Carter
Was that the garage door opening?
No. Not yet.
I sit at my desk, nervously bouncing my knee as I wait to hear the telltale mechanical hum.
Dad went to go pick up Lincoln from the train station. He’ll be here for a few days before heading back for the fall semester.
Yesterday, as I drove home from Maggie’s, feeling a twist of shame and sadness in my gut, I couldn’t stop thinking about how
sweet she and Vivian were together.
Lincoln and I have barely talked all summer.
Sure, it started because I was angry at him after he finally told me what happened the night before I first looped. But then
it turned into something else:
I just don’t really know what to say to him.
I want to say something, though. We can’t go on like this.
So last night, lying in bed, I decided it will happen today.
I’ll talk to Lincoln.
If I put it off this afternoon, I know I won’t do it. I’ll make excuses. I’ll avoid. I’ll find ways to convince myself that
Welp! Timing just didn’t work out. Maybe next time!
But I can’t carry this feeling around for three more months.
There’s the garage.
They’re here.
I look at myself in the full-length mirror on the back of my door, as if my appearance is going to affect how this goes. I look pale and worried. So glad I checked.
Downstairs, Mom is in the kitchen assembling a sandwich. “I’m throwing this together for your brother. You want one?”
“Um, no, I’m good,” I say. Whatever I put into my stomach right now will likely pop right back up.
The door to the garage opens, Lincoln entering first with a travel bag over his shoulder, Dad trudging behind him. Neither
of them are speaking.
“Hi, sweetie,” Mom says, giving Lincoln a hug.
“Hey, bro!” I say, maybe a bit too exuberant.
“Hey,” Lincoln says, eyes on the tiles. “I’m just gonna go to my room for a bit.”
“Oh, all right,” Mom says. “I have a turkey sandwich here if you want it.”
“Maybe later.” Lincoln moves straight through the kitchen and up the stairs to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.
He’s still pissed at me, I guess. Damn.
“Is he okay?” Mom asks.
Dad sighs, but I don’t listen to the rest of what he says. I’m not letting this go. I am going to talk to my brother.
I run up the stairs and am about to knock on the door when I hear sounds from inside.
Deep breaths. Sniffles. Sobs.
“Link . . . ?” I say quietly.
No response. I say his name again.
“Not now, CT,” Lincoln says, his voice thick.
“I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry about being such a—”
“This isn’t about you!” Lincoln shouts. “Hard as that may be to believe. Just go away. Please.”
“Oh.”
I would love to go away, but something keeps me standing there.
“Are you okay, though?” I ask.
“No! Obviously not!”
“Right. Yeah. Sorry.”
I stand there another minute, listening to Lincoln cry.
I speak again. “Would it help if I—”
“Terrell broke up with me last night, okay?” Lincoln says. “And it fucking sucks.”
Oh god.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that.
“That’s . . . I’m sorry, Link. That’s . . . That’s bad.”
“No offense, CT, but you are not helping. Like, at all.”
“That’s fair,” I say.
But still, I don’t want to leave. I sit down, my back against the door.
“This is, like, totally Terrell’s loss,” I say. “You know that, right?”
Lincoln doesn’t respond.
“For real,” I continue, “you’re the most amazing person I know, Link. That’s what I was gonna . . . I mean, I’m just really
lucky you’re my brother.”
More silence. Then the door opens, and I fall backward into his room.
“Oh shit,” Lincoln says, laughing. “I didn’t realize you were leaning on the door.”
“I was,” I say, lying on my back.
“Well, just come in,” Lincoln says, gesturing for me to scootch my legs out of the way so he can close the door. “You’re so damn persistent today.”
“Trying something new.” I rise from the floor, feeling triumphant, like a vampire who’s just been invited in. This quickly
dissipates when I see Lincoln plop down on his bed and cover his face. “Hey,” I say, sitting next to him. “I’m really sorry.
What, uh . . . What happened?”
“It’s not even interesting,” Lincoln says. “Terrell’s going abroad to Barcelona this semester. And I thought we were staying
together, and he was, like, Nope !”
“What an idiot. Good luck finding someone as rad as you in Barcelona, buddy!”
“No, he probably will,” Lincoln says. “Spain is literally known for having the most beautiful people in the world.”
“Oh,” I say. “Seriously?”
“I don’t know.” Lincoln falls back onto the bed, curls up with his pillow. “That’s what people say.”
“Well, fuck that!” I lie down next to him. “You have beauty and radness.”
“Meh.”
I stare at the ceiling, hands on my stomach, listening to Lincoln breathe. This room is so much better with him in it.
“Stuff like this hurts so much,” I say. “And nothing I tell you will really change that.”
“I also feel stupid, you know?” Lincoln says. “That I didn’t see it coming. I had my plan all ready for how we’d be in touch.
The best times of day for us to talk with the time zone difference. It’s just embarrassing.”
“Welcome to my world, bro. Forget about what’s coming, I don’t even know what’s going.”
Lincoln laughs, and I feel so proud. Like, for the first time I can remember, I’m actually there for him the way an older
brother is supposed to be.
“That was kinda funny before,” Lincoln says, propping himself up on an elbow. “When you said I was the most amazing person
you know.”
“Well,” I say. “I meant it.”
“Oh.” Lincoln blinks twice. “That’s nice.”
“No, it’s just true. I’ve been thinking so much lately about . . . You know, I’ve had all these relationships over the years, right? Like, Vivian.
Layla. Maggie. God knows who else. But, through all of them, there’s only one person who’s always been there.”
Lincoln sniffles. “Are you trying to get me to cry again?”
“Always. But for real, I just feel lucky you’ve stuck with me all these years. Because man, what a pain in the ass for you.”
“It’s not so bad.”
I give Lincoln a deadpan stare. “Come on. You said I treat you like a search engine.”
“Well, yeah, I was pissed, but it really isn’t so bad! I’m lucky too.”
“Now you’re just being nice,” I say, “but I’ll take it.”
I take a deep breath. One last Band-Aid to rip off.
“What happened to me,” I say. “What’s still happening to me . . . It’s not your fault, Lincoln. Not even a little.”
“Don’t—”
“You were trying to be there for me that night. The way you always are. And I . . .”
I feel the tears coming, but I push them back.
“I’m sorry about what I did to you, Link. What I said that night. You were right to get pissed. I did this to myself. It’s my fault.”
“WHAT? No, it isn’t!”
Lincoln and I both flinch at the voice that just shouted at us through the door.
“Mom?” I say.
“How long have you been listening?” Lincoln asks.
“Sorry,” Mom says. “Just a few minutes. Dad is here too. We were worried about you guys, so we . . .”
“Yeah,” Dad says. “So we came and put our ears to the door.”
“That’s . . . really odd,” Lincoln says, “and pretty inappropriate. But I’m intrigued, so you may enter.”
The door swings open, revealing a sheepish Mom and an equally sheepish Dad behind her. They slowly walk forward, then lower
themselves onto the foot of the bed we’re still lying in.
Mom takes a deep breath, runs a hand through her hair. “The night before Carter’s seventeenth birthday, before any of this
started, Dad and I were doing dishes. Remember?”
“Not really, no,” he says.
“Well, we were, and we were wondering how you kids got so old so quickly. And I made a joke, like . . . saying we should find
a way to stop this. And Dad played along, like, Sure, let’s look into it, and I said . . .” Mom closes her eyes and shakes her head. “I said maybe we could google Is there a way to make your kid stay sixteen forever and then do whatever it says.”
We’re all silent.
“Did you actually google it?” I ask.
“No!” Mom says, grabbing my foot. “But I did say those words! And then the next morning . . .”
“Wendy.” Dad puts a hand on Mom’s shoulder. “I told you that was a ridiculous theory back then, and I still think it is now.”
Mom nods, and I see that she’s crying.
“I’m the one who can’t seem to find the right doctors to help you, Carter,” Dad says.
“Well, look, maybe it’s not Carter’s fault, or my fault, or Mom’s fault,” Lincoln says.
“Maybe it’s everyone’s fault. Some kind of freak mystical wishing catastrophe.
” Lincoln points to me. “Like the movie Big! Except with more wishes. And, I mean, mathematically, if it’s everyone’s fault, that would also mean it’s no one’s fault. ”
There’s a pause as we try to process that.
“Is this the first time in all my loops that you guys are talking about this?” I ask. “Like, has this conversation happened
before?”
“No,” Mom says.
“Definitely not,” Lincoln agrees.
“Wow,” I say. “That is really fucked-up.”
Dad starts laughing. “You’re not wrong.”
Then Mom cracks up, and so do Lincoln and I.
I can’t tell if the situation is actually that funny or if we’re all just relieved to finally be honest with each other.
Whatever it is, it feels very good.