Tegan swore she’d have to be two people to keep up with Marlo, so she became two people, and shortly thereafter became the first person in history to lose custody to her clone. Which had benefits: the alternative was dropping out. Twenty with a five-year-old. Doesn’t take a math degree.

“You’re late,” says Tegan2, wreathed in kitchen smells (Tegan can’t cook a Hot Pocket).

“Sorry,” Tegan mutters.

“Get your backpack, sweetie!” Marlo comes running.

Tegan2‘s got crow’s feet and gray hair: fraying telomeres. She won’t see thirty. Tegan takes Marlo’s hand and turns away, eyes filling, hating herselves.