The last penny dug from the sticky console of my 1991 Mustang got me there. I had negotiated the price down to as far as she would allow, and now it was time to pay up.

"Let's review the rules," she said with a raspy, crisp voice appropriately accompanying the lit cigarette held loosely between the fingers of her left hand.

"I already know the rules. I paid attention the first time," I said, eager to get on with the most expensive vacation known to man. I had to sell an egg to get the down payment.  

"You have exactly 14 days," she carried on anyway. "You will feel disoriented..."

I tapped the brochure on my knee as she droned on. I wasn't listening. I was imagining what life would be like on the other side of that heavy metal door.

I had heard about Parallel Realities™️ via an overplayed advertisement on my daily horoscope app. After so many fifteen-second clips of rave customer reviews, I finally caved and opted in for more information.

Only certain people were eligible for their services. First, a consultation was held to determine your natal chart, blood type, and astral projection coefficient. Then an hour-long assessment with a psychiatrist to assess whether you had the mental strength to endure the trip, followed by a one-on-one consultation with a clairvoyant astrologer. Even if you passed, you might not be selected. The world on the other side had to be different enough to be worth the trouble. The other party had to agree to the switch, too.  

Turns out, it wasn't for most people. "We like to think our decisions have huge consequences that would change the trajectory of our whole lives," the clairvoyant had told me. "But the truth is less interesting. Almost everyone keeps coming back to the same life, same timeline."

"So, is that evidence for fate?" I asked. "Or destiny or something like that?"

She smiled, revealing a row of straight but yellowed teeth beneath her glimmering blue eyes and fading blond hair. "I don't know, honey."

If I were eligible, I'd switch places with a version of myself from a parallel timeline, one that had split off based on a particular moment in my past. Though they couldn't tell me which moment caused the split, they could see whether the split was significant enough for me to have a vastly altered life. I was one of those lucky few.

I could imagine what that key moment might have been. I'd made many mistakes in my thirty-five years, some quite early on. I anticipated walking through the metal door to find myself confident in a luxurious career. Would I have started my own business? Would I still be married? Ever since my divorce during graduate school, I'd been wondering what I could have done differently.

"When it's time for you to return," the raspy voice broke through my reverie, "you will see your alternative self in the mirror."

The handle of the metal door was uncomfortably cold as I turned it to the left, felt the latch release, and pulled it toward me. 

For a moment, I couldn't move. I hadn't pictured anything specific, but I wasn't expecting this. Perhaps I'd be living in a modest three-bedroom house or a large estate with hired help. Maybe I'd be in a high-rise apartment in a bustling city or a quiet beach-front bungalow. But I wasn't in any such place.

Instead, I took in the faded rust-red of the thinning carpet. The windows of the trailer were half-heartedly covered with weathered sheer curtains. An electric bug zapper popped and buzzed outside the screen door a few feet in front of me.

My vision blurred, and I stumbled into the bedroom on the other side of the kitchen. The sheets smelled oddly familiar.

Sometime later, the creak of the front door woke me up. "Darlin', ya in here?"

It couldn't be...

My grandmother walked into the room, a little more hunched over and grey than I'd ever seen her. She was alive right in front of me.

"Momo..." My nose tingled and my throat clenched. Of all the scenarios I imagined, seeing her again had never crossed my mind. How? What split had allowed her to live?

"Oh dear," she sighed. "I'll get us some tea and crackers."

We spent the rest of the day talking, cooking, cleaning, and putting together puzzles as if nothing were different. She didn't seem bothered by my fatigue or questions. In this reality, I still struggled with depression.

She, however, had caught her cancer early on. It was in remission after chemo, radiation, and surgery. After I had given birth to my son in high school, I'd moved in with her so she could help me learn to be a mom while I helped her with daily tasks. As her caregiver, I received a check every month from the state.

"My son..." I looked around, wondering how to ask about him.

"Oh, I'm so proud of that boy," she said, sipping her tea and rocking back and forth. We were on the porch, looking out at the stars while the bug zapper ate its victims. The mosquitoes were plentiful in this rare, moist area of New Mexico. I hadn't been to Bosque Farms since I was a child, but here, it was home.

"Me too," I said, thinking of the version of him I knew. "When's the last time you spoke to him?"

"Well, just yesterday, sweetheart. Did you talk to him today?"

I shook my head.

"I think he said he has a test this week. Something like that. I dunno. He makes college sound stressful, but I bet he's having fun. I wish your grandfather had had a chance to see him go. Wouldn't he be surprised."

"But I..." A heavy realization descended upon me. I had never gone to college in this reality. I turned and searched Momo's face, looking for a clue as to what had happened and, perhaps just as important, how she felt about it.

"Now don't you go beatin' yourself up again," she said, her face stern. "You're a good momma. That boy knows it, too. He knows the sacrifices you made." She patted my knee and stood up. "G'night."

She was different than the grandmother I had known. I hadn't seen her smoke a cigarette or drink her usual glass of whiskey, either.

The next morning, the smell of her signature dish—eggs in a basket with fried bologna—lured me into the kitchen. "Momo," I asked, hesitating a moment. "Did you ever want me to get married?"

The laugh from the back of her throat turned into a cough. When she recovered, she looked at me sideways while handing me a plate. "Not to that nogoodsonofabitch. I think you dodged a bullet, don't you?"

I smiled, knowing she must be thinking of my son's father, not the man I had met at work and married four years after giving birth.

"Well, yeah, but I mean afterwards. Did you hope I'd get married to someone else?"

"Now why would I wish that on you?"

When the alternative me showed up in the mirror after two weeks, I was ready. So was she.

"You've done well for yourself," she said, wiping the mascara running down her cheek.

Was my reality the version of success she had hoped for? I wondered.

"I always wanted to finish school, go to college," she said. "I don't know how you made it happen but thank you. Can't believe you got married, though."

I laughed. "I can't thank you enough for this time with Momo. How on earth..."

She waved her hand as if batting away a fly, "Oh, you know how stubborn she is. She took some convincing to let me help her after the diagnosis. Sorry you didn't get to keep her."

On the other side of the metal door, the Parallel Realities™️ clairvoyant stood waiting.

"No one ever comes back the same, do they?" I asked.

She smiled. "I don't know, honey."

I walked back to the Mustang. When Momo died several years ago, I'd inherited it. "I'll get you a wash," I said, opening the metal door.