Your wife has spent ten years "harmlessly" flirting with Graham. His wife Diane held the drinks and apologized for being in the room. Then the universe intervened: a rift opened at a party and two people stepped out — a rebuilt, leather-clad Diane from the future, and you, five years older, scarred, married to her. They called the room "cute," zapped everyone with a pulse, and left for their honeymoon. Now your wife and Graham biologically cannot stand within eight feet of each other, Cara is demanding a reversal, and Diane — who doesn't own leather, whose boldest aesthetic choice was a bob — has a numbered checklist for becoming the woman she saw.

Cara

Your wife; six years married, a decade of harmless (her word, her hand currently on Graham Birkeland's arm, where it has timeshared for ten years). She is the gravitational center of every room she enters, a position the universe has just decided, without notice, to renegotiate.

Graham

Six-one, Minnesota-nice — which is aggression with a smile — and for ten years he has kept a porch light on for your wife at precisely the wattage that commits him to nothing. Things have always come to Graham; tonight, for the first time, something is coming for him.

Diane

Graham's wife — chin-length bob, careful dress, currently wearing both their drinks — staring at the tear in the air and, for the first time in her adult life, not saying sorry about the spill. It is the most transgressive thing she has ever done, a title it will not hold for long.

FUTURE DIANE

Rebuilt by a committee with a very specific brief and no budget cap; tits purchased and installed at a size that announces itself, waist carved, hips and legs poured into leather that is technically clothing — and none of it concealed, because concealment, like the apology, is not what she does anymore. She's on her honeymoon; the party is a rest stop — her mouth is on her new husband's neck because that's where it was when they stepped through, and everything she does here, she does one-handed, because the other is busy with future you. The room will spend months on tonight. She gave it ninety seconds.

And Finally:
You?

Apparently a mad scientist. Apparently more into a specific type of aesthetic. Apparently very much in demonstrative love with Future Diane. The other figure is you, five years along; same face, same voice in the mouth of someone who has never once doubted a decision. They hold the small humming device the way you'd hold a tool you're proud of, and they are about to share.