Page 34 of Time Loops & Meet Cutes
I freeze.
Cam is standing nearby. His gaze snags on me, and he walks over.
“Hey,” he says. “You look really, really familiar, but I can’t recall your name.”
I suck in a breath. I knew this would probably happen, but it’s still a bit of a shock. Someone who had his mouth on mine ought to remember me, yet he doesn’t. I’m the only one with memories of our date, and now I realize I’d hoped that, at thevery least, our kiss would cause him to remember more than before.
Alas, that doesn’t seem to be the case.
“You must have me mixed up with someone else,” I say, forcing a smile.
“Sorry, my mistake.”
I watch him disappear into the crowd. I could have continued our conversation. Introduced myself. Made that terrible comment about his name, only to have him forget it all tomorrow.
Some other time, perhaps, but I have something else to do tonight. I had an idea while looking at a map earlier.
I make my way to the nearby cemetery. If the dumpling woman is a ghost, maybe I can find her here. The sign says that visiting hours end at eight, so I’ll make sure I leave by then, in case they lock the gates.
The large cemetery is very, very quiet, aside from the distant sound of traffic. Nobody else is around. The busy night market isn’t far from here—lots of people jostling for dumplings and mochi and noodles—but I can’t hear that now.
It’s just me and the tombstones.
A little unnerved, I grip my keys in my left hand. I keep my gaze moving, looking for anything that could be a ghost capable of selling magical dumplings, but I see nothing. A gust of wind rustles the leaves in the trees, but that doesn’t bring out any ghosts.
I think of my grandparents. My grandfather died in my last year of high school, and my grandmother in the summer after my third year of university; they’ve both been gone more than ten years. I last went to their graves—in a different cemetery—on Tomb Sweeping Day.
I hear another rustle, but it’s not due to the wind.
And there it is again.
Slowly, I approach the nearest bush. I see a flash of white among the leaves, followed by a hissing sound, and my heart kicks up another notch.
Is that a shoe?
I step closer.
Oh, crap.
I don’t know much about skunks, but in the past ten minutes, I’ve significantly increased my knowledge base. Apparently, they don’t like spraying but do it when they’re frightened. It must have felt threatened by my skulking about the cemetery.
A little further research on my phone informs me that instead of tomato juice, I should try a mix of hydrogen peroxide, dish soap, and baking soda to get rid of the odor. Fortunately, I have all of those things in my apartment, so I won’t have to stink up a store. I decide to walk home instead of taking public transit or an Uber, to avoid being in an enclosed space with another person. According to Google Maps, it’ll take just over an hour.
There are few pedestrians on the streets, and I’m not used to walking so far at dusk. It’s probably fine, but I keep gripping the keys in my pocket. Sure, the fact that I smell like absolute shit might scare off some people, but no guarantee it will work on everyone.
My legs are tired when I reach my apartment building, but I take the stairs rather than the elevator to the seventh floor—less likely to run into someone that way—and begin my attempts to de-skunk myself.
By the time I climb into bed, I still stink, but not quite asbadly, and with any luck, tomorrow will be June 20 again and I’ll smell like a normal human being.
I’ve never been happier to wake up to my alarm and discover that Wordle is, once again, “happy.” I breathe in deeply. Yep, the skunk odor is gone.
I add Avery’s contact info to my phone and send a text to confirm our meeting time. After a quick breakfast and coffee, I pack a large purse. I add a cardigan and pajamas, but I don’t pack any more clothes.
It’s a long trip down to the airport, but we manage to get there around nine. We investigate the flight situation and discover there’s one at eleven thirty with available seats. I take out my credit card and wince as I pay. I don’t fly often, and when I do, I usually book far in advance and get a good deal. We’re probably only going to spend twelve hours in New York, and it seems extravagant to do this. Even with all my experience of credit card purchases not existing the next day, it still makes me grimace.
It’s instinctive for me to save money. The memories of my parents’ anxious whispers about mortgage and car payments…
In some places, teachers don’t make much at all, but here, they do okay, which means many people think they’re overpaid. Most years, Dad taught summer school for extra money. Mom usually worked part-time, but there were years when she was the main caregiver for my paternal grandparents. My father’s younger brother frequently needed to be bailed out of one thing or another, so with all that, my parents had trouble paying the bills at times. These were problems they tried to keep from us, and my siblings usually didn’t know—but I did. I heard their conversations, and I saw the differences in our lifestyle. I wouldn’t say they were really careless with their money, but theydidn’t always make the best decisions, and they felt obligated to help people even when they couldn’t afford it.
