Chapter 31 Noelle
31 Noelle
“Hey, Noelle,” says the man opening the door next to mine.
Who the fuck are you? I refrain from asking.
What happened to Mrs. Santos? Did she move? Did she die?
Since my pre-loop life was fairly uneventful, I don’t have as much to catch up on as some people would. Still, there are things that throw me off, like the fact that I apparently have a new neighbor, and my usual grocery store has rearranged everything . Seeing Valentine’s chocolate for sale—without first seeing Christmas chocolate—was also odd, but I smiled at the evidence of passing time.
A little rattled, I heave my grocery bags inside and close the door. I put everything away, then check my phone to make sure I haven’t missed anything from Avery. She said she’d dump Joe this weekend, but I’ve yet to hear from her. A part of me also hopes for a message from my sister, but there’s nothing. Impulsively, I give her a call.
Madison picks up. “I’m still not talking to you.”
And then nothing.
I think of the time we ate dumplings together. We got along then, but apparently, in another reality, something went terribly wrong. I can’t bring myself to ask what happened because… I ought to know.
Not for the first time, I search for tips to retrieve old memories. Many of the articles discuss tips to retrieve repressed traumatic memories, but that’s not exactly the situation here—at least, I assume it isn’t. I also try to figure out what happened to my neighbor. I can’t find an obituary, so I hope that means she’s okay. Maybe she moved into a retirement home.
Sighing, I attempt to think about something else, but my mind immediately turns to Cam, which doesn’t help. I returned to the brewery yesterday, and unlike the previous time, I got up the courage to speak to him. Flirting with a cute guy is harder when you know he’ll actually remember it, but we exchanged names, and our conversation progressed similarly to before. Asking if he used to be a journalist certainly felt awkward, but once again, he made that comment about me being an heiress, and we were in familiar territory. Except he didn’t give me his number, like he did all those times on June 20. Should I have given him mine?
Or is he seeing someone now? Or did he have a bad experience dating a person he met at Leaside Brewing and swore he’d never do it again?
I hate that I won’t get another chance at a first impression. As tired as I was of having the same conversations over and over with him, I felt assured of my success. Now, I have no idea what the hell to do.
But I do know one thing I want: a haircut.
When I call the salon and they say they have nothing available today, I freak out. Then I remind myself that making an appointment for next Saturday is just fine.
I’m about to start preparing lunches for the week when my phone buzzes. It’s Avery—my phone actually remembers her contact info now—saying she’s ended her engagement.
“I meant to do it earlier.” Avery is perched on my recliner, a bag of sour cream and onion chips in her hand. Her hair is now pink, and it looks great. “But knowing I wouldn’t have a chance to redo the breakup… that scared me.”
“How did you end up doing it?”
She’s been here for half an hour, and I’m finally getting around to asking her for details. When she arrived, I was preoccupied with figuring out where to put all her stuff. And since she didn’t immediately tell me, I wondered if I should ask.
I’m not very good at this friendship stuff. I don’t have as much practice as I ought to have by the age of thirty-two. I mean, thirty-three.
“Wellll,” she says, “we were eating breakfast this morning, and he said something along the lines of, ‘When will you start planning the wedding? My mom’s been asking about it.’?”
“The planning was all supposed to be your job?”
“Apparently. So I said, ‘You know, I don’t think there’s going to be a wedding,’ before calmly taking off my ring. He was very confused, and then he turned a disturbing shade of red and asked if I was ending the engagement, to which I replied, ‘You bet your ass I am.’ He told me that I should rethink what I was saying. Because if I didn’t, I would die alone, with only cats to keep me company, and I said, ‘Cats are better company than you are.’ I was very mature about the whole thing.” She pauses. “If we find the dumpling lady, maybe she can send me back in time so I can prevent my former self from going on a first date with Joe.”
“Don’t even joke about that,” I say before I can stop myself.
“I know, I know, I have no interest in screwing with time any further, but it’s nice to imagine I never met him. Never wasted years of my life on him.”
“Yeah, I can understand.”
“I mean, I know that I was shaped by all the experiences I had in the past, and I probably shouldn’t wish any of them away because they made me into me , but…”
I think of stress-strain curves.
“I get it,” I say. “Like, I think it’s reasonable to wish I hadn’t been sprayed by a skunk.”
“Are you seriously comparing a first date with my ex to getting sprayed by a skunk?”
I wonder if I shouldn’t have done that, but she’s laughing.
Despite not getting any repeats in my friendship with Avery, I feel like I haven’t screwed it up too badly. And at least with her, I haven’t forgotten anything.
That evening, Avery and I watch two episodes of a show that debuted—and was canceled—in the months we can’t remember. New TV shows and movies! How exciting. I look at what’s playing at the nearest movie theater. There are a few movies whose trailers I watched and thought I’d never get a chance to see. The historical drama that piqued our interest is supposed to start streaming in Canada soon.
While Avery is washing up, I send a text to Veronica. I texted her once during the loop, and she didn’t reply before the day reset. Just like last time, I don’t immediately get a response, but that’s okay. Maybe she’ll answer tomorrow.
I set down my phone and regard Avery’s plant, which now sits on my windowsill. She used to say that it never changed, even though she’d stopped watering it, but now, it looks different than it did when I was at her old apartment. Multiple leaves have unfurled, and it feels miraculous. After so long with time being stagnant for us, it’s moving again.
Yet it wasn’t really stagnant. Some version of us was experiencing time in the usual way. Some version of me got the news that Cecil was born. Some version of me went to work, over and over.
I don’t understand it, and I hate that.
But right now, the most important thing isn’t understanding the how and why of the time loop: it’s sorting out my life, as well as Avery’s.
When she returns to the futon, she pulls out the novel that I bought her on January 24.
“I thought you would have finished it by now,” I say.
“I did—it only took me two days. I’m rereading it.”
I’m glad she’s finding comfort in the pages of a book.