But, deep down, do I really think Michael is that type of person? Even sitting here, his body so relaxed and at peace, tapping his blunt to an invisible beat, he seems…not at all worried or concerned or whatever synonym better fits the mood.

So I take a leap of faith.

“Time travel,” I say in one quick breath.

It takes a moment for it to register on Michael’s face, like he’s not sure if I’m telling the truth.

“Oh, wait, you’re serious,” he says, nodding and rubbing his hands together. “Okay, I’m with you. So time travel is how you got here?”

“I think.”

“You think? Like, you’re not sure?”

“Before I say anything or even attempt to explain it, I want you to know that I fully understand how unreal this sounds. And no, I can’t explain it.

“I have two options.” I take a few moments to practice in my head what I’m going to say. “The first is that I’m dreaming, or in a medically induced coma from hitting my head, and all of the past three days is some complex hallucination that is deeply rooted in my subconscious and my desire to be someone, which has been instilled in me by my parents for as long as I can remember.”

“And the other option?”

“That, somehow, I’m time traveling into the past, and I’m tied to you or this house…because this is my house in the future.”

“Is that a question or a statement?”

I pause. “Both?”

The sounds of the neighborhood around us fill the air once again, plugging the space that my silence leaves. Or attempting to. Neither of us talking is a deafening thing.

“I know it sounds ridiculous,” I quickly add. “Both of those options.”

“Oh, they totally do. But, between you and me, number two actually makes more sense than number one.”

Before I can chime in, he explains.

“Number one means that I’m just a figment of your imagination, right? If this is all a ‘manifestation,’ then I’m not really real. Which can’t be true, since I have memories, experiences, and independent thoughts, and I can do this.”

Suddenly, he leans over and presses his lips against my cheek. It feels like being burned, but in a good way, like his lips are going to leave a searing mark on my flesh that’s impossible to get rid of.

Michael pulls back as if nothing happened. It’s only a peck, sure. I’ve given Isobel more sensual kisses than that. But…the fact that he did it so casually? And that it came from a guy? It makes my cheeks burn, and my head feel dizzy.

I look over at Michael with a sideways glance, like if I move too quickly, this will all shatter. He’s gone back to smoking.