I blink a few times, my hands trembling as I look away from the water. Is that blood under my nails? I shake my head, and it's gone. I turn toward my grandmother, who stares into my eyes, offering me no respite from the possible futures she's shown me. In one future, I'm married to this serious vintage chick I've never seen before. In other futures, we're friends. In others, I've been drowned, shot, and hunted by otherworldly entities.

I pick my words carefully. "So you consider those visions 'blessings,' Grandma?"

The river, once windows to all these multiverses my magical grandmother dredged up for me, is as peaceful as the cloudless sky above. "I told you you wouldn't like everything you saw."

"You left that part out."

"Ah, well. Surely it was implied. Not all futures are good ones. Now, shall we get dinner?"

She isn't wrong, I should've guessed I'd be killed in a few futures. It's only partially traumatizing, anyway. "Fair enough. My treat. Let's get you those little shrimps you like from Bonefish." I help my grandmother out of the river and together, we leave those possible futures behind us.

***

Every few months, I set up a small art gallery in my apartment. I offer cheap wine, homemade cookies, and little appetizers. I take all my extra prints and frame them on the walls and rebuild my more abstract mixed-media pieces; it's really an excuse to clean.  I have an artist's house, as you'd expect. Scraps of fabric, coffee-soaked sketches, empty water bottles everywhere. The gallery makes me feel like a "real artist" anyhow, even if the only people who bother to show up are my friends.

So imagine my surprise when I see her. The woman from all the futures my grandmother showed me.

It's unceremonious as hell. I'm wheeling around with a wooden tray of hors d'oeuvres and a mini-bottle of wine in my teeth. I've had a larger turn-out than usual, mainly because fucking Bethany keeps bringing her kids no matter how many times I tell her that my art is 18+. 

I see the woman's back first, her head bowed, her beige trench coat crisp and clean.

"It's nice to meet you—" I start as she turns around. My mouth flies open and the little bottle of wine tumbles out. "Samantha?"

She is so ridiculously beautiful in person and even more out of place. I mean, I can smell Chanel No. 5 on her, this rich but antiquated perfume. Her blue eyes. The pinned golden hair. She has a pencil tucked behind her ear.

"Yes, yes. Samantha Snow." She offers her hand for a handshake. "You must recognize me from the Gazette? I'm doing a piece on local abstract artists and I saw your poster. It's a pleasure to meet you."

She's looking right through me. My heart hiccups in my chest. Do I tell her? How do I tell her? Oh, hey, my magical grandmother showed me a future where we got married? She showed me a future where we're best friends? Where your boyfriend SHOOTS ME? Too much.

She points at the piece she's been looking at. It's a canvas photograph of me naked holding a hammer, handpainted gears taking up the bottom half of the piece. When Bethany came, I had to cover the worst of it up with Post-it notes. "What's this about?"

"About the relationship of the artist and the machine, you know, capitalism, and—"

I can see her eyes glazing over. I clear my throat.

"You know, it's really up to interpretation. Doesn't matter. You wanna hang out, Sammy?"

The corner of her mouth quirks up. For the first time, I feel like she's actually looking at me. "Sammy?" She laughs. "Sure. How about a drink later?"

***

Predictably, maybe, it goes well. She tells me that her grandmother hosts an illegal club, information I already know. I tell her mine is magical. It ends with a few drinks too many and her hand on my thigh. I touch her hair. I expect it to be stiff with gel or spiky with pins, but it's soft. 

When she returns to my apartment with me, and after recreational late-night activities, she smokes a cigarette in bed. Terrifying. And in the morning, she's gone. Stole one of my band shirts too.

The text comes in while I'm drinking coffee and eating toast the next day. I'm marveling at the strangeness that is my life. "I know what you did."

I spit my toast out. "What?" I type it quickly.

Sammy: The visions.

Sammy: I did a little digging. Your grandmother is known for performing small miracles within the underground community, and my grandmother knew her personally. I thought I'd talk to her for my piece. She recognized me instantly and told me what she saw.

I blow out a long breath. That's a lot for her to have done before 10 A.M

Me: well what would you do?

Sammy: Say something?

Me: you wouldn't have believed me

Sammy: You could've tried.

Me: "we get married in the future and almost eaten by dinosaurs?" really?

Sammy: We see dinosaurs?

Me: Grandma didn't tell you that part?

Sammy: Meet me outside in twenty minutes.

Me: ok???

But she doesn't respond, so I grab a set of headphones, finish my coffee, and leave. I need to see her again. By the time I've gathered myself onto the stoop, her slick black beetle pulls up. She rolls the window down. "Get in."

"Huh?"

"Just get in."

I cross my arms. "Maybe you're going to kill me or something to avoid all those futures."

I wouldn't put it past her. Or the multiverse. Or the future. Or anything.

She laughs. "Get in. I want to see these dinosaurs with you.

And something about that melts my heart. I slide into the passenger seat, noting that she's still wearing my shirt.

"Besides," she adds with a wink. "Not only do I know what you did, but maybe I know what you will do."