Chapter 31
thirty-one
Chris
The next few Saturdays pass like a perfect, unending vacation. I’d worried Percy might insist we resume investigating the time loop after that initial day off, but he must’ve needed this break as much as I did. Or maybe he’s simply enjoying our newfound intimacy as much as I am.
Our world had already shrunk to this singular day, but now it constricts still further to include only us.
By unspoken agreement, we don’t invite Quinn along again after that first night.
I wouldn’t have asked her to join us then either if Percy hadn’t seemed so insistent.
As much as I love Quinn, I want to savor this time together for as long as I can without anyone else, even my best friend, getting in the way.
Each day is a new first date—a fresh opportunity to do the sorts of things we’d never have gotten the chance to do otherwise.
We work our way through every noteworthy restaurant on the island, from fine dining to fast food.
We check out every bar and every night spot.
We buy a sample slab of every brand of fudge on the island and gorge ourselves until I know how Owen and Percy must’ve felt as kids.
We sneak into the famous Grand Hotel just because we can and explore its beautiful grounds, even sticking around long enough to try a round of golf and decide we both loathe it.
When Percy hesitantly admits he’s never gotten a professional massage, we complete a circuit of every spa on Mackinac, swiping credit cards with bills we’ll never have to pay for the swankiest treatment packages they offer.
“Maybe this is the real point of the time loop,” I suggest while we sip mimosas in an enormous hot tub after a pair of deep tissue massages.
Percy frowns at me from over the lip of his champagne flute. “What, you think the universe decided we desperately needed manicures?”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t mean today specifically. But maybe it thought we both deserved a break—a chance to relax and decouple ourselves from the grind of reality. Maybe this is…I dunno, our cosmic reward or whatever for how much life has sucked the last couple years.”
Percy snorts and splashes me playfully with water. “Somehow, I think the universe has better things to do than look after us. Besides, there are so many other people in the world who deserve a break more. Why would it choose us over them?”
I close my eyes and tip my head back, sinking lower into the warm water.
My leg brushes against Percy’s, and I leave it there.
“Fine, maybe that’s not the point. But that doesn’t mean we can’t decide to make it that way.
Whatever the universe intended—if it intended anything at all—we can repurpose it into whatever we want. So, why not this?”
Percy doesn’t respond, and later, after we’ve exhausted ourselves and lie snuggling in the enormous king bed in our suite, my hazy brain drifts back to that alluring sentiment.
We can repurpose it into whatever we want.
What I want has never been clearer. Screw responsibilities and real life and all the reasons I’ve been telling myself this will never work.
All I need is this beautiful boy wrapped in my arms, however I can get him.
Whether it’s fate’s intended plan for us or not, each successive Saturday gives me one more chance to spend the day with the guy I love.
Everything is perfect. A fairy-tale dream.
And yet…
And yet, I can’t stop the inkling of doubt that creeps over me whenever Percy flinches at someone watching us together or goes silent and withdrawn, shying away from any discussion of our lives post-time loop.
He always snaps out of it, but each instance is a reminder that, for him, this is only temporary.
No matter how close we get, he’s still the guy who broke my heart because he couldn’t fully trust me with his.
Another day, another Saturday.
This iteration, we decide to check out a local butterfly garden that had somehow escaped our list until now. Admittedly, it’s more Percy’s thing than mine. He marvels at the bright cascade of colors as we wander through the temperature-controlled habitat.
Personally, I’d have preferred a nice hike through the state park in the island’s center.
Beads of sweat drip down my neck from the oppressive heat, and the enclosure feels a little too much like a cage for my comfort.
It’s too easy to imagine myself one of these butterflies, battering endlessly against the walls of my prison in a futile flutter of wings, destined to never break free.
God, since when had I become so morbid?
I need to keep up with my writing so I can let out some of the restless tension that’s been building within me.
It’s been hard to find the time since Percy and I spend nearly every moment together—or the motivation, for that matter, when I know my words won’t survive the night.
Maybe I’ll make it a point to write at least a couple pages before bed tonight.
I’m about to suggest we leave to grab some lunch when I hear the familiar ding of Percy’s phone from his pocket. Shooting me an apologetic look, he tugs it out and checks the screen. Not that he needs to at this point—I’m sure he has his dad’s damn message memorized by now.
“Sorry,” Percy says, muting his phone and tucking it back into his pocket. “Forgot to silence it this morning.”
That’s remained our regular habit—another unspoken rule to keep us focused in the present rather than dwelling on our obligations from the outside world.
And all at once, that restriction chafes—feels suffocating.
If I’m a butterfly trapped in a cage, it’s of my own design.
Would it really be so bad if our current reality extended beyond our temporary existence?
Maybe that’s why I blurt out something I’d normally have the good sense to keep to myself. “You could try telling him.”
Percy blinks, confused. “Who? My dad? Tell him what?”
Shit. I consider backtracking, but now that I’ve started, a major part of me is determined to see it through. I ignore the artificial, curated beauty floating around me and focus on Percy’s face. It’s a far more intoxicating sight, anyway.
“Tell him about you.” I hesitate. “About us.”
I can see the instant my words register. Percy tenses, his eyes flicking from side to side as if to check who might’ve overheard. “I thought we agreed to leave the real world out of it.”
His comment shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. After all, I’d been the one to suggest we live in the moment and keep things casual. But that hasn’t stopped me from secretly hoping for more or that we might eventually both be on the same page.
I struggle to keep my voice level despite the hollow ache growing in my chest. “Look, I know you’re dealing with a lot.
And the last thing I want is to pressure you to come out before you’re ready.
But we’re literally stuck in a time loop here, Perce.
This could be a good way to test the waters and see how your dad would react. ”
To prove to me that I might someday be worth the risk.
Percy laughs, though it sounds forced. His whole body still radiates tension, like a live wire sparking electricity.
My stomach sinks at the barely concealed panic in his eyes.
“Maybe some other Saturday,” he says. “It’s not like we’ve got any shortage of time.
Now, come on. Let’s finish touring this place so we can go eat. ”
Growing desperation threatens to suffocate me, and I clamp a hand on his shoulder to hold him in place when he tries to turn.
Please, Perce. Give me something to hang onto.
“You know you’ve got nothing to worry about, right?
Whatever happens, I’ll be right here, and at least if it goes poorly, you’ll know what to expect when you eventually come out for real. ”
Doubt flickers over Percy’s face. He shrugs out of my grasp, putting a couple feet of distance between us. “I don’t know if I can do it. I’m not ready.”
“Okay, fine.” My heart pounds erratically in my chest. “But if not now, then when? When do you think you will you be ready?”
His lack of response confirms my worst fears.
If he won’t put himself out there even when the stakes are practically nonexistent, what hope is there for a future between us?
It’s like that day after winter break all over again.
Sooner or later, I’ll have to watch him leave, and I don’t know if I can survive that a second time.
I reach for him, desperate for his touch, his closeness, but he shies away. I feel the rejection like a slap.
“Sorry.” He refuses to look at me. His hands nervously play with the hem of his jacket. “How about we get out of here and grab some lunch? We can talk about this later.”
I should probably listen to him and just let it go.
That’s what I’ve always done in the past whenever I realized I’m pushing too hard.
But his reluctance to even entertain the idea feels like the perfect encapsulation of all the worries I’ve been accumulating with each successive loop.
I clench my hands into fists, ignoring the damned butterflies fluttering around us as the words spill from me in a trembling voice.
“Don’t you care enough about us to at least try?”
Percy whirls on me, his eyes blazing, and I take a step back.
“Of course, I care!” he snaps. “I told you that this matters, and I meant it. But there are no guarantees! No way to know if this could be the last loop—the time it finally breaks. And I won’t risk my entire life on the fickle whims of the fucking universe! ”
Each word is another stab to my gut. At a basic level, I can’t fault his logic.
We’ve always shied away from pushing things too far during any of our iterations.
Sure, we’d spent more money than we should have or eaten too much fudge.
We’d pissed off Devon and Owen and Oshkoff, along with plenty of others.
But like Percy had shot down my suicide idea, we’d avoided doing anything that could land us in real trouble, just in case.
Acknowledging that, however, does little to counter the growing realization that we’re living on borrowed time.
Maybe it’s not fair to place so much pressure on him.
I’d meant what I said about waiting for him to be ready, and I get how much he’s still hurting over his mom’s death and that stupid promise he’d made her.
But after how he pulled away from me two years ago, I need something more than half-hearted reassurance.
I need to know that, when push came to shove, this time he’d stay.
How can I trust him not to break my heart again when he won’t even allow himself to envision a life together beyond our present predicament?
“Sure.” I shove my hands in my pockets and start toward the exit without looking at him. “Food sounds great. I’m starving.”
We leave the butterfly garden in silence, and my muddled emotions gradually evaporate. In their place, all that’s left is a heavy emptiness.
The problem with fairy tales is that, sooner or later, they end.