Parallel

Against my will, my brain has stored that kiss from the day before Halloween last year in its Best Kiss Ever file, despite my attempts to replace it with one from Michael (who, it’s worth noting, is objectively the better kisser). But it’s not just the kiss that won’t go away. It’s every memory of Josh I’ve gotten since. Holding hands in the hall, sharing Skittles at the movies, watching him from across the room in astronomy. There’s nothing particularly significant about these moments, but that hasn’t kept my mind from making a freaking highlight reel out of them. Meanwhile my real memories, the new ones, the moments with Michael that I actually want to keep, have been relegated to Oh, That Happened status.
    Michael. At the thought of him, my heart flutters a little and my stomach sinks. Joy competing with fear. The more serious we get, the more I dread our inevitable end. Thankfully, it doesn’t look like that end has come today. I haven’t run through my morning checklist yet, but with the blue pennant over my door and Caitlin’s bracelet on my wrist, I feel good about my odds. But I grab my phone off the nightstand to make sure.
    The one perk to losing my phone on Halloween was the discovery that I was due for an upgrade, which meant I could get a fancier one for half the regular price. Since taking advantage of the offer required me to re-up my contract, I decided to get a new number, too. It’s silly, but having a 203 area code makes me feel rooted to New Haven, like I’ve somehow staked a claim to my existence there. Like I truly belong. The truth, of course, is that I don’t. I belong in L.A., or maybe at Northwestern, and no matter how many times I wake up to my current reality, I know that it won’t last. It can’t, now that Caitlin and my parallel aren’t speaking. Yale’s regular admission application deadline is a week away, and without Caitlin to talk her into it, there’s no way my parallel will apply. Truth be told, as thankful as I am to have gotten a few extra weeks with Michael, I can’t figure out why I’m still at Yale now. The way I figure, the fight with Caitlin erased any chance my parallel had of ending up here. Maybe she’ll decide on her own to apply? She’d better hurry. She only has a week till the deadline and, as of right now, she’s determined not to apply.
    I tap the camera icon and scroll through the latest entries in my photo log. Thank God I backed up my phone three days before I lost it. Except for a few from the week before Halloween, I still have every photo I’ve taken since the collision. My life at Yale, in pictures. I skip over the one Caitlin took of Michael looking at another girl’s butt (I’d delete it, but it’s the only one I have from November 22) and pause on a shot of him and me at the Yale-Harvard Game last Saturday. We’re standing with our arms around each other in front of the Beta tailgate, holding Styrofoam cups of hot cider, our noses red from the cold. The next photo is from the night before, five seconds after Michael told me he loved me for the first (and so far only) time. We were in his kitchen, making microwave popcorn at three in the morning, when out of nowhere he said it. “You know I love you, Abby Barnes.” Just like that, as if he were stating the obvious. Yes, it was weird when I asked him if I could take a picture of him right after, but the weirdness was worth it for the proof.
    I continue scrolling until I get to the picture from November 13, the morning they posted the cast list for Arcadia with my name at the very top. This one gets a grin every time. Rehearsals don’t start until the first week of next semester, but the Dramat held auditions early to get them out of the way before exams (which, unfortunately, start two weeks from Monday).
    Of all of them, the tailgate photo is my favorite. My hair is down and wavy around my shoulders, and my eyes look almost silver in the midday sun. Michael’s green eyes are on me, and his mouth is open in a laugh. Neither of us looks particularly great, but there’s something so hi-we’re-a-happy-couple about the image.
    Caitlin asked me yesterday if I’m in love with him. She knows Michael told me he loves me last Friday, and she also knows I didn’t say it back. I wanted to, but then the microwave dinged and one of his roommates came in and we all started eating popcorn. Not exactly an I-love-you-too scenario. Caitlin knows that part, too. So her question