnetically. Nothing stood between them anymore: no comparison, no envy.

And she had Kenji. Her relationship with Eli had been instant and all-consuming, but Laurel and Kenji met as adults. They both wanted to maintain their independence, and they understood that the relationship was temporary: Kenji would go to Japan in late spring, Laurel to the Center in summer. The goal was not to know the other’s history in total, or to plan ahead. They experienced each other simply, in the present.

Laurel was fascinated by his mind, which was unlike any she had known, including Eli’s. Kenji’s intellect was more tolerant of mystery; it pleased him to understand something, but his happiness did not depend on it. When they began to see each other, Laurel assumed that they would talk about the Duoverse. She was surprised to find that neither of them felt the need. She did not want to decode any other riddles; she wanted to sit by the lake, drinking wine and listening to music. When Kenji left Madison, she felt the loss not of a sage but of a fellow person. She would remember him for his own qualities: his love of comic books; his astounding homemade cheesecake; and his sense of humor, whose slyness continually surprised her.

—

Tess, Laurel, and Gloria’s results were publicized by mainstream media, as well as the Global Alliance for the Rights of Nature. Their work aligned with an emerging theory called earth jurisprudence, which sought to enshrine protections for nonhumans. After advocacy by Māori tribes, the Whanganui River had been granted legal personhood in New Zealand. Similar bills had since been introduced in California, Vermont, and Hawaii.

Gloria and Tess hosted Laurel’s retirement party at Memorial Union. They sat outside on the terrace. Colleagues filtered through to shake her hand and have a beer, or an ice cream in the sun. Gloria had been hired as a junior professor. At one point, she excused herself to get a drink. Half an hour later, she hadn’t returned, so Laurel went looking for her.

Gloria sat on the dock that fed into Lake Mendota, swinging her feet, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. Seeing Laurel approach, she waved her hands.

“Go away!” she said. “Ignore me!”

“Absolutely not,” said Laurel, sitting. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Gloria shrugged wildly. Laurel had known Gloria Two for almost ten years; she had watched her change from a high school student into a newly minted professional. Right now, she looked as vulnerable as she had on the day she arrived in Laurel’s office.