Page 47 of Time Loops & Meet Cutes
I shrug as he sets it in front of me.
He doesn’t attempt any more conversation; he’s respecting the fact that I clearly want to drink my beer in peace.
I can’t believe you don’t know me. You had your tongue down my throat last night!
This has happened countless times before, but it hurts. Any comfort I derived from the predictability of our interactions is fading. I’m irrationally annoyed with him, even though it’s not his fault. I wish I could shake my world, like I could shake one of Lenora’s toys, in the hopes of getting all the moving parts working again.
I remind myself that when it comes to Cam, I like the time loop. In fact, it’s the reason I’ve allowed myself to spend so much time with him, even once I realized that kissing wouldn’t get me out of the loop. As long as he doesn’t remember me, we can’t have arealrelationship, just a fun first date.
Now, however, I’m not so fond of it.
Yet how can I want a relationship? That’s the one thing I wished to avoid.
You think you know someone, after five years… and then they break your heart, and there’s nobody to help you pick up the pieces. People do unexpected, irrational things, and a romantic relationship is orders of magnitude riskier than a dramatic haircut—and I didn’t even try a new haircut until I got stuck on June 20.
I remember crying over Dave, wishing he hadn’t changed and ended our relationship. And now I’m dating a guy who can’t change, and it’s not all I’d thought it would be. Of course, this is an unusual situation; it’s certainly not what I had in mind when nursing a shattered heart.
Cam comes over and gestures to my almost-empty pint. “You want another?”
Today, he’s just a bartender to me. Maybe he thinks I’m attractive, but he isn’t going to do anything about it.
“Give me a minute to decide,” I say.
Sure, it hurt that Dave dumped me out of the blue, but a whole bunch of other things are hurting me now. The man I’m falling for literally doesn’t remember my name… and I fear I’ll never meet my new niece or nephew. Did I think that by swearing off relationships, I’d completely avoid emotional pain?
Rather than getting something on draft, I scan the QR code for the bottle/can list and quickly find the one I want.
The yuzu wheat beer.
I ask Cam for one of those, and he soon brings over a cold can and a glass. As I take my first sip, I recall sitting on the patio with him, the warm evening air on my face, and I grimace. It’s almost physically painful to me that he’s forgotten all our dates.
I do like the beer, as he thought I might, though it’s hard to truly enjoy it.
He doesn’t properly remember me, but I’ve become attached to him.
I’ve never tried to go further than a kiss. It seems wrong, when he doesn’t know the truth about our “relationship,” but maybe I could try telling him.
I’ve been to the brewery enough times that I have a pretty good idea of who comes in and what they order. Now, I pay closer attention, and I write it all down in the notes app on my phone.
3:25: Man and woman in their forties, both wearing Jays jerseys. He orders the stout. She orders the IPA.
3:40: Group of four men in their twenties and thirties. They order nachos with no green onions. Two get IPAs. The other two get pilsners.
Etc.
Of course, this document won’t exist tomorrow, so when I get home, I do my best to commit it to memory. Then I text Avery.
ME: Went to see my brother today. What did you do?
I don’t get an answer.
The next morning, Avery and I exchange our usual morning texts. She tells me that she was too despondent about doing the same things over and over to reply yesterday. Concerned, I suggest that we do something together today, but she declines and asks how it’s going with Cam.
I hesitate before explaining my plans to tell him the truth. She’s skeptical it’ll work—the proof I have isn’t enough to make up for the unbelievability of the situation—and I don’t blame her, but it’s worth a shot.
Then I text my brother again and ask if I can come over.
When we’re all settled on the play mat, Lenora says, “Am-ee!” and I instinctively reach for the plastic wrench.
