One minute Kelly’s a free-spirited artist in Chicago going to her best friend’s art show. Margarita Montimore, USA Today bestselling author of Oona Out of OrderĪn inventive page-turner about the choices we make and the ones made for us. Hands in my hair, loosening my ponytail.“Who hasn't wondered what alternate versions of their lives might look like?.As relatable as it is suspenseful cleverly exploring adulthood, identity, and shifting realities.” My back pushed against the rough bark of an oak. The woods beyond them look otherworldly in the twilight, shadows pooling beneath the trees, until someone jogs down the trail in a high-vis jacket and spoils the effect. “We should eat outside more often.” “Yeah.” I’ve lit citronella torches to keep insects at bay, but farther out in the backyard the fireflies have begun their evening dance. “This is nice,” he says through a mouthful, gesturing with his fork. “ Well, dig in, this isn’t a porno,” I say lightly, and Eric chuckles and cuts into his meat. This is really good.” “I can tell.” Now he looks amused, and I feel a flicker of annoyance. The contrast is immensely satisfying and sensual. “Not too done?” “ It’s perfect.” I take another bite, then a sip of red wine from the glass I poured after finishing my beer. “Oh my God.” “Good?” Eric has the hint of a smile that means he’s pleased. I try a bite and flavor bursts on my tongue: salt, freshly ground pepper, umami. He slides them onto plates and they actually look appetizing, not at all like the damp, quivering lumps of muscle and fat they were an hour ago. By the time Eric finishes the steaks, my stomach is growling like it’s trying to digest itself.

And whatever apprehensions I have about him, he’s never been They believe men, not crazy women.” “I don’t think he’d do that.” “What if the alternative was losing you?” Eric worships me I know that. He could say anything he wanted, and most anyone would believe him over you. “Right?” “He could say you’d tried to kill yourself. Obviously.” “But what would he do? Do you think he’d try to have you committed?” “He wouldn’t be able to do that unless I was ‘a danger to myself or others.’ I do air quotes. What would he do if you told him you’d remembered this whole life you had back in Chicago and you were leaving him to pick it up again?” “ He’d be upset. He obviously loves me, and I…” Love him? Do I? “I guess I’ve been worried that if I tell him what happened, he’ll think I’m having some kind of delusion.” “Or he’ll act like he thinks it, even if he knows you’re for real.” I don’t want to admit that possibility, but I can see it playing out.

“ He’s never done anything to make me think he’d hurt me. “ Are you afraid of him?” “No! I don’t know.” Wiping my hands, I accidentally tear a napkin in half. Might have caused it.” “ Wouldn’t that be a reason to ask him about it?” “ It’s not that easy.” “K.” Her tone makes me look up from my denuded pastry.

The other me sarah zachrich jeng