20
Michael was sitting on the sofa in the living room, gazing at the Christmas tree in the corner. It was an impressive specimen — her parents always got an eight-footer, since the living room had lofty ceilings and could accommodate a big tree — but he stood up and focused on her as soon as Autumn entered.
Before she could speak, he said, looking apologetic, “I’m really sorry to come over unannounced like this, but I needed to talk to you in person.”
“That’s fine,” she responded automatically, even as she catalogued the fact that this Michael had hair cut shorter than the Michael in the other universe, and that he was wearing a nice jacket over his jeans and white button-up shirt. A wool overcoat lay on the arm of the couch next to him — a coat she remembered well, because she’d bought
