Chapter 32 Noelle
32 Noelle
Monday morning, to put it eloquently, sucks balls.
I’m not used to having someone else in my space as I get ready for work; I’m not used to needing to wait for someone to finish in the washroom. It’ll take some adjustment.
But the worst part is the unfamiliar cramping.
My period will begin at any moment, and I haven’t had a period in a very long time. Fortunately, I have appropriate supplies on hand, and I remember to take some with me.
Sure enough, when I go to the washroom midmorning at work, I confirm that my period has started. How did Avery endure having hers for seven months straight?
When I return to my desk, the drawings I was waiting for are finally done. Unfortunately, there are lots of errors. I quickly explain everything to Eloise, trying not to sound as cranky as I feel. We’re supposed to issue the drawings at the end of the day—hopefully, they’ll be ready on time.
And then Tyler comes to me with such an incredibly basic question, I have to resist the urge to shake him.
So by the time lunch rolls around and I’m sitting in the lunchroom with Fernando and a couple of other engineers, I’m in no mood to be reminded of the fact that someone who does the same job, with the same experience, makes more money than I do.
We manage to issue the drawings just before six. Thanks to multiple transit delays, my commute takes longer than usual, and by the time I get home, I’m not interested in anything but instant noodles for dinner. Cooking is too much effort. My cramps are also worse than usual, and I pop some ibuprofen.
“Do you always get home this late?” Avery sits across from me with her own noodles.
“Not always.”
I feel like I ought to say something more. Make conversation. But the first thing that comes to mind? Wondering whether our periods will sync up.
We eat in silence until I say, “Your never-ending period is finally over?”
“Yeah. Has yours started? Is that why you’re grumpy?”
I nod. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’m the one who’s in your space.”
I wave this away. “It’s fine. I’m happy to let you stay here.” Not a lie, even if today, I’m in the mood to be alone. “Was it nice to wake up without Joe next to you? Knowing you wouldn’t have to break up with him again?”
“Oh my god, yes.”
We share a smile. We’ll be forever bonded by what we went through, something that no one else can understand.
Unfortunately, Tuesday isn’t any better at the office.
Is work worse than it used to be?
No, I don’t think so. It’s just that my tolerance for it has gone way down. Before, I was going through the motions, day in, day out, hoping that if I worked hard, I’d be rewarded.
But now I know hard work won’t get me anywhere. Loyalty won’t get me anywhere.
I’m not sure how much I truly believed otherwise. Maybe I was just desperate to hold on to something, but now, I can’t even pretend. The time loop snapped me out of my routine, and I can’t rid myself of the knowledge that my boss refused to give me an appropriate raise.
I need to start looking for a new job. I shouldn’t put it off any longer.
On the transit ride home, I read about how switching jobs can help maximize your income. I also read about how to build your résumé to get past AI screening tools, which may toss your application for the most arbitrary of reasons. It all sounds like a nightmare.
I nearly throw up on the bus. I should know better than to read in stop-and-go traffic, especially when I was already feeling like shit thanks to my period.
For a moment, I wonder if I should be happy with what I have, work-wise, and simply not bother to stay late anymore.
I quickly shove that thought aside.
I can do this.
Wednesday is another crappy day at work. I’m told that Tyler has complained I’m not spending enough time mentoring him… or something like that. It sounds like his performance isn’t up to par, and he threw me under the bus and nobody pushed back.
Well, maybe if he put in any effort , I want to say, but I bite my tongue and fiddle with the iron ring on the pinky of my right hand. I don’t see any point in arguing. I’m not going to stay here long-term.
That evening, Avery isn’t around. I think she’s trying to give me time to decompress alone, but I feel guilty about it, even if it’s my apartment. I spend an hour looking at job listings and bemoaning the state of the world.
Thursday, I leave work right at five. Fernando shoots me a surprised look as I walk out but doesn’t say anything.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m taking the TTC toward Leaside Brewing. The last time I didn’t head straight home after work—other than after I quit my job—was when I went to the night market and ate those dumplings. I chuckle ruefully.
It’s a cold evening, and even the five-minute walk from the bus stop is uncomfortable. After months of mid-June weather, I’m still not used to freezing temperatures or short days, but I do like that the weather each day is a little different. Sometimes it’s cloudy; sometimes it’s sunny. Sometimes there’s light rain that changes to snow.
But today is just too damn cold.
When I step inside, I sigh in relief at finally being out of the bitter wind. A few people are drinking quietly in the corner, and Cam is nowhere to be found.
I deflate more than I should at his absence.
“Can I help you?” the woman behind the bar asks.
I could make an excuse and head back out, but I’m already here, so fuck it. I consider being reckless and getting the BBA Junction Imperial Stout—11.9 percent alcohol!—then decide to stick with the weaker Swansea Stout.
As she sets the pint in front of me, I think about the fact that this—having one drink alone after work—is something I never would have done in the before time. Not just because I always went straight home, but because it’s an unnecessary expense, and I was careful with my money. Some might even say I was stingy.
But several months of living in a reality where money didn’t matter has changed me.
There’s nothing wrong with purchasing a beer or a cupcake every now and then. It’s not like I’m suddenly going to buy a BMW and take a two-week vacation at an expensive resort. My job might not be paying me as much as it should, but I can have small luxuries without worrying that I won’t be able to afford my rent or contribute to my retirement fund. I’m lucky.
“Hi, Noelle.”
I jolt up at that voice. My hand knocks my pint, but Cam grabs it before any beer sloshes over the rim.
“You remembered!” I say, before I realize how silly that sounds. But I’m not accustomed to him remembering my name, and I can’t help smiling. When I was stuck on June 20, I was desperate for this, and now it’s finally happening. The most ordinary things seem like miracles after you’ve been trapped in a time loop.
“Yes, of course. Do you remember mine?”
“Lake Superior, is that you?”
I want to crawl under a table after I say that. Such a terrible joke. I’m making a fool of myself, and I can’t redo it tomorrow.
But he remembers!
When Cam laughs, I wonder if he does like me in this reality, even if he didn’t give me his number.
“Cam,” I say, nodding. “How’s it going?”
“Not too bad, not too bad. What about you?”
“It’s brutal out there.” I tilt my head toward the door.
“It is.”
“And work has… well, it’s been a long week.”
I suspect Cam, on occasion, has people talking his ear off about their problems, but I don’t want to dump on him like this.
“Problems with the jet?” he asks, and that delights me.
“Mm. How did you know?”
“You’ve got that look on your face. A look of—horror upon horrors—having to fly first class rather than in your own carbon-emitting machine.”
First class is a lot more money than, say, a single beer at the end of a workday. The rare times I fly, it’s always economy. I should have splurged on our trip to Vancouver, but it didn’t even occur to me.
Are there people who are appalled at the idea of flying on a commercial airline, even in the most expensive seat they can buy? Probably, but it’s hard to imagine.
“Yes,” I say, “it was very tough, traveling to Bora-Bora with someone beside me.” I stick up my nose in a haughty manner. “But somehow, I managed.”
A couple walks into the bar, and I curse them under my breath. I want Cam to have customers, but their opening the door allows the wind to enter. I can’t help my full-body shiver.
“Are you okay?” he asks me.
“Just f-fine.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t change the weather—”
“I’m disappointed in you,” I say lightly. “Surely any good bartender has the ability to turn a c-cold spell into a warm summer day.”
“I can make you some tea. There’s a kettle in the back.”
“It’s really not necessary.” I don’t want to be too much of a hassle.
“Or if you’d like something with alcohol, I could make you a hot toddy or blueberry tea.”
“Blueberry tea?”
“It’s a cocktail with Grand Marnier, amaretto, and orange pekoe.”
“Why is it called blueberry tea?” I ask.
“Some people think it actually tastes a bit like blueberries.”
“Okay, I’ll try one of those.” Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the couple who entered a few minutes ago approaching the bar. “If it’s not a bother…”
“I’ll take their order first, then get started on your blueberry tea.”
I continue to sip my cold beer as Cam serves the other customers, and I look at my phone to check the temperature. It’s unusually cold for Toronto, so it’s reasonable for me to feel chilled to the bone.
What’s less reasonable is that I felt compelled to go to a brewery rather than heading home. I could be in my apartment, wrapped in a warm blanket, yet here I am.
And I don’t regret it.
Cam is wearing a long-sleeved Leaside Brewing shirt. He pulls two pints for the couple, then heads to the back. A few minutes later, he returns with a small teapot and pours a couple of things into a glass that I believe is called a brandy snifter. He adds a slice of orange and a spoon.
“Pour the tea whenever you’re ready,” he says.
“Thank you.” I pause. “Sorry to trouble you again, but if you still have them, I’ll get one of the meat pies. Whatever kind is available.”
Internally, I wince. This meal and two drinks will be on my credit card tomorrow, but by the time I get home, it’ll be late and I’ll be too tired to do anything but make instant noodles again.
“Sure thing,” Cam says.
I pour the tea, stir with the spoon, and inhale, my hands cupped around the glass.
I already feel better.
My first sip warms me on the way down, and it does indeed taste faintly of blueberry, with a nice bite thanks to the alcohol. There’s nothing quite like a hot drink on a chilly day, and it’s a small pleasure I didn’t get to enjoy when I was trapped in June. While I’m regularly overwhelmed now, I also find myself appreciating things I never thought much about before.
“Just what I needed, thank you.” I smile at Cam slightly longer than I’d usually smile at a server, then wonder if that was weird and duck my head.
What do I want to accomplish tonight?
I guess I’m still hoping that, unlike last time, he’ll give me his number when he hands me the bill, so that we can interact in a scenario where I’m not the customer.
“Have you had this place long?” I ask.
“Six years,” he says.
It’s awkward to make conversation when I know him—and he barely knows me—and unlike before, he’s actually going to remember this tomorrow.
Oh god. This is too much for my poor brain.
I consider downing my blueberry tea in a hurry, throwing some cash on the bar, and leaving. Then I remember the pie that I foolishly ordered because I didn’t want to have instant noodles tonight.
It would be so much easier if I didn’t know him from the loop, but then I wouldn’t have the memories of him slipping me his number to encourage me. Plus, if it weren’t for the time loop, I wouldn’t be reconsidering my decision to swear off relationships, yet now, I’m feeling a need for human connection that I didn’t have before.
You changed me , I think, while looking at Cam sliding a beer across the bar to a customer. You changed me, but you don’t remember.
My phone buzzes. Veronica has texted me back. I’m about to ask if she wants to grab lunch sometime, when a small meat pie and a serving of kettle chips are set down in front of me.
“Thank you,” I say.
I cut into my steaming pie, then wait a few minutes for it to cool so I don’t burn myself. Once I try it, I decide it was indeed a very good idea that I came here tonight rather than going straight home.
“How is it?” Cam asks.
“Delicious,” I say.
Now, there is the dimple I’d missed. It warms my chest as much as the blueberry tea.
“You want another?” he asks, gesturing to my empty glass.
I shake my head. “Gotta work tomorrow.”
And if I drink more, I might reminisce about all the times you kissed me.
He greets three new customers, who spend a long time debating what to order. I finish my pie and watch them out of the corner of my eye, thinking about the fact that Cam is everything I’m not. Outgoing, friendly, relaxed.
I also wonder about the group he’s serving. What sort of person goes to a brewery on a chilly Thursday evening, other than a woman with a crush on the brewery owner? How do they know each other?
Surreptitiously, I glance at the other people in the room; it’s still rather exciting to see unfamiliar customers here. A man and a woman in the corner are holding hands under the table. Their heads are bent close together, and he’s listening intently to whatever she’s saying. How long have they been together? It looks like they’re a few years older than me. Do they have kids? Did they get a babysitter for date night?
I was always more of an observer than a participator. Even in my own life, I felt like a side character. In elementary school, I’d sometimes spend recess watching other kids play rather than playing myself. I was a diligent student, but not the kind who sat in the front row and stuck her hand in the air to answer as many questions as she could. No, I preferred the back corner.
I did have a few friends, and as I got older, I found myself craving romantic love too. But I wondered if it wasn’t for me—complicated, messy, scary. It sounded like something for other people, although my parents’ stable marriage gave me some hope.
Then I met Dave, and the end was exactly what I’d feared—at least, in terms of what it did to my emotions. To him, the breakup was probably pretty simple.
After that, I put myself on autopilot. I went through the motions to give myself financial security, a sense of productivity, without really thinking about what I desired. In retrospect, it’s amazing how I could just forget to think about who I was and what I wanted for so long. I guess I was afraid of disappointment if something didn’t work out.
But on June 20, I couldn’t just be a bit player in my own life. The actions of other people became predictable, and I was the thing that was different. Me and Avery. I could take risks because they weren’t all that, well, risky.
Maybe it’s time to take a small risk now. My yearning is—at least temporarily—greater than my fear.
“Just the bill, please,” I say to Cam when he approaches.
He prints the bill, hands it to me, and asks if I need the machine.
I shake my head. “I’ve got cash.”
I take my time pulling my wallet out of my purse, and when his attention is elsewhere, I scribble my name and a short message on the bill, then add the money. I use an empty glass to weigh everything down, just in case the door opens and the wind blows in.
Unfortunately, Cam returns before I can put on my coat.
“See you later.” I hustle to the door, not wanting to see his expression when he notices that I’ve left my number.
It’s minus a bazillion degrees outside, and I’m wearing a dress shirt and a thin sweater. As I struggle to zip up my coat, I wonder if this zipper was always such a pain. I pull on my winter hat before returning to the zipper, feeling like I’m in grade one—I regularly needed my teacher to help with my coat then—and almost punch my fist in the air when I finally get it. Success!
I hurry toward the bus stop and arrive a mere thirty seconds before the bus—perfect timing. Once I’m safely in my seat at the back of the bus, I check my phone. No new messages, and I try not to deflate.
I remind myself that Cam’s working, but at eleven o’clock, I’m ready for sleep, and I still haven’t heard from him. There’s always tomorrow, though. Because “tomorrow” is something that properly exists now.
Still, I toss and turn in bed, afraid I might have screwed this up somehow.
No, you were brave.
Yet I can’t help wishing I could slink back into the shadows.
For the first time in as long as I can remember, I’m awake after three in the morning. When I was stuck in the loop and 3 a.m. came, the next thing I knew, my alarm was going off, but that’s now how things work anymore. Normally if I couldn’t fall asleep, I’d go out to the living room, but Avery is there and I don’t want to disturb her. Instead, I wonder, yet again, how we got out of the loop, my thoughts spinning in circles.
After getting two hours of sleep, I shuffle into work, unhappy with my choices and trying to draw even less attention to myself than usual.
But at lunchtime, I get a message.