An Infinite Number of Parallel Universes (3 page)

Infinite futures blink to life. Most involve playing games with her forever and raising brilliant and beautiful mixed-race babies.

“I'm calling it,” Mari says and starts to gather her things.

“Okay,” Dante says, fishing in his pocket for his car keys.

Archie sighs. He considers bringing up his frustration about moving in with his father just to stall. But nobody ever brings up anything really personal at these sessions. These nights are all about the game, not group therapy. Sometimes he feels like they know each other's fictional character better than they actually know each other.

He watches them pack up for a moment longer, hoping they'll change their minds. But they don't. He helps clear everything away until the table is simply a table again.

Before leaving, Archie tosses his die once more. He rolls a one.

Critical miss.

Archie's hands freeze over the keyboard when he hears the front door open. He listens, concerned he's about to be murdered. He has so much life left to live. But he relaxes when he recognizes the sound of his mom's heels clacking across the kitchen's tile floor.

“Archie?” she calls.

“Upstairs!” he shouts. He saves the college essay he had been editing and then makes his way downstairs. He finds her at the kitchen counter in a skirt and blazer, sifting through the mail. She is pretty and powerful even when performing such a mundane task. He fears she will start dating again soon.

“Hey,” she says, dropping the pile of mail onto the counter and looking up at him.

He hugs her. She smells nice. He'll miss that.

“You're home early,” he says.

“Snuck out so we could hang out together.” She slips off her red heels and places them on the counter next to the pile of mail. “So what do you want to do? Movie marathon?”

“Actually,” Archie says as he opens the fridge and grabs two cans of soda. He hands her one. “What if we went to the mall? You know, school starts in a week . . .”

She gives him the side eye. “Really? You, Archibald James Walker, want to go shopping? At the mall?”

His can of soda hisses as he opens it. “Yes.”

Realization dawns on his mom's face. She smirks and makes her way around the counter to poke him in the heart. “The girl. You want to look hot for her.”

Archie tries to brush her hand away. “No, that's not why.”

“Then tell me why.”

“Because.” He cracks a smile.

She pokes him in the heart.

“How do they fit? You need me to grab another size for you?” His mom's voice lifts over the fitting room door louder than necessary.

Striking various poses in the mirror, Archie examines himself in the jet-black, skinny-leg jeans that all the kids are wearing these days. Unfortunately, they make him look like a giraffe in black yoga pants. He turns and turns, but it's giraffe from every angle.

“Uh, maybe the same size, different style? Maybe relaxed fit,” he says.

“Okay. Be right back!”

Archie steps out of the pants and folds them. While waiting for his mom to return, he flips through the T-shirts he picked up. Most of them are simple graphic tees with logos from the various games and fantasy series he knows Mari likes.

Satisfied with his selections, he steps back and examines himself in the mirror. There he is, standing in his boxers. That special sadness of self-pity washes over him. He knows he's not the ugliest kid in the world, but he's disappointed that his summer routine of pushups and protein shakes had not resulted in the bulging muscles he'd expected. If only leveling up in real life were as simple as in a game. Complete a few quests. Gain some experience. Develop special abilities.

He sighs.

Suddenly, the changing room door bursts open.

“What about these?” his mom asks, holding up a pair of jeans. Behind her, angled mirrors reflect into the store where Archie sees shoppers flipping through racks of clothes.

“Mom!” Archie pushes his mom backwards, slams the door, and locks it.

“It's just your body,” she says. “Be proud of it.”

Archie scrambles to put his clothes back on. “Yeah, okay. Will do.”

“Well, sorry. Here are the jeans,” she says, passing them over the top of the door.

“Awesome. They fit perfectly. Let's go.” He emerges from the changing room, his new clothes bundled against his chest.

“I didn't get to see how they fit,” his mom says.

“Like a glove.”

Archie walks past her toward the registers. Thanks to back-to-school sales, the place is packed with droves of customers, mostly teenagers. They wander the store like vultures, clicking through the hangers like bones. Archie steps into the lone cash register line, which winds back on itself a couple times.

“Sure you want that pair, sweetie? The black ones seem more stylish,” his mom says.

“I'm sure.”

After a couple minutes, the line has not moved. Archie cranes his neck to get a better view of the delay's source. A young Hispanic girl with big hoop earrings and lips shiny with gloss stands behind the register. An ancient woman is on the other side of the counter, fishing through a change purse. She takes out three coins and places them on the counter. Just when Archie is about to celebrate her accomplishment, her shaking fingers return to the purse for more coins.

After a few moments, Archie's mom nudges him with her shoulder. “So do you not want to move in with your dad because he's gay?”

“Geez, Mom,” Archie says, glancing over his shoulder. “Do you have to say it so loudly?”

“What? He
is
gay. I know this. You know this. He knows this. Granted, it took everyone a while to figure it out. The thing I still can't understand is why it's such a big deal to you, a man of science. I'd never thought you'd react like this.”

Archie shifts his weight to his other foot. “Can we just talk about this later?”

“Fine. But we're going to eventually.” She looks at the line, which still hasn't moved. She pulls out her credit card and hands it to Archie. “Here. I'm going to run next door. Meet me when you're done.”

“Okay,” Archie says, relieved to be let off the hook.

She tousles his hair and then walks away.

Not a moment later someone calls to him. “Hey, it's Skeletor!”

Archie winces at the return of his old nickname, given to him the first time he had to change clothes in front of his peers for gym class. Sure enough, he turns around to find a group of four guys from school. The “cool” kids. He forces a smile, wondering if they overhead his mom.

Archie decides to play it cool. “What's up?”

The guy who called out to Archie offers his fist for a bump. Archie considers the gesture as if it's both disgusting and amusing, perhaps amusing in its disgustingness, like a two-headed kitten. Archie frees a hand by shifting all of his purchases to one arm and then bumps the guy's fist.

The others snicker.

The first guy looks around, grinning. “Is your mom coming back? She's kind of hot.”

“Yeah,” says one of the other guys. “I'd hit that.”

Archie feels his face reddening. If he were Évariste—or even Dante—he might be able to do something. But he's not. He's just Archie. “No,” he says. “She's not.”

“Damn. I'll catch up with her later,” the first guy says. “Hey—you, like, know a lot about science, right?”

Archie nods.

“Awesome, 'cause I have a science question for you. Genetics, to be exact.”

Archie blinks slowly, trying to wish them away. But they remain, waiting for his answer. “Okay.”

The guy smirks at his friends. “So a child gets, like, half its DNA from its mom, and, like, half from its dad, right?”

“Yes.” Archie clenches the new clothes to his chest. His heart rate increases.

The guy smiles. “Here's my question, bro: since your dad is gay, and your mom is straight, does that mean you're, like, half gay? Like, you like blowing dudes but you don't take it up the ass? Or are you just full gay too?”

Archie does not know what to say, so he says nothing. He does nothing.

A few of the other customers in line turn to look at him.

The four guys burst with laughter. Thankfully, they don't stick around for his answer. Archie watches them leave the store, still cracking up as they merge with the endless stream of mall shoppers.

Archie glances at the register. The same old lady is still paying. She drops some coins. With glacial speed, she stoops to retrieve them. Archie looks around for a nearby hanger so that he can stab himself in the eye.

Instead, he waits a few more moments and then steps out of line. He drops his clothes in a heap on top of a random shelf and walks out.

B-O-O-B.

Archie smiles at the floating letters he's managed to save until the end of his bowl of cereal. Their tiny oat forms start to drift apart in the milk, so he nudges them back into place with his spoon. Hesitant to consume his creation, Archie snaps a picture with his phone, sends it to Dante. He then finishes his breakfast.

A couple of minutes pass. There's no reply. This strikes Archie as strange. He could always count on Dante to humor him even when he makes lame jokes.

Archie puts his phone in his pocket and carries his bowl to the sink. A moment later, his cell vibrates. Expecting a message from Dante, he's surprised to see that it's his father calling. He lets it go to voicemail and feels relieved when the phone stops buzzing.

Archie pours the milk into the sink, turns on the faucet, and watches the white bleed into the water as it spirals into the drain. His mind starts to drift, but then his phone starts vibrating again. His father.

Archie hesitates and then answers in case it's an emergency. “Yeah?”

“Hey, Arch, it's Dad,” his father says. Archie figures he's on speakerphone because his dad's voice sounds distant and tinny. “How's it going?”

“Same ol', same ol'.” There's an awkward pause where Archie expects his father to state the nature of the emergency that caused him to call twice in a row. His dad says nothing, so Archie asks, “What's up? Something wrong?”

“Listen, Arch, your mom told me—”

“Now's not a good time, father of mine. I'm really busy. Studying and stuff.” Archie gazes out the kitchen window and spots two squirrels darting across the lawn, one in hot pursuit of the other. They dash up a tree and spiral around its patchy trunk, scurrying in fits and starts until finally disappearing into the leafy branches. The ephemeral existence of the squirrels leaves Archie wondering whether the one ever caught the other and what might happen if it did. What might happen if it didn't.

“Studying?” his father says, laughing. “You can't be serious. School hasn't even started yet.”

“I'm getting a head start.”

“You really do take after your mom.”

Archie nods as though his father can see him.

A silence settles between them, the soft crackling of the speakerphone filling the space.

Finally, his father ventures into the void. “You know, Arch, I know you're upset about all this. I'd like to talk about it. And some other things. Want to grab some coffee tonight?”

Archie scratches his upper thigh through the fabric of his sweatpants. “Not really.”

His father ignores the comment. “Come on, Arch. We need to clear the air.”

“The air's fine. Perfect, really. Not too humid, not too dry. Low allergen factor.”

“Arch . . .” his father pleads.

“I'll see you Saturday. Then we can talk all you want, forever and ever. Promise.”

His father sighs. “Fine. Saturday it is.”

The resigned tone in his father's voice makes Archie feel guilty. But not that guilty.

“Can't wait,” Archie confirms.

“Enjoy your final days of freedom,” his dad says.

Archie ends the call. He continues staring out the window. Where did those squirrels go?

A moment later his phone buzzes with a text. He's about to throw it across the room, thinking it's his father bugging him again. But his heart lightens when he sees the message is actually from Mari.

But then he reads it:
need to cancel Magic tonight. Sorry.

it's cool. i've got a lot to do tonight,
Archie shoots back. He's about to slide his phone back into his pocket but doesn't. Instead, he takes a deep breath and types another message:
hey, want to hang out tomorrow . . . just the two of us . . . ?

He sends the message and stares at the screen, his heart beating out of his chest. But no reply appears. A few minutes later, still nothing.

His heart rate slows to normal. He sighs and lifts his eyes to the window. He watches a squirrel barrel down the tree's trunk and race away.

The second squirrel never descends.

Archie is drenched. The sky had opened up the moment he stepped out of his house and hasn't let up since. His umbrella is little help in this windy flash flood, which has made small rivers of the sidewalks and streets. His shoes and socks are soaked through, and he can barely see thanks to the humidity that fogs the lenses of his glasses.

Yet, he is smiling. He cannot stop. It is a smile immune to the elements. Perpetual and waterproof. Constant and luminous.

It had taken over a day, but Mari had finally replied to his text:

can you come over right now?

He had immediately answered in the affirmative and followed up with a joke, which, in retrospect, might not have been Mari's speed. But oh well. She hadn't retracted her offer.

So that is why it does not bother him when a gale-force wind turns his umbrella inside out and then plucks it from his hand. He watches as it sails away, claimed by the universe. He continues smiling.