What bizarre alternate reality is this that Molly is married to Rachel?

Molly, who doesn't have a lesbian fiber in her body, is married to her best friend. The woman she talks to about boys, commiserates with, goes on spa days and shopping sprees with.

This makes no sense whatsoever.

They sit in the living room in front of the fireplace. It's only gas and the blue glow lacks the charm of a wood fire, but it's made up for by the dozen or so candles lit on the mantle and hearth. They pass the containers of chow mien, General Tso, and orange beef back and forth, each taking a portion with their chopsticks before passing it back. Molly and Rachel have done this before. Sharing food is nothing new. But now, Rachel is curled into Molly as they eat, her legs resting over Molly's.

Molly takes another gulp of the white wine still in shock at having somehow hopped into a different reality where everything is upside down.

Almost immediately when she had realized what had happened, she searched for the weird contraption—the Miraculous What If Machine. But it was nowhere to be found. It had transported her to this place but it had remained behind (or had gone someplace else).

She's trapped.

"Are you sure you're not upset at me?" Rachel asks watching her face.

"Yeah. No. I mean, I just had a rough day at work." She can't quite look at her friend.

"I tell you, you ought to ask for a raise. They wouldn't be able to operate without you."

Molly snorts. "A raise, right. They're more likely to cut my hours if I ask. We're all disposable there."

"What are you talking about? Did something happen today? Something bad? Tell me." When Molly takes too long to make something up, Rachel continues, "I thought everything was going so well at the gallery. They seem to love you there."

"Gallery?"

Rachel shifts to sitting straight up. "Shit! If they're mistreating you, I'll go down there and kick Arbuckle's ass. Especially, after you put your blood, sweat, and tears into that opening. Didn't the artist—what's his face, Janaki—write that glowing letter about all the work you did! He wouldn't have sold nearly as many paintings without all the promotion you put out."

Huh? What?

Right. Different reality.

Did she work at an art gallery here? That's kind of cool, actually. She'd been studying Art History before she dropped out. So, it made a kind of sense.

But wait. She'd left college after meeting Marshal and they moved in together. She needed to work more hours to cover expenses and couldn't handle her classes at the same time. If she was never with Marshal...

Molly says, "No. It's nothing. Just lots of work, and I have a bit of a headache. Everything is fine at the...gallery." She gives a pause and waits for the anger to ease out of Rachel's face. The woman seems furious that someone may have made Molly feel bad. After a beat, Molly decides to test out her hunch that she stayed in school because she didn't date Marshal. She asks, "Do you remember when we first started going out?"

Now all sense of tension drains from Rachel. "How could I forget? Frosh weekend in the campus pub. My friends dragged me down there against my will to be part of their trivia team. I though it would be totally lame. But then I met the sexiest coed on campus."

Her hand goes to Molly's thigh, and Molly begins blushing for several reasons.

"You were on the team at the table next to us with a bunch of losers."

"They weren't losers!" So far, this was the story of how they'd become friends. Exactly as it went down. Except without either of them think of the other as a sexy coed.

"Well, they lost that night." Rachel leans in closer and the warmth of her body—her breasts—press against Molly's arm. "I remember how after the game, I connived to bump into you at the bar and bought you a drink to cheer you up after the loss. What the hell were you drinking back then? Blue Lagoons? Ick!"

Not exactly the same. She'd bought her own drink. And they'd struck up a friendship because they talked about their course loads and found out they shared a Feminist Lit class together.

"Then, I got you talking about your classes. And damn, we were on completely different tracks. Me in Comp Sci and you in your arty stuff. I had to lie about being in that lit class to keep you talking. You have no idea how hard it was to transfer into it so close to the start of term."

Wait. Had Rachel gone to all that trouble in the normal reality too! Or only in this one.

"Although, I don't think I needed to bother. When we finally had our first date a few days later, you were such an eager minx." Rachel's arm comes around her and pulls her tighter.

"I was not!"

Rachel eases off and gives a hearty laugh. "Oh, yes you were! I never had a girl try to get into my pants so quickly. Never had one I wanted in my pants that quickly either." She swoops in and plants a wet kiss on Moly's mouth. It's hot and passionate, and soon her tongue is knocking on Molly's lips.

She stands up and takes two steps away from the sofa. Her brain in utter freefall. This is so wrong on so many levels.

"Are you okay, Mol'? You're scaring me."

"I'm just out of sorts." She walks over to the big picture window. They must be on the twentieth floor or so. In the distance, the lake glitters with the city's lights. "You ever get that feeling that nothing makes sense? That you're not in the life you're supposed to be in?"

Rachel comes up behind her. "I think I know what's wrong."

"You do?" Could she? Maybe she can tell she's not her Molly. An imposter.

"A little existential dread from the upcoming big two-five. A quarter century on this Earth is a big deal. Am I right?"

Crap! Her birthday is next week. With all the drama between her and Marshal, she hasn't even been thinking about the milestone.

Rachel drapes her arm around her, resting its crook against her collar bone as she pulls Molly to her body. "I was going to wait and surprise you, but maybe you need your gift now." She kisses Molly's neck tenderly.

Her stomach flutters. It was a strange sick excitement as if she expects Rachel will say something sexual that will totally make her freak.

"I don't need a gift," she says quietly.

"No, but you deserve one." Rachel's other arm wraps around Molly's belly, and she's held in a gentle bear hug. "Sooooo, I was going to get something I could put in a box to hand to you, but since I haven't gotten around to it, I'll just tell you." She leans in close, her mouth against the shell of Molly's ear. "I hope you don't mind me just booking everything and not asking you, but we're going to Paris."

"Paris!"

The words are like a hurricane blowing everything else out of her head. Somehow Molly has broken the embrace and is turned around facing the other woman. 

Paris!

It's been her dream since she was a little girl to visit Paris. Has she ever told anyone? Has she told Rachel? Certainly not in the normal reality. It had seem like a strange foolish dream for someone living paycheck to paycheck. If she'd told Marshal, he would have laughed at her. Because there was no way she was going on any kind of vacation that didn't involve a secondhand car and a cheap motel. To talk about going to Paris as a lifelong dream seemed so childish, like wanting a pony.

But they are going to go. Rachel has booked everything.

No one has ever done anything like this for her before.

"Hey, don't cry! I can refund the tickets if you want."

Molly crashes in Rachel's arms, and says through her blubbering, "No! Don't! I'm just happy. So happy!"

What had Molly asked for? Someone who loved her. Someone who would take care of her? Someone who would make her happy.

That is Rachel.

Somehow without any thought about it entering her head, they're kissing. Big open-mouth sloppy kisses. The type two infatuated teenage girls might give one another.

Molly tastes the wine on Rachel's tongue. She knows this is wrong. This isn't who she is. But she can't stop. No one has made her this happy before, and if her joy comes out in this uncharacteristic display, that's just what's going to happen.

Maybe this reality won't be so bad.  She loved spending time with Rachel before. They got along super well. And the kissing wasn't so bad, so long as she could hold Rachel off from doing anything more serious...

As if in response to her thought, Rachel says coyly, "Should we take this into the bedroom?"