Page 59 of Velveteen vs. The Consequences of Her Actions

The children vanished out the door. The door swung shut. A surprising number of plush toys appeared in the corners of the kitchen, pulling themselves out from under shelves, stepping out of shadows. A few of them had knives. Because that wasn’t terrifying or anything.

“Who are you, and where is my husband?” demanded Velveteen, in a low voice.

“My name is Aaron Frank. I go by the code name ‘Action Dude’ in my home dimension. I—do you know a Jacqueline Claus, or a Snow Princess, or anybody like that?”

“I know Jack Claus, Santa’s son.”

“Okay. Okay. So I went into the Hall of Mirrors at the North Pole with my world’s version of you, and my world’s version of Jack, because we’re trying to find a special door that Santa Claus told us to look for.” The more he talked, the more ridiculous it sounded. “Um, anyway. I’m not your Aaron, I’m not sure whether I’m inhabiting his body or what, but this isn’t my costume, so I guess probably? And I’ll leave just as soon as I know how, I promise.”

“You could have tried to lie to me. You could have passed yourself off as my husband.”

“I would never lie to you,” he said—and even though he had, if only by omission; even if he’d allowed his Vel to think, for years, that he didn’t love her, that he loved her best friend instead—he absolutely meant it. He could remember a life lived without lying to her. He could remember their wedding. His eyes widened. “And I think we have a problem.”

“Oh, trust me, you have a few dozen problems right now, and I can come up with twenty or thirty more if you give me a few seconds.” She bared her teeth. It wasn’t a smile. It was closer kin to the expression he would expect to see on a cornered animal. “I’m an animus in a house with two small children. Do you know how many things in here have faces? You shouldn’t have approached me on my home ground.”

“If I were here to attack you, do you really think I would have told you that something was going on?” Their honeymoon, spent on a cruise ship owned by the company the Princess worked for, miles from shore or supervillainy; Velma, trading in her civilian clothing for a swimsuit that had stolen most of his capacity for rational thought for days… “Please. Listen. Something’s wrong.” His voice broke on the last word.

Maybe that was what made her stop, looking at him warily, and ask, “What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m not your Aaron, I know I’m not your Aaron, but the longer I stand here,” he waved his arms, indicating the kitchen around them, “the more I remember of his life. Like the swimsuit you wore on our—on your—honeymoon.”

She blinked before smirking at him and saying, “You know, somehow it doesn’t surprise me that if you were going to remember one thing about our marriage, it would be that damn swimsuit.”

“I’m not joking.”

“Neither am I. Aaron, take a deep breath, and focus. I believe you when you say that you’re not from this reality, especially if you’ve been hanging out with Jack again. I just think that you’re also my husband. You’re experiencing a dimensional overlay. Hold on, and it will pass.” Concern shone in her eyes. “We’ll need to go back to base and have Apothecary take a look at you, but it’s not like this has never happened before. You’re going to be fine.”

It was like a rope thrown to a drowning man. Aaron took a sharp breath. “You really think so?”

“I don’t want you near the kids until this has passed and Apothecary says you’re all right, but I know my husband, and you’re my husband. I know so.”

The doorbell rang.

Velma smiled wryly. “All right: you can’t answer that right now. If Katie comes back in with Sho, give them juice and come get me. I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”

“Okay,” said Aaron, and watched as she walked out of the kitchen. Most of the toys stayed behind, their knives still pointed at him. That was soothing, in its own weird way. She might believe that he was her Aaron, but she wasn’t going to leave him alone in her house, with her children close by. She was going to protect them.

Could he be her Aaron? Was there any possible way that she was right when she said that? His memories seemed so bright and clear, and increasingly improbable in the face of this comfortable kitchen, in this lived-in home, with those little girls—his daughters—playing outside the window. How could that be any more real than this?

Snow swirled in the middle of the kitchen. A white-haired girl in a red sweater patterned with snowflakes appeared at the middle of the portable blizzard, sagging with relief when she saw him. “Aaron,” she said. “There you are. We’ve been looking everywhere.”

“We?” asked Aaron blankly. She looked a little bit like Jack Claus, heir apparent to the North Pole, but Jack would never have worn pants that tight, or let his hair get that long. He liked the casual playboy look. It got him into more bars. “I’m sorry, have we met? And what are you doing in my house?”

The woman wrinkled her nose. “Maybe we should have looked a little faster. Aaron, it’s me, Jack. We lost you when we stepped into the mirror. I need you to come with me. Vel’s waiting, and we still need to find Lena.”

Vel was in the other room, and the children were out in the yard, and this woman’s words were calling images out of the depths of his memory, thin and wavering and already fading away. He could go with her. He could fight. Or he could give in, just once, and be happy. He could be happy. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know who you’re talking about, but my wife is in the other room, and I think you should go. She’s going to be angry if she finds you here.”

“You’re not angry, because you know you don’t belong here. Aaron, please.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, with genuine regret. “I don’t know you. Please leave.”

The woman looked pained. She produced a snow globe from inside her sweater and smashed it against the floor. A swirl of snow rose around her, and she was gone.

“Door to door solicitor,” said Velma, behind him. He turned. She was leaning against the doorframe, smiling a little. “He was a little freaked out when he realized who I was. I had to give him an autograph to get him to leave. What were we talking about before? I know it was important, but I guess he distracted me so much that I forgot.”

“I was thinking it might be time to take the kids to the beach,” he said, and was rewarded with a bigger, brighter smile, and everything was finally perfect.

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