I take the flower. Ordinarily, when a kid hands a wispy dandelion to an adult and tells her to make a wish, the grown-up usually politely says, Okay, done, not really thinking it makes much of a difference, except to keep magic alive for the little one.

But I have no idea what’s real anymore, and magic is somewhat overwhelmingly alive for me right now, so the stakes of my wish feel like they could be catastrophic.

The wish goes out of my mind as a tall tattooed man appears behind Clare, and I look up from my crouch to see Theo.

Again, ugh.

I stand and say, “Theo.”

He smiles a little, then says, “Good to see you, Meg.”

“You too,” I lie.

He seems to sense the residual bitterness in my tone, so he reaches for Ronan, and then says, “I’ll take these two over to the other kids. Let you catch up.”

He then gives a nod and walks off with the children.

“Are you still…” she asks.

“Sliding Doors–ing?”

She nods.

There’s a distance between us that I long to close, but I know I can’t do it right this second. I have to be patient. Even though I want it now.

Aimee shields her eyes from the sun and looks off at Theo in the distance. A softness appears around her eyes as she does.

I look at him too. He’s accepted a beer from someone, and he’s chatting animatedly with another man, both keeping half an eye on their respective children.

I can’t even imagine what it feels like to gaze across a backyard and be looking at your family. The one you created. Kids who call you their mother. A husband who calls you his wife.

I’ve always chosen to believe my disinterest in all of this is because I’m modern—I don’t need a wedding. I don’t need to have kids. I want a big life. Which, I guess to me, means success, wealth, having a blue check, being remembered long after I’m dead.

Seeing Aimee with them—seeing the obvious joy in her as she watches them—it reminds me that there’s a part of me that does want that kind of connection.

I’m having trouble reconciling past-him with the version I see before me.

Aimee always seemed to see something in him that I didn’t. Aimee saw something so different that even when I told her who he was she still loved him anyway. Was she a fool, or was it love?

Is that the same thing?

Whatever the answer, it is one of my many beliefs about Aimee’s death that if it weren’t for Theo, Aimee would still be alive. In both worlds, not just here.

Though, it’s harder to blame him for it when he’s here and she’s fine. But that night …