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I close my eyes and savor this perfect moment, holding on to it for a full breath.

“You know I’ll be at school most of my waking hours,” I tell him.

He weaves his fingers through mine. “And asleep next to me for the rest of them.”

“I will always be stressed out and talk about intracellular signaling incessantly.”

He brings my hands to his lips and kisses them. “Talking science is my second favorite thing to do with you.”

I close my eyes and picture us together in Liverpool. “The flat I rented is basically a shoe box. We will be on top of each other all the time.”

He leans in and kisses the side of my neck, the heat of his breath lingering against my skin. “Are we putting that one on the pros or cons list?”

“I want you to come.” The words come out so easily that I almost don’t realize I’ve said them.

“I think you’re right about us,” I continue. “That we’re meant to be together.”

He pulls back, his eyebrows raised. “So we’re doing this?”

Who am I to argue with the universe?

“Looks like we are.”

29

We spend the weekend making plans. Mackenzie calls Zee to tell him the news. Zee does not take it well. Although Mackenzie takes the call on the couch and I am in the kitchen, I hear the long string of surprisingly poetic profanities as Zee tells Mackenzie he’s an “ungrateful asshole” and “the knife in his back he didn’t see coming” and also “fired.” I also hear the apology that comes an hour and a half later when Zee realizes he needs a drummer for their gig that night and wants to take Mackenzie up on the offer to stay on and help find his replacement.

“You know you don’t always need to be the nice guy,” I say as he kisses me on his way out.

“You know me,” he says. “All lover, no fighter. Besides, I’ll need the cash if it takes me a while to find something in Liverpool.”

It’s still the one piece of the plan I do not love. Mackenzie will be essentially starting his entire music career over from scratch, and although Liverpool has a huge music scene, neither of us has any connections.

It’s one of the many worries weighing on me as I get ready for work on Monday morning. It’s my final day at CAMH, and according to the numbers on my kitchen clock, I will be late for it.

“Dammit.” I press my cheek against the living room window to get a better view of the streetcar tracks. I can’t see one coming, but I can hear the bell, which means if I run, I might be able to make it.

I grab my bag from the kitchen counter and sprint to the door, where I slip my boots on and reach for my new leather jacket. Rushing to lock the door behind me, I don’t question why the first arm slides into my jacket a little too easily. It’s when I put my second arm through the sleeve as I start down the stairs that I realize my mistake. Just as I hit the landing, everything around me goes black.

When my vision clears, I am back in my apartment.

I know it’s another jacket vision because I’m staring down at the couch, and Other Me is curled up in the fetal position, staring blankly at the television, which would be less concerning if it didn’t appear to be off.

Harmony is here, too. She is also staring down at the couch, a large cardboard box clasped in her hands.

“Chickpea.” Her tone is coaxing. “Mr. Taylor is going to take me over to the Salvation Army in ten minutes…” She sets the box onto the coffee table. “I’ve finished the bedroom, and I think I’m done with the living room. Just need you to double-check this one.” She nudges the box toward me. “I don’t want to give away anything you planned to keep.”

I know where I am in time now. It’s the week after I broke up with Lucca. While I didn’t miss him, his absence had both opened the wound of Larry’s loss that had barely begun to heal and left a hole in my already empty social calendar, which I was filling with late-night sobbing.

Apparently, the walls were thinner than I thought because Harmony showed up at my door one Saturday morning with an empty box and a lot of dried sage. She told me we were cleansing my life, starting with the apartment.

“What about these?” Harmony is by the armchair now, pulling something from behind it. She holds up a large rugby shirt and a black leather jacket.

Other Me lifts her head just enough to look. “The shirt, yes, but the jacket belongs to Lucca. He left it here the other week.”

Harmony turns the jacket back and forth. “No, honey, I’m positive this one was Larry’s. I was with him when he bought it.”

The other me barely turns her head. “Donate it then.” She rolls onto her back. “Just take all of it, Harmony. I really don’t care.”