Page 6 of Time Loops & Meet Cutes
That way of thinking leads to danger. Besides, this is only my third June 20. I have to confirm that if I use my credit card, the transaction will be erased tomorrow. I’m pretty confident in my hypothesis, but I need to be certain.
Plus, focusing on the list will be good for me. It’ll give me a purpose and prevent me from freaking out too much.
After a leisurely breakfast, I write a mere three sentences in the proposal before shutting down my laptop. I feel guilty for not doing more work. It’s not in my nature to do the bare minimum, but what’s the point?
Then I text my brother to ask when I can visit this weekend. Dalton replies that tomorrow afternoon would work. His tomorrow is different from my tomorrow, but regardless, I can test my hypothesis.
Next, I call my parents’ landline. My father picks up.
My dad worked as a high school English teacher before retiring a year ago. He was born in the early sixties to poor Chinese immigrants, and people were often surprised that he spoke En-glish “without an accent”—which makes no sense because everyone has some kind of accent—let alone that he loved teachingMacbeth. My mother, who’s white, is probably more what those people would expect of a high school English teacher, but she used to work at a community center.
My mom and dad were, in many ways, good parents, but they were always trying to help everyone, and they weren’t great at budgeting. It was stressful.
“Noelle!” Dad says. “This is a pleasant surprise. Are you at the office?”
“No, I’m sick.”
“You’re working from home?”
“No, I’m just… not working.”
I’ve rendered my father speechless. “Is everything okay?”
Ha! Somehow, I manage not to laugh hysterically.
“Yes.” I cough, trying to sell thisI am sickthing. “I’m fine. I mean, I’m not fine, but nothing you need to worry about. I just figured, well, maybe I would get better more quickly if I actually rested for a day.”
“And now you’re bored, which is why you called.”
I don’t contradict him, but in actuality, I’m testing a hypothesis. I’ve now told my dad that I’m sick. We’ll see if he remembers tomorrow.
“I was also wondering,” I say, “if you had any reading recommendations. For anything about the meaning of today and tomorrow. The passage of time. Philosophy, perhaps.”
Once again, he’s speechless.
“Not off the top of my head,” he says at last, “but I’ll think about it and get back to you. If you need us to bring you anything, just let us know.” He pauses. “Have you spoken to your sister recently?”
“No, I haven’t talked to Madison in a few weeks.”
We talk for a little longer, and then I make myself a cup of tea and watch three hours ofThe Office.
By four in the afternoon, I’m practically climbing the walls and wondering how the hell my father copes with retirement. I almost turn on my work laptop because I don’t know what to do with myself, but I’m pretty sure any work I do is futile.
I buy a paperback from Amazon, and I can see the purchase pending on my credit card.
Now what?
I’ve completed my list, though I have to wait until tomorrow to see if my predictions are correct. I’m fairly confident they are, but I don’t knowwhythis is happening. And why is it happening tome? Nobody else seems to have any memory of the previous versions of this day. I’m all alone here.
I still have a weird feeling it has something to do with those dumplings, so I pull up the website for the night market and study the vendor listings. There are two dumpling stands, but neither is the right one.
The market opens at six, so I decide to head over and see ifI can find the old woman and her dumplings. Unfortunately, a security incident on the TTC means that I end up walking more than planned, but eventually I get to the market, and all the same booths are here… except hers. Just like last night.
“What the fuck?” I mutter, and the person in the Pocky costume gives me a look.
This time, I get bibimbap for dinner and manage to find a seat. For a split second, I wonder if that means this day isn’t exactly like the last one, but then I remember that I’m here earlier than the last two times. Surely if I stay awhile, I’ll see the young couple sharing satay sticks, but I don’t intend to hang around long.
A woman walks by, carrying three trays of food and a drink, and a toddler whizzes out of nowhere, right into her path. She swerves to avoid him, but she drops her drink. Green liquid—was it a matcha latte?—spills onto the ground. I assume that accident also happened yesterday, before I arrived at the market.
