Chapter 13: Tell Mel

Tuesday, August 21, 1984

Cammie and Mel started making breakfast before the rest of us got up, but they weren’t so far ahead that we couldn’t help out.

The kitchen really wasn’t big enough for six people cooking, though, so Jas and I wound up being the rest of the cooking team this time.

Over breakfast, we talked mostly about shopping. We’d started getting the staples sorted out, but there was a lot of discussion about who wanted to eat what, what sorts of things we needed to buy, how much to stockpile, and so forth.

Meal planning, and perhaps budgeting, would start to matter in due course. It was all very easy to say ‘Let’s get some hamburger meat and make burgers.’ That was pretty reasonable and we could afford it. We didn’t need to live on ramen, rice, and beans.

At the same time, there were things (like steak) that we could afford occasionally, but not regularly. Lobster was several steps further down that path.

Buying steak and lobster even weekly would be rather indulgent. We would need to avoid that.

On the flip side: we were college students. Delivery pizza would be part of our meal plan.

All of that served as a distraction for the main event.

I’m not sure how Cammie made it happen, but she maneuvered things so that she, Jas, and Paige went to the store. Basically, it was one ‘representative’ from each couple.

Angie, Mel, and I wound up sitting on the couches in the living room talking about the upcoming semester. Not too long later, though, Angie announced that she was going to take a nap.

Mel watched her go, then looked at me.

“This feels like a setup,” she said.

“That’s because it is,” I said.

Mel raised an eyebrow.

“Oh? I can think of a few reasons why, maybe...”

“It might be one of them. Then again, it might not.”

She frowned, then said, “Am I finally getting an answer to what’s — well, weird is the wrong word, but still — what’s ‘weird’ about you?”

I nodded.

She smiled and said, “I was wondering. Cammie and I talked about it, of course. Like, a bunch. All good, but ... well, let’s face it. You were totally cool with two of your friends turning out to be lesbians. I mean, fourteen-year-old you. Even between girlfriends. Even when we dragged you off to bed! You were just as cool when one of your guy friends turned out to be gay, and made instant friends with his boyfriend. And ... on and on. The stuff you’ve done for Cammie...”

She paused, then said, “The stuff you continue to do for Cammie, and for me, is overwhelming when I think about it. So ... I mostly don’t.”

I nodded again.

“Cammie thought there was something weird about you all year. She even told me you promised to explain yourself. Then, at some point, all that quieted down. She said that she’d talked with you and things made sense now. Cammie ... she’s good at covering for herself, but I know her pretty well, and she was hiding something. Which is fine, but ... you know.”

I nodded yet again, then said, “I know, and that’s the biggest reason this conversation is happening. Even if you weren’t living here, it’s not fair to tell Cammie that she needs to hide big things from you forever.”

Mel looked a bit confused.

“Big? Is this...”

“Maybe I misphrased that. Or maybe I didn’t. You can decide for yourself when we’re done. The parts that directly impact Cammie and you are really ones you know, almost entirely. Nothing’s happened with Cammie that’s ‘big.’ On the other hand...”

I shrugged.

“ ... we’ll see what you think when we get there.”

“Color me highly intrigued, then, Sir! And lead on!” she said, grinning.

“I’ve told this story four times now. Or six, but in two cases the other person already knew some of it. One of the four was a joint effort. This one will be, in a way, because no matter how much I tell you, there are things you’ll want to talk to everyone else about.”

Mel nodded slowly.

“That tells me I’m the last to know. I’m not surprised. Considering who the others are, I’m not really bothered, either. Except that that’s too many times, which means maybe I don’t know some of the other people who already know.”

“You’ll hear about them.”

She nodded.

“Okay, then!”

“Starting at the very beginning — and, please, just bear me out for the first part of this. It’s going to sound sensible for a bit, then insane.”

“I ... um ... will bear that in mind.”

I smiled, and stretched, then said, “Once upon a time, not that long ago — or, perhaps, quite a while ago — there was a boy. His name was Steve. He lived with his parents in the suburbs of Houston and went to various Spring Branch schools. He was rather overweight, not the most social guy in the world, and his close friends were as likely to be at other schools rather than at Memorial.”

Mel had started out nodding along but quickly looked confused.

“He had a cousin who he never really knew very well. She got in a bunch of trouble and ... well, he lost track of her...”

She bit her lip.

I continued, briefly covering my first life, my ex-wife, the truck, the bike accident, the hospital, Angie, and the start of high school, up to founding Study Group.

She nodded again, even more slowly.

“You undoubtedly have questions, and this is where you enter the story, so I’ll pause.”

She took a deep breath.

“You expect me to believe that you lived to ... what ... over fifty? Then died? And then ... started over?”

“I expect you to believe that I believe it. And that I have rational reasons to believe it.”

“It sounds preposterous!”

I nodded, saying, “I know that. It’s hard to prove, and there’s ... more. A lot more.”

“I’m listening,” she said, smiling a bit.

“There are too many big differences to count. Still, boiling it down, Angie is the biggest. Study group is the second-biggest, really. The third biggest is your girlfriend, or at least she is in many ways.”

“How so? You were in Debate before, right? I mean, assuming I agree that there was a ‘before.’ Is she that different?”

“She didn’t exist.”

Mel blinked.

“By that, I mean there was no Cammie Clarke in Debate my junior or senior years. No one mentioned her in a ‘Hey, I wish Cammie was still here’ sort of way, either. The first time I heard her name was when I started Debate in January 1981.”

“That’s freaky!” Mel said. She was clearly getting sucked in despite herself.

“Very! I’d already met Janet, and she was nearly the same person. I’d known Mel Riley — meaning a Mel Riley, not you, obviously — but had no idea she liked girls. Maybe that one didn’t. Janet — that I knew. I knew the moment I met her this time, which is why...”

“Why my freak-out bothered you so much!”

“Yeah. She and Lizzie were a solid couple in my first life. Janet was in the closet except in Debate. Lizzie was ... Lizzie. Out and fierce. Though the Lizzie I know now is ... well, there are major differences, but she’s the same person at heart.”

Mel nodded.

“Anyway, when I saw you and Cammie at the mall ... yeah, spotting that maybe came from living decades longer and having lived in a world where gay couples were fairly common.”

“Which is why you didn’t freak out and just wanted to help.”

“You were already my friend, and Cammie was both clearly sharp and also a total mystery.”

“So...?”

“We’re coming up on the next big twist in this story.”

“Uh oh.”

“Remember Max?”

She blinked. “That jerk Angie dated...”

Her voice trailed off. Then she said, softly, “Oh, no.”

I nodded. “He was her boyfriend in her first life.”

Mel blinked. “But you didn’t know her from before? How is that possible?”

“Because Angie’s first life wasn’t connected to mine. In my first life, her father died a year earlier than he did in her first life. In this life, he died much earlier still.”

“Oh, my God!” Mel said.

“The Max thing is how we figured each other out. Angie blurted out a phrase that’s nonsense to anyone who doesn’t know movies from 1989. It turned out to not be the first time we’d done that with each other — it was just the first one that anyone paid attention to.”

“Fuck! I mean, seriously, Angie’s got that ‘weird’ vibe, too. I mean, in a good way, but still. If you weren’t ... just... more, I’d have wondered more about her, but I figured it was your influence, or your parents, or whatever.”

“She didn’t live as long as I did, either. Her memories only go to 1997.”

Mel nodded slowly.

“So ... you and Angie.”

“Yeah. Everything was forgiven, and we became the team we were before. More so, because now we knew who each other one was.”

“Seriously, we all wondered how you could be so pissed off at each other the Friday before Spring Break and holding hands, laughing, and joking a week later.”

“That’s how. The fight was just trivial once we knew the bigger picture. I know why she was with Max, and she decided it was a terrible idea. Also a noble failure, I’d add. He was a lost cause, but she didn’t realize that.”

“I really didn’t want to believe you. Except ... you both know a movie from 1989?”

“We both know a lot of things that line up.”

She shook her head.

“And things that don’t. There are some differences.”

“Oh?”

“In her first life, Reagan got shot. Not fatally, but enough to put him in the hospital for a while. Never happened in mine, or in this one.”

“Wow!”

“There’s more, but that’s a big one. Anyway, I already had some proof that I knew things by that point.”

“All ears!”

“I scraped together all of my Christmas money and everything else I could find and placed a bet on the 1981 Super Bowl. That game was a pretty big upset...”

“I know! Dad was pissed about it for a while!”

I chuckled.

“The winnings from that were seed money for more, and larger, bets along the way.”

“So ... you’re rich?”

“By eighteen-year-old standards, yes. By others ... not yet.”

“How rich?” she said, then suddenly looked around. “Wait ... the whole remodeling thing...”

“We own the house outright. No mortgage, nothing else. The rent money flows back to us through the leasing company.”

“Holy shit!”

“That’s one reason we wanted you to know. The house is just barely plausible with the right explanation, but to someone who lives here, that might fall apart. Plus, there’ll be slips...”

“That comment about you being able to stand anything!” Mel said.

“I put up with some horrible wallpaper for over twenty years,” I said, chuckling.

“That’s freaky!” she said.

Then she paused, biting her lip.

“So ... how much of...?”

“How much of my life is taking advantage of things I remember?”

She nodded, looking a bit shy.

“Almost none, really. You have to remember: the other Mark, Morty, and Mel Riley are forty years in my past. I remembered the twins, because who wouldn’t...”

She giggled a bit.

“And I remembered you, but as their smarter, quieter sister.”

That got a deep blush.

“I’ve never had a Debate round that lined up with a memory. We weren’t even at the same tournaments more often than not. I never went to a dance. Memorial’s football record was ... well, we sure as hell weren’t state champions. Nor was I ever in state finals in Debate. We never went to ToC. It goes on and on. I never knew Jasmine in my first life, nor Paige. I was never in Student Council, nor was Lizzie, which has a lot to do with why she’s different. The money, sure. That’s taking advantage of some sports knowledge. My being more mature, my attitude towards gay people, that stuff comes from living much longer. Raising kids, going to a very liberal church, watching gay marriage become legal.”

Mel blinked at that.

“But ... well, you obviously guessed that Jas knows.”

She nodded.

“She was slightly worried that I’d ‘targeted’ her. Perfectly reasonable worry, but if I’d met her in my first life, it was a brief, meaningless meeting. As she said later, if I had, that might have been flattering, too, but no. Just luck. We’re a perfectly normal couple that way. Same with you and Cammie — I had no idea that you were gay until I saw you with Cammie. Although, in retrospect, the thing with Janet should have told me something, and maybe it did subconsciously. Maybe that’s why I jumped to the right conclusion so easily.”

“This is pretty wild. Despite myself, I believe you, I think. Cammie knows all this? And believes it?”

“She knows it all. If she doesn’t believe it, it’d be news to me.”