“I wish it were possible to have them both,” I say.
Clover furrows her brow. “Do you want to go to the cabin, get the letter, then fly to New York?”
“No. I want to be in two places at once.”
“Like in the multiverse?”
“The what?”
“It’s the idea that there are different versions of ourselves in different universes—” She sees my bewildered expression and cuts herself off. “Never mind. Listen. If you spend your life paralyzed by fear, you’ll miss out on everything. Not only Fitz and New York, but all the other good things too. Jay and I are together because I had the courage to say hi to him that first night at Youth Group. And now we’re in love, and I spend every Saturday morning with goats climbing on top of me. Because I made a choice. You’re not making any choices, and as your best friend, I refuse to watch you throw away opportunities like this.”
“Maybe I should ask Fitz.”
“No one wants to feel like an opportunity cost. Trust me.” Clover grabs my phone and taps on the screen. When she hands it back, an app called Magic 8 is open. “Whatever it says, that’s what you do. Deal?”
“But what if—”
“Paige, listen to me. This takes all decisions out of your hands, but it forces you to act. It’s perfect.”
But what if it sends me down the wrong path, flinging my life so far out of its natural orbit that it ruins my future forever and ever amen? is what I want to say. But Clover is looking at me with a mixture of hopeless frustration and don’t-mess-with-me-or-I’m-gonna-feed-you-to-the-goats.
Well. If my life is going to collapse like a loaf of underbaked bread, it’d be nice to know where to put the blame.
“Deal.” I type my question before SIM can change my mind. Should I go to New York?
I shake my phone and it vibrates between my fingers. The animated ball spins faster and faster, matching the beat of my heart.
I hold my breath and wait. The ball slows to a heartrending stop, but Clover covers it with her hands before I get a view. “No matter what the app says, you should keep using it.”
“Permanently?”
“Yes.”
It’s completely ridiculous, but I don’t hate the idea. Without the weight of a hundred possible life-altering decisions dragging me down, I could enjoy Christmas vacation more than I’ve enjoyed anything in a long time.
“I’ll do it,” I say, before I can second-guess myself.
Clover removes her hands from the screen, revealing my fate.
Grinning, I speed across the slick grocery store floor, eager to get to yoga, and after that—
“Wait for me!” Clover calls at the same time the employee with the mop yells, “Be careful!” My foot slips out from under me and I crash into a wet-floor sign, falling forward onto the floor. My head bangs hard against the ground and dueling images of Fitz and New York flash before my eyes, just before my vision goes black.
The thing about passport photos is this: They’re terrible.
Tragic.
Universally unflattering.
I could fix this problem. Let the people show their teeth! Let them be happy! Let them be excited for their global adventure! The disastrous nature of passport photos is not a mystery is what I’m saying. A forced neutral expression is never going to be a good look.
“Take your shoes off, put them in a bucket, and step through the metal detector,” the TSA agent says. She looks stern but bored, impatient and indifferent. Doesn’t she understand that everyone around her is embarking on a trip that could alter the entire trajectory of their lives?
“Do you want to see my passport?” I ask.
“You’re on a domestic flight, miss.”
“It’s my ID.”
“We don’t require minors to show identification.”
“Oh. Well, I have it. In case you want to see it.”
She narrows her eyes. “Is there some reason you’re trying to get me to look at your passport?”
“This is her first flight. She’s excited.” Mom takes me gently by the shoulders and steers me to the security line. “The first rule of air travel is to not upset the TSA agents.”
“Roger that.” We dump our loose belongings in a bucket, take off our shoes, shuffle through the line, endure a pat-down. I love it all.
“Aren’t you glad I had the foresight to ask for a passport for my tenth birthday?” I ask as we settle into chairs outside our gate.
“Mm-hmm.”
“Because if I recall, you didn’t appreciate it at the time.”
“I did not.” Her eyelids droop. I’m not deterred.
“I’m pretty sure that’s the year you sat me down and told me we couldn’t afford to purchase a passport for, quote, ‘no reason.’ Which was pretty harsh, by the way.”
It’s six a.m., but I’ve never felt so awake in my life. My heart is pumping in my chest, my blood thrumming through my veins. It’s all happening. I’m spending Christmas in New York with a family I haven’t seen in more than a decade. I’m preparing for a career as a travel writer. I’m going to be a braver, more adventurous version of myself. All because some app said yes when it could have said no.
Of course, SIM can’t leave it at that. He rudely reminds me that Fitz might open the letter and find out that our friendship is built on a delicate lie, where one of us cares too much and the other cares too little.
I pull up yesterday’s texts with Fitz and scroll through the conversation. After Magic 8 decided I’d be coming to New York, I explained that it was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up, and Fitz was cool about it. But then this happened.
11:30 a.m. FITZ: Does this mean I can open your letter without you?
11:30 a.m. ME: What?! No!
11:40 a.m. ME: Promise me you’re not going to open it!
11:45 a.m. ME: I’m serious.
11:47 a.m. ME: Fitz?
11:48 a.m. FITZ: I won’t. No promises about Gray, though. That kid is sneaky.
Yesterday, it read like an offhand comment. A joke about his three-year-old nephew. Today, I’m not so sure. My stomach churns at the thought. I need a distraction, ASAP. I turn to Mom. “You’re lucky to have me for a daughter, is what I’m saying.”
She gives me a Very Serious Look. “Paige. Do you know that New York is in the United States?”
“It’s close to Canada. You never know what could happen.”
You never know what could happen? I mean, obviously. That’s my whole thing. But that’s never felt like a good statement before.
“And you’re lucky to have a mom who shelled out $115 for a dream I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to give you.” She smiles wistfully, eyes still closed, and I’m struck all over again by the unlikelihood of us being here. This time two days ago, I was destined to spend another winter break in Arizona, waiting for Fitz to come back to town and for Clover to schedule hangouts with me around her boyfriend’s schedule.
“Thanks, Mom.” I flip back to the front of the passport and study my photo. The photographer was impatient with me and my forbidden grin. I tried to smother it, I swear. But it became one of those things where the harder you try not to smile, the more impossible it becomes. I finally managed to clamp my lips around my teeth, but the smile in my eyes is obvious. Ten-year-old me was bursting with the possibility of adventure.