Page 99 of Under Story

“That’s not what I meant. We could have talked about—our feelings.”

His face is pink. Laurel almost softens. Then she sees how angry Eli is, which strikes a pang of fear in her—not just of his anger, but that she deserves it.

“I mean, Jesus, Laurel,” he says. “You’ve said it yourself: you left Silas to go to that cave. Why would you even think to go back? Was it masochism? Or self-sabotage?”

Laurel wavers, stunned. Eli’s framing makes her wonder whether she can trust herself. These thoughts are unbearable: she must purge them, or invert them.

“How dare you,” she hisses. “Who got us here, Eli? If it weren’t for me, you’d still be working on equations.”

“I’ve always given you credit for that,” says Eli.

In a perfect world, Laurel would turn back. She’d be her best self, or at least her better self, and salvage what she could. But isn’t it about to collapse, everything they’ve built, or rebuilt? All through the past three years, they’ve had each other: that close, closed loop, not married but together. Whether or not they find Silas, this trip will be an ending. Afterward, she and Eli will go their separate ways.

“And frankly,” she continues, “I doubt that you care where I was. Let’s be honest. We’re not a couple. I owe you one thing, and that’s what happens tomorrow. If you really cared about me, we’d still be together.”

This was it, she thinks. If he had loved her as he claimed to—loved her in the way she thought he did—wouldn’t that have been enough?

Eli becomes rigid. “That is not what happened.”

But Laurel needs the story to be simple. She can’t bear more complication, new feelings thatched with old—doubting herself, doubting him, never defining what they are to each other. She is angry at Eli, and angry at herself for caring, as though she’s been suckered into something, or humiliated.

“Okay,” she says. This caustic tone is one she almost never uses, but it comes to her easily now, summoned by the desire to win. “Tell me how it happened. Tell me how I ruined everything.”

“You want to know what did it? That’s what was too heavy. On top of everything else, I had to save you,” says Eli. “I felt like you wanted two things from me, things that were opposed: you wanted me to forgive you, and you wanted to be punished.”

“What?” Laurel’s shock is genuine. “I needed support.”

“I think you needed more than that. Because when I tried—when I forgave you—that still wasn’t enough.”

She stands still, her vision smeared.

“Laurel, I can’t fix this for you.” Eli looks exhausted now, and older, though both of them are three years younger than they thought they’d be again. “You have to find a way to live with yourself. I thought you had, but if you haven’t, I can’t give you permission.”

He walks past her to the stairs. Laurel hears his footsteps, slow, and then she hears him stop.

“I forgave you,” he repeats. “But I couldn’t absolve you, too. I couldn’t go back and make it not happen.”

—

Climbing into her bunk, Laurel is sure she won’t sleep. She feels sick about tomorrow, and about how she and Eli have devolved. But exhaustion takes over: eight hours later, her alarm is a shock.

A branch taps at the window, as if to remind her what day it is: August 18, 2014, the one they’ve anticipated for more than three years. The injuries from her fight with Eli are still tender—and yet, to Laurel’s surprise, gratitude is present, too. She is grateful to have slept. Grateful that Eli is downstairs, her partner in this absurd venture, if nothing else. And she is grateful to feel different this morning than she did last night: she can look back with the distance earned by wisdom, seeing what Eli meant, and where he was right. She washes her face and changes into fresh clothes. It matters, not just what she does today but how.

Eli is making coffee in the kitchen. He turns when he hears her footsteps.

“Eli, I’m sorry,” she says, stopping. “For…” The past day. The past week. The fall. She spreads her hands. “All of it.”

“I know,” he says. “Me, too.”

“I should have stayed here yesterday. Or told you, at least. I was selfish. Somehow, it felt important,” she says. “Nowhere near as important as Silas. Still, I thought that going there could tell me something, and not just about science. About—me.”

Eli puts the kettle down. Laurel comes to stand in the doorway.

“You know who you are.” Her face is defenseless, her eyes wide as they meet his. “Side by side with Eli Two, you make sense. But I don’t. Or I didn’t. I should have told you,” she repeats. “But I honestly didn’t think…”

Coffee gurgles through the French press. How many times has she stood with Eli in a kitchen while he finished that process? It was one of his wedding vows: that he would always make the coffee, knowing that she was desperate for it as soon as she got up. And he had. Even when Silas was young and Laurel took morning duty, Eli woke early enough to leave a cup waiting for her. In the antiuniverse, he had resumed this generosity. It was things like that, she thought. Things that pleased and agonized and confused her. Things that made her wonder why nothing more had happened between them.

“I didn’t think you’d mind,” she finishes. “I thought you’d be relieved that I was gone.”