Chapter 14 Noelle
14 Noelle
June 20, Version 54-ish
The June 20 after our trip to New York, I’m well rested, despite the fact that yesterday was very busy. Still, I decide to have a leisurely day: I rebuy the ebook that I was reading on the plane and finish it with my morning coffee, absently thinking that while it was annoying not to have more time in New York, it was nice to only have to deal with the airport once.
By midafternoon, however, I feel the need to get out, and I find myself heading to Leaside Brewing. When I step inside, Cam and his colleague are singing a sea shanty once again, though it’s a different one from last time—I assume that’s because I’m a few minutes later.
“Hey.” Cam smiles at me. “Have we met before? You look really, really familiar, but I can’t recall your name.”
I tamp down a prickle of irritation. “You’re Cam, right? Cameron?”
Our conversation proceeds the same way it did last time, and my annoyance fades. This is rather comforting, actually. I’m reliving a good day; I bet many people wish they had the ability to do that. I don’t recall the exact words I said, so there are little differences here and there, but it’s more or less the same, until he asks what heiresses like to drink.
“We usually go for wine,” I say. “Preferably ones that cost at least two hundred a bottle. I’m open to trying something new, but I don’t know much about beer.”
“Hm.” He picks up a small glass and pours me something. “Try this.”
I’m prepared for it to taste terrible. Last time, the first beer he gave me was a pale ale, and I didn’t like it. But this is really good.
It’s the hefeweizen.
I don’t say that, though; after all, I just told him that I know nothing about beer. Also, I’m struggling to gather my thoughts. It’s like he knew the beer I prefer, even if he doesn’t remember that day. When he forgot my name, I thought our date didn’t make a difference… but apparently, it did, however small.
“I’ll get a pint of this,” I say at last.
“I had a feeling you’d like it.”
“A feeling. What do you mean, exactly?”
He shrugs, then goes to pull a pint. “I don’t know. Just did. It’s the oddest thing.”
Is Cam the key to sorting out the time loop? He remembers the beer I like, he keeps thinking I look familiar—and I’ve stumbled across him in three different places on June 20.
Or is this a sign that we’re meant to be, even if the kiss didn’t work?
I shake my head. Meant to be? What’s wrong with me?
But at the very least, I should spend more time with Cam and try to figure this out. That’s only sensible. What else might he remember? Will it lead me to any answers?
As it gets busier, I admire the easy way he talks to people, his fluid motions behind the bar. I recall what it was like to have those arms around me.
After I pay, he slides me a scrap of paper with his number. No pressure, he assures me, but I can text him if I like.
And I do.
We meet up at the night market again, and once again, he suggests dumplings.
“No, I’ve had a lot of dumplings lately. I’ll try something else.” I tilt my head. “But speaking of dumplings, have you ever heard of dumplings that make you travel in time? Or, random example here, relive a day over and over?”
“Uh…”
“Forget it. It’s just a story one of my heiress friends told me, but she was high on designer drugs at the time.”
We get our food and sit on the same bench as before.
“You know,” Cam says, “I just had the strangest sense of déjà vu. Like I’ve eaten bulgogi poutine here with you before.”
“Yeah?” I hesitate. “What did we do afterward?”
“I saw someone eating taiyaki, and that sounds good to me.” He leans in, his breath tickling my ear. “But I also…”
There’s a very, very intense pause. He’s feeling me out, trying to figure out what I want. There are lots of people around us, but I’m most aware of him, of how close he is to me.
With another man, before this time loop, I wouldn’t have been so sure. So bold. But it’s Cam, and I’ve already kissed him, even if he doesn’t remember.
And maybe, once he feels my lips on his…
I shift my tray of food to one hand, and I dance the fingers of my other hand over his shoulder. “What about after you eat dessert?”
“We’ll see.” He winks at me.
This time, I get taiyaki too, and once again, we end up behind a building as we eat. After he throws away our paper bags, I say, “Good thing my jet touched down in Toronto today.”
“I agree.”
When he lifts a hand to my cheek, I know what’s coming next. I breathe rapidly in anticipation as I wrap my arm around him and pull him close.
He sets his mouth to mine, and it’s… different. I can tell that immediately. There’s no initial awkwardness, and I don’t think it’s just because my last proper kiss was only three days ago, rather than years ago.
No, there’s something different in him . As if he remembers. He doesn’t say as much, but his body tells me that he does. He knows what I like the most. It’s mere seconds before I’m softly moaning against him. My hands slip under his shirt, and he hisses out a breath.
This time, I know we won’t be interrupted by my phone because, first of all, Avery’s actions aren’t on the same schedule every day, and second of all, I’ve set my phone to silent.
He presses me against the wall, and when I arch against him, his mouth slides to my neck. God, how am I so sensitive? One of his hands slips down to grip my ass, and I can feel his erection against my thigh.
“How did you end up at the brewery today?” he whispers.
I don’t answer; I just keep kissing him.
When his lips leave mine again, I squeak in protest. He turns, and I follow his gaze.
“Is that a skunk?” I ask.
“Looks like it.”
Goddammit. I wonder if it’s the same one who sprayed me in the cemetery. Thankfully, after watching us for a moment, it scurries off.
“I should go,” Cam says, “much as I’d like to stay here with you. I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow, but I’m free on Sunday. Does that work for you?”
“Yeah, it does.”
I feel a touch of sorrow that he won’t remember me tomorrow. There’s a chance he’ll remember a little more than he did today, but he probably won’t really remember.
I try to focus on the fact that I can repeat this day with him. I swore off relationships after Dave, but this isn’t really a relationship. How can it be, when I have to keep telling him my name? It’s just a little fun, and I deserve that, don’t I?
Besides, he might be important to figuring out the time loop.
When Cam and I part, I pull out my phone and text Avery to ask where she’s staying tonight. I should have done that earlier.
She informs me that she’s broken up with Joe again, although this time, she’s insisted he spend the night at his parents’ so she can have the apartment to herself.
The next day, Avery and I meet for coffee again. We sit outside, the weather as pleasantly warm as it always is on June 20.
“Yesterday,” she says, “I donated a thousand dollars and volunteered at a food bank—I insisted they let me come in that afternoon—to see if doing good deeds would help. But they didn’t. I don’t know what to do.” She pauses. “You’re an engineer. Could you, like, build something to get us out of this?”
“I can’t fix a problem if I don’t understand it at all, and we haven’t made much progress in understanding this.”
“I’m just so tired of being stuck.”
“I know.”
Here I am, getting the chance to relive a great first date and first kiss, and she keeps waking up next to her ex and has a never-ending period.
I’m not sure I’m doing a very good job at this being-a-good-friend business, but I don’t know what I can do other than listen and perhaps offer suggestions, however unlikely they might seem. Anything that might give her a bit of hope.
“Traditional Chinese medicine!” I say suddenly. “What if this is happening because our qi is blocked? If we restore balance, maybe the passage of time will become unblocked for us too.”
“Do you mean acupuncture?” Avery asks.
“Yeah, but there are other things as well. How about you get acupuncture, and I’ll go to an herbalist?”
“It’s worth a try.”
The next day, I make a trip to a Chinese herbalist. I explain my problems to a man who’s at least eighty-five and doesn’t look at me like I’m batshit crazy. He confesses it isn’t something that he’s personally treated before, though he’s heard of such a case. Unfortunately, he can’t provide any details about that case, but he gives me a concoction of interesting-looking herbs to try and explains how to prepare them.
At home, I soak and boil them for the prescribed amount of time, in a clay pot that I bought along with the herbs. As I wait for them to be ready, I recall there was a subtle flavor in the old woman’s dumplings that was unlike any dumpling I’d had before. I couldn’t figure it out, but maybe it’s one of these herbs? And maybe tasting it again will break the curse?
I try the liquid. It tastes like it ought to be good for me—by which I mean, it’s absolutely foul. No hint of anything that was in those dumplings.
Not feeling terribly hopeful, I text Avery.
ME: How was the acupuncture?
AVERY: Great. I’m definitely more relaxed now. Maybe it did help to unblock my qi.
Once again, we’ll just have to wait until morning.