Monday, the first day of the new job; wasn't it normal to feel a little lost?
Ethan was glad to see a familiar face as his office mate: Naomi, one of the engineers who had interviewed him. She managed a quick smile. "Here's your laptop; when you get everything set up, I'll walk you through our code. It's good to have you here."
"Thanks. Are you OK? You seem... sad."
She nodded. "My friend passed away yesterday. Hit by a car."
A twinge of deja vu struck him. "Wait. Riding his bike, right?"
"Yeah. Steve. We used to work together. Did you know him?"
"No; I think it was on the radio. I'm really sorry."
"He was a good friend; I miss him. And...." She shook her head, a tear in her eye. "I don't know why I'm telling you this. We should get to work."
Why did Steve seem familiar? Ethan couldn't seem to get his brain in gear.
Setting up his environment and accounts, a rote task with some problems to solve, was a welcome respite. He got Slack running and read the team channel. "Hey, Naomi, Sophia's taking a sick day." Sophia was their manager.
"That's odd. I talked to her an hour ago and she looked fine."
"No one-on-one today, I guess."
Naomi shrugged. "Hey, do you want to go get lunch in about an hour?"
"Sounds good." That sounded really good. There was something comforting about her.
His phone beeped: a message from his girlfriend. "Good luck today!!! <3". He replied with Thanks, can't wait to see you, and another heart. There was that feeling again of being adrift; as if everything about his girlfriend was an exam topic he had studied enough to have memorized.
Another message: "Hey, call me." From an unknown number. No thanks, Ethan thought. If it's important, you'll leave voicemail. Or at least ID yourself.
Lunchtime arrived, and Naomi suggested a restaurant that was one of his favorites. She seemed happier than earlier, and he felt like some of the fog was lifting. Something was clicking on a platonic level, like the friends he had made almost effortlessly back in school.
His phone rang: unknown number. He declined it. A Slack notification appeared, from reception: some guy was in the lobby looking for him; wouldn't identify himself, and walked out.
"Everything OK?" Naomi said.
"Yeah, um... the same guy who texted me a couple times just called. But he's not in my contacts."
He ordered a blackened chicken caesar with spinach, half cheese, add tomatoes, and Naomi's face fell. "Yeah, it's a little odd, but it's my favorite. I could probably eat this every day."
She stared at him. "That's what Steve ate. And that's what he said about it."
Oh, shit.
"What's going on?" she demanded, as some disjointed shards of Ethan's memory began to fall into place.
There was no radio report about a cyclist hit by a truck. Instead, there was the bike lane, his 21-speed hybrid, and that truck that he assumed was going to cruise past him as usual. But not that time. Before that, his leaving the other company, only 2 months after Naomi got caught up in the layoffs. Before that, lunches here, together, many times.
His voice was thick. "I've always promised two things. To never hurt you; and to always be honest with you. And right now, I don't think I can do both."
She looked like she was about to cry. He'd always had a hard time seeing that. It scrunched up his heart in a little ball.
"You've had past lives. Even hundreds of years ago. You haven't told hardly anyone, and I've never told anyone, but you did feel comfortable enough to tell me."
"Oh, no..." She had always been intelligent. She was probably figuring this out as fast as he was.
"But sometimes these lives can overlap." He formed his fingers into C shapes, one to each hand, to bracket intervals in time. "And while you're here, I was here, and now I'm here."
"But I interviewed you three weeks ago! And that wasn't you."
"That wasn't me." He sighed. "I'm really sorry. It must look like you're seeing a ghost. If you even believe this at all."
"You know I do," she said, and shit, she was going to cry for real.
His phone rang again; same unknown number. "You should answer," Naomi said, reaching for a tissue.
"Hello?"
"Where are you?"
"Who is this?"
"Who the hell do you think it is? The question is, who are you? And where are you?"
Ethan ended the call, took a few moments to block the number. "Wrong number, I think," he told Naomi.
"How did you arrive in... the middle of somebody's life?"
"I don't know. And why here, instead of with my family? With my wife?"
"Maybe it's destiny. A connection. But I don't think you can tell anyone. You can't be Steve anymore."
"You're right."
"What do you think happened to the real Ethan? I mean, the before Ethan."
He grew pale. "I think I know who's been trying to call me." And following from that: "I also think it's not a good idea to go back to the office. Or back home. I can't be Ethan anymore, either."
Ethan had been gazing only at Naomi the whole time -- the sort of comfortable, close friendship they'd enjoyed for a few years. But he looked up and noticed how off-balance the world around him still seemed. The couple near them having a one-sided argument, the woman with a blank stare. The host ignoring a group waiting for a seat and walking out the door. The UPS truck just stopped, diagonally, in the middle of the street.
Obviously Naomi was freaked out, and he was going to have to figure out a way to let him stay with her for a while. Hide out. He remembered a nature program about a particular type of hermit crab, where having shelter, a shell, at all times, was paramount. If dislodged from a shell, top priority was to find another, even if there was another creature inside. If there were eleven crabs and only ten shells...
"Something strange is going on," he said. "Forget the food, let's just leave, and if we could stay at your place for a while, that would be..."
Naomi was staring, no longer crying, suspicious. "Do I know you?"