Relativity (18 page)

The universes are aligned in our favor.

I’m going back to the tree, but not quite yet.

At the edge of the parking lot is a bike rack. A black Trek isn’t locked onto the rack, so now it’s mine. I push my glasses back up my nose, straighten my backpack, and attempt to pedal with mostly one leg.

When I get to the brick house on Corrán Tuathail Avenue minutes later, Kandy is watching television, feet up on the ottoman, drinking a diet soda. “Welcome home,” she says like she sincerely doesn’t mean it. Her pink lip gloss glistens in the flicker of the TV. Some reality show about rich housewives in LA. Lots of boob jobs.

“Home,” I say. “Right.” As far as I can tell, this house is identical to its parallel-self in Universe Two—the house where I gagged in the toilet and climbed out the window into the pouring rain. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

“Ditched. Because your mom was gonna do some heinous thing about period bulbs.”

“Period what?”

“The Mantlebrain set.”

“The Mandelbrot set,” I correct. “You’re in my mom’s math class?”

“Are you brain-dead?” Kandy looks me up and down with disgust. “Patrick wasn’t kidding when he said you turned goth. So pretty!”

She aims the remote at the TV and turns the volume way up. A woman with injected lips leans toward the camera, raising a blue cocktail. “This girl loves her martinis!”

Fine by me. It’s not like I want to sit and chat. I’m just here for two minutes, to get one thing.

I head down the hallway toward the bedrooms, glad to see the wooden American flags and farm animals. Yes—there’s the large polka-dotted pig, and yes!—there’s the eight-by-ten framed photo of Dad, Mom, Patrick, and me. Well, it’s not really me, or the family I’ve known. But it’s proof I’ve had Mom all along, if only here. I press my hand against the photo, run my fingers along Mom’s cheekbones.

“I’m gonna find you again,” I say. “In another universe. It’s going to be perfect. You’ll see.”

I lift the photo from its nail, take it out of the frame, and roll it up, the four of us in our khakis and white button-down shirts, Patrick wearing glasses, and my hair in pigtails. The four of us—no fatal car crash, no stepmother or stepsister.

I’m ready to leave now, but as I tuck the photo into my backpack, my eye is drawn to Other Ruby’s half-open bedroom door. Call it intuition—something’s awry. Is the door off its hinge? It looks askew.
I push the door open and trip over a bright-pink shirt, tangled on the floor.

“Oh no.” I groan.

It’s a shockingly complete job. Other Ruby’s room is trashed. The Paris poster is ripped down the middle and dangling from the wall; the mattress is tipped on its side; books, papers, clothes, photos, magazines are scattered everywhere. It’s like someone split an atom. Kaboom.

“Not again.” I could kill Kandy. Yeah, technically, this isn’t my room, or my stuff, but it’s the principle. Kandy’s committing acts of malice in too many universes. Ruby’s room back in Universe Three—and probably my room in One—is no doubt still a mess, my science books shredded. And now she’s done it again.

I grit my teeth, remembering how Kandy jumped on me and pummeled my sides, how she chased me through the house. It’s like it’s happening again. The edge of the coffee table slices into my leg. Rage pulses through me.

I march back into the other room. On the TV, a tiny dog pokes its head out of a purse as its owner browses in a jewelry store. “Do you have any diamond-studded dog leashes?” the woman asks.

“You’re insane,” I say matter-of-factly, standing directly in front of the television, facing Kandy.

“Me? Take a look in the mirror. Patrick thinks you have multiple personality disorder.”

“Please.” What I have is multiple universe disorder.

She strains her neck to see around me. “Move!”

I snap my fingers. “I know! A manicure went wrong. You gained
half a pound. Your Hollywood crush got married. Something tragic, right? That’s what made you go berserk and trash Ruby’s room.”

“Ruby’s room?” Kandy says. “See? You are nuts, talking about yourself in the second person.”

“Third.”

“Move!” She throws her soda can at my head. I duck and it explodes against the TV.

“No,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m not moving.” I realize I might get tackled and smacked again, or worse. But I’m not backing down. I’m not running away, apologizing, or taking her crap. “Why are you such a sadistic witch?”

Kandy leans forward, narrows her eyes. “What did you say to me?”

“What’s. Your. Damage?” I cross my arms over my chest.

She sizes me up. “Just because you mowed your hair off and got a tattoo doesn’t mean you’re tough.”

“Were you just being an angry shithead, or were you looking for something? Maybe a bag of stolen clothes and makeup?”

“What do you know about that?” Kandy’s eyes widen.

I shrug.

“Yeah, so what if that’s what I was looking for? I should’ve known I’d find it in Patrick’s room. It was on his desk chair. He was gonna narc on me.” Kandy leans back, studies her fingernails. “If you tell my mom, I’ll deny it. You can’t prove anything. Besides, I went off my meds, so I can’t be blamed for anything I do.”

“Perfect,” I say. “You’ve got it all worked out.”

Kandy’s voice quiets. “I hate this house. I hate your dad and your brother. And I hate you.”

I give Kandy a look of revulsion, then step away from the TV, clearing her line of vision. She can go back to watching the fake boobs. But Kandy clicks the television off, and a menacing silence fills the room.

“My mom lied to your dad,” Kandy says. “This isn’t her second marriage. It’s her fifth.”

“What?”

“Yeah, fifth.”

“Shut up.”

“Seriously. She changes husbands like she changes her painting periods. You know, the bright period, the bleak period, the far period, the near period.”

Dad is just a number, a notch, the next ex? He and Willow seem so in love, though, at least in Universe One. Maybe he won’t get hurt there. Maybe he will …

And if the marriage to Willow crashes and burns, we could move back to California. Back to our apartment in Walnut Creek with the blue carpet and the too-cold swimming pool. Back to George.

“I liked the third husband, Bruce,” Kandy says. “He helped me with my homework, drove me around. He actually asked about my life. Anyway. I can’t wait to graduate and get out of here. Live where I want to live.”

I find it hard to believe that Kandy is sharing secrets with me, but then again, nothing she says or does would surprise me at this point. I blink, watching Kandy, her entire face defeated, pulled into a frown. “Yeah,” I say. “I know the feeling.”

Words from Kandy’s diary come back to me. How many days she’d been stuck in Ennis, how she was applying to fashion school in
Miami. All over the margins of her journal, she’d written the name Maddy.

She digs her fingernails into the couch pillow, and smiles her evil, creepy smile.

“What?” I say, watching her eyes.

“Run,” she whispers.

“No. No way.” I widen my stance, bracing myself for an attack. This is what I should have done two days ago, back in Universe One. I should have shown some backbone.

“I said RUN!”

“Who’s Maddy?” I ask.

Kandy gasps. “Maddy.”

“Yeah, who is she?” I think of Patrick and how he exists in some universes and not in others. How anything can happen. “Did you have a sister? A biological sister, and that’s why you hate having a stepsister so much? That’s why you hate me?”

“No one knows about Maddy.” Her voice turns brittle. “How do you know that name? I was talking in my sleep, wasn’t I? Or talking to myself.”

“I do that too,” I say. “I don’t realize I’m talking out loud.”

“There is no Maddy,” she says. “There is no Maddy.”

“Got it.”

“And do you seriously have to ask me why I hate you? Like, really? I’m sleeping in your garage,” Kandy says, punching a couch pillow. “Like a dog.”

The word “dog” seems to trigger it. The snuffling, panting noises
that come from the kitchen. A blue collar and a green collar. Muzzles gray and hazy old eyes.

“Galileo!” I drop to my knees. “Isaac!” My long-dead dogs waddle into my arms. I press my nose into their necks, breathing in their musty fur. Galileo’s tongue sweeps across my cheek.

“Oh,” I sob. “That was even better than a kiss from George!” I scratch and rub and nuzzle, using the top of Isaac’s head to dry my tears.

I’m in a dreamlike state, time slipping by unnoticed, until Dad’s voice—“Hello!”—is the unwelcome alarm. The dogs shuffle away from me, toward the front door. “We’re home,” he announces.

Dad and Willow are back from their honeymoon! I don’t want to see either of them. I need to get back to the tree. I’m finding it hard to breathe through the panic, to move through the kitchen toward the laundry room, toward the garage.

“Ruby? Is that you?”

“Uh.”

Dad drops his suitcases and pounds across the room. “What did you do to yourself?” He slides his hands across my head. “Your hair!”

“Your weight!” I say.

Dad is a good fifty pounds heavier. His shirt stretches across his belly. The worn holes in his belt mark the progression of his weight gain.

“Turn around,” he commands.

Before I can comply, he twists my body by my shoulders. “Easy!” I protest.

He rubs his thumb into my neck. “It’s real?” He goes to the sink and wets a paper towel.

“It’s not coming off,” I say, ducking out of the way.

Dad throws his hands into the air. “I hardly recognize you!”

“The feeling is mutual,” I say. Behind him, Willow watches, wordless. She’s still holding her suitcase. Kandy stares at the television.

“Why aren’t the two of you in school?” Dad asks.

“I was just heading there now,” I say, angling for an opening, a way past his hulking body. “Welcome home.”

“Welcome home?” Dad puffs. “Outside. Right now. We’re taking a walk.” He grabs my forearm (Patrick-style) and leads me through the living room, out the front door. We walk down the driveway, then stop. Dad looks up and down the street, trying to decide which way to go. He’s already out of breath. “Ruby.”

“Dad.”

“What’s going on?”

“I could ask the same,” I say. Dad’s eyes are practically lost in his fleshy face. “You’re a cheeseburger away from a heart attack.”

Dad thinks for a moment. “Is that what this is about? You’re sending me a message about how I look?”

“Sure. Why not?” I glance over my shoulder, in the direction of the school and the tree. On the lawn, not twenty feet away, is the bike I borrowed, lying in the grass.

“My divorce attorney warned me that this could happen. Teen rebellion. I never imagined this.” He waves his hands at me, like I’m the dictionary definition of stark raving mad. Unglued, crackers, bats in the belfry.

“It’s just a haircut.”

“Next thing you know you’ll be dyeing it pink.”

“Not likely.”

Dad’s eyebrows are pressed together into a solid line of furrowed anger. “What does all that scribble on your neck mean? It looks Satanic.”

“It’s a math equation.”

He rubs his temples. “How could you have changed so much while I was away? I should’ve never left town. Let’s walk. I need to clear my head.”

I start toward the bike but pause. “How long have you been doing that?” I ask, pointing to the wheelbarrow in the front yard’s landscaping bed.

“What?”

“The white impatiens spilling from the tipped wheelbarrow.”

“I don’t know. As long as I can remember.” He huffs through his nose. “Why are we talking about flowers?”

Because they remind me of Mom. Because they’re a reflection of love, one of those touches that makes a place feel like home. Because you wrenched me away from my home in California.

“Those flowers are important,” I say. “They mean something. To me. A lot of things mean something to me, and you don’t know how much. And then you take them away.”

There’s so much anger inside me—more than I realized—and now it’s rising like hot air, pushing its way up. Suddenly, I feel like hurting Dad as much as he’s hurt me. I want to take everything out on him, for falling stupidly in love with Willow, the stupid move to Ohio, his
stupid job, and even things that weren’t his stupid fault, like Mom’s death.

I blurt at him, “You’re just stupid selfishness, everywhere I go! Look at yourself!”

“Come on, Ruby,” Dad says wearily. “Aren’t you sick of fighting? Could we please stop this never-ending screaming match?”

Screaming match? I never once let Dad have it back in Universe One. I’ve kept it nearly vacuum-sealed, a snide comment here and there.

“You never think about how your decisions affect other people.” It feels so good to unload. “How they affect me!”

“That’s not true!” he says, but then he seems at a loss for words. He has no defense.

“Obviously you have no trouble feeding your own needs,” I say, motioning to his belly.

Dad grabs his gut with both hands, gives it a squeeze. “This is what a failed marriage does, okay? I ate my way through the unhappiness.”

I cringe at the word “failed.” “Things could be different,” I say. “If you’d worked on it harder, we could be together. Right here. I wouldn’t have to go searching.”

“We’re all searching, hon. That’s life.” Dad leans in, cups my cheek in his hand. “I’m sorry, Ruby. I’m sorry for everything.”

I yank my face away from his fingers. “I mean, this could be the right place! The high school is amazing. Downtown is amazing. Even George Pierce lives in this universe! How perfect is that?”

“Hey, my little girl,” Dad says. “You’re confusing me. What are you talking about?”

“And the dogs!” The thought of leaving Galileo and Isaac behind
shatters me. Why are they alive here and not in Universe One? Did they really die of cancer? Or did Dad give them away? I was only ten. Still easy enough to lie to. “You ruin everything!”

“I don’t know what else to do but say I’m sorry.” His face collapses into defeat, sorrow. “I’m sorry, Ruby.”

Forget the extra pounds, Dad’s eyes are the same, and I’m reeled in by a force that feels magnetic, irrepressible. He said he was sorry, and he sounded like he meant it, and I wish I could accept his apology and tell him that I’m okay with the entire broken, divorced/widowed, complicated mess. But I’m not okay. I take a deep breath and step back. “I’d like to be alone, if you don’t mind.”