Chapter 18 Noelle
18 Noelle
June 20, Version 112-ish
“Hey,” Cam says with a smile. “Have we met before? You look really, really familiar, but I can’t recall your name.”
“We have,” I say. “Cam, right? Short for Canmore?”
A notch appears between his brows. “And you are?”
“Noelle.”
“What would you like to drink, Noelle?” He gestures to the tap list.
“I’m not sure. I don’t know much about beer.”
“Hm.” He gives me a sample. “Try this.”
I do. As expected, it’s the hefeweizen.
“I’ll get a pint,” I say.
“I had a feeling you’d like it.”
“Yeah? What do you mean, exactly?” I’m repeating a conversation we’ve had before, knowing this will lead where I want.
He shrugs, then goes to pull a pint. “I don’t know. Just did. It’s the oddest thing.” He sets the beer in front of me.
Okay. Here it goes. “We’ve actually met dozens of times. That’s why you knew my beer.”
“ Dozens? No. You seem familiar, but there’s no way I could have met you dozens of times and not remembered your name.”
“You forget our encounters, but I don’t.” I grip the cold glass in my right hand as I prepare to tell him the truth. “I’m trapped in a time loop. I’m reliving June twentieth over and over again.”
He laughs, but it quickly fades. “Wait. You’re serious?”
“Yeah. I’ll prove it to you.” The words come out in a rush. “There won’t be any other customers until 3:25, at which point a man and a woman in their forties will walk in, both wearing Jays jerseys. He’ll order the stout. She’ll go with the IPA.”
When the couple enters at exactly 3:25, Cam serves them with a smile, but his gaze keeps darting toward me.
“So, who’s next?” he asks after they’ve claimed a table.
I tell him about the group of men two minutes before they enter. I predict their outfits. Their beer orders. Their food order: nachos without green onions.
Once they’ve been served, Cam returns to me. His usual smile is absent. “How are you doing this?”
“Like I said, I’m stuck in a time loop.”
“Is anyone else stuck with you?”
“I’ve found one other woman in the same situation. Her name is Avery. Once, I brought her here to meet you.”
He regards me for a moment. “Maybe you just know all these people and told them when to come in and what to order.”
“They’re not acting as if they know me, though.”
“True. But you could have asked that they not say hello. I know it’s far-fetched, but…”
“Not as far-fetched as me repeating the day? Yeah, I get it.” I consider what else I can tell him. “Earlier today, you got Iron Goddess milk tea.” I name the tea shop. “I also know quite a bit about you because we’ve been on lots of dates. If I introduce myself to you and we get to talking, you slip me your number and we meet up later at the night market at Mel Lastman Square, where you’re going to talk to a vendor. You get bulgogi poutine and taiyaki.”
“Those do sound like things I’d order. What else do you know?”
“Your parents are from Taiwan. You have a degree in life sciences. You used to be in an all-Asian Matchbox Twenty tribute band.”
“Holy shit,” he whispers.
When he says nothing more, I wonder if I’ve screwed this up. Is he really creeped out? I might have to try again tomorrow. Ease into it a little more, though it’s hard to ease into something like this.
“The news,” he says at last. “If you’ve lived this day over and over—”
“Well, a Canada goose will cause a power outage in Scarborough later today. Also, a very famous actor who’s known for being devoted to his wife? His affair with a makeup artist will become public around four forty-five on social media. You’ll see. The taproom gets busier, but there will be a lull at that time. Pull out your phone then and check.”
“I can’t believe we’ve gone on so many dates and I don’t remember them.”
“Your subconscious seems to remember a few things. The first time I said I didn’t know much about beer and you gave me something to try, you started with a pale ale, then a pilsner, before going to the Corktown Hefeweizen. But now, you always start with the Corktown, like you did today.”
“Huh. I’m sorry, I’m just having trouble wrapping my head around this.”
“I know. When it first started happening to me, it was a struggle to accept it.”
“How many times have you lived this day?” he asks.
“A hundred and twelve, give or take.”
“And how did you get into this loop?”
“I’m not sure, but I think it has something to do with magical dumplings I ate at the night market the first time I was there. I’ve been unable to find the vendor since, though everything else about the market is the same.”
“You really think it was caused by dumplings?”
“Yeah.” I pause. “Sometimes, I think you must be pivotal to understanding all this because you’re the only person who subconsciously remembers the other June twentieths. Also, I keep running into you. First at the market, then at the bubble tea shop. It feels like it has to mean something.”
He holds my gaze but doesn’t say anything.
“So.” I swallow. “Do you believe me?”
He remains silent and the seconds tick by. I know there are seven minutes until the next customers arrive, and that seems like a vast amount of time right now.
Finally, he answers. “Yes. A time loop sounds impossible, but you’ve provided me with pretty solid proof.”
I release a breath. Thank god.
“Have you ever told me before that you’re stuck in a loop?”
“No,” I say, “though I did ask you some hypothetical questions, like what you’d do in such a situation.”
“How did I respond?”
“That you’d find the most perfect version of the day and live it over and over.”
“And going out with me—is that perfect?”
Why him?
That’s the question that pops into my mind. I mean, I think he’s cute and kind and goofy in a sweet way, but that doesn’t feel like enough of an explanation. Am I drawn to him in part because I keep seeing him and he has subliminal memories of me?
Rather than saying all that, I reply, “It’s pretty good.”
“Pretty good.” He waggles his eyebrows. “But?”
“It’s tiring to introduce myself to you over and over. I love all the iterations of our first date, but I wish we could get beyond a first date.”
“Have we ever kissed?”
“Many times.”
His gaze drops to my mouth, and for a moment, I forget to breathe. It’s just the two of us, and a connection that seems to defy the rules of my world.
“It’s a shame,” he says quietly, “that I have no memory of those kisses.”
“It is.”
“They were good, were they?”
“The first time was good. The other times were amazing.” My cheeks flame as I speak, but Cam is the kind of guy you can talk to about anything. I wonder if other people feel that way with him, or if it’s just me. “As if you remembered exactly what I like.”
My skin feels hot and prickly as I recall our kisses. Against a wall, in a parkette… The whole world shrinking to his lips against mine, the need blooming inside me.
I try not to squirm on my stool.
“The thing is,” I say, “before I got stuck in this loop, I swore off romance. I’d had a bad breakup and felt it just wasn’t worth it. I hated the uncertainty of trusting and depending on someone who could pull the rug out from under me at any time. I wanted to avoid that despair. But with you, I felt safe because we couldn’t really have a relationship, not when I kept needing to reintroduce myself to you. Except now I wish we could have June twenty-first together. June twenty-second.”
He rests his arms on the bar and regards me. “Have we ever…?”
“No. It didn’t feel right, when I hadn’t been honest with you—like I said, this is the first time I’ve told you about the time loop. And you—”
I snap my mouth shut when the next group of customers enters. Cam taps the bar in front of me twice before he goes to serve them.
He believes me.
If I’ve gotten him to believe once, I can get him to believe again. I wouldn’t want to do it every day, but it’s nice to know that.
Cam returns. “Have you tried to get out of this loop?”
“Yeah. Without success, obviously. It’s hard to know what to try when I don’t really understand how it happened.”
Considering everything I’ve told him, he doesn’t seem terribly rattled. A little, yes, but not nearly as much as I’d be in his position. Is it another sign that he’s special, that he’s somehow the missing piece in this time loop? Perhaps his subconscious’s vague memories of previous June 20s made it easier for him to believe me.
I down the rest of my beer. “It’ll get busy in here soon, but I know you’re only working the bar for a few more hours. I’ll text you and we can meet up at the night market, okay?”
“You need my—oh, you must already have it in your phone.”
“No, because it resets every morning. But I’ve got your number memorized, having entered it into my contacts dozens of times.”
“It’s still hard to wrap my head around how this works.”
“Yeah, it takes a while. Even now, I occasionally forget.” I set down a twenty.
“Let me get you some change.”
“No need. The bill will be back in my wallet tomorrow morning.”
And with that, I exit the brewery.