I knew in my heart that fate had brought Drew into my life, but up until two years ago in my real timeline—nine in this one—I never entertained anything other than friendship for us. Strange to think others had clocked something I hadn’t a single sense of.
“Eh, probably only like ten bucks, but it was high school. We were all making minimum wage, dropping a hundred bucks on prom bids, and saving for college. That ten bucks was two trips to Starbucks,” she says.
I laugh good-naturedly to brush off some of the awkwardness. “Sorry to spoil your slightly offensive romantic agenda both then and now. We’re only here to see about some crystals.”
Stephanie lets loose a dramatic sigh. “We’ve got plenty. Come on in.” She gestures for us to follow her back around front where she pulls down the sign we saw earlier.
“Guess ‘soon’ was pretty accurate after all,” I joke to no response.
Drew must be lost somewhere inside his head because all he says is, “Ha, yeah,” before charging straight for the displays, which makes me wonder what version of that night Drew is replaying for himself. When he confessed his love for me at the hotel on the night of CeeCee’s wedding, he said he’d been in love with mefor a long time. Did he mean since prom night?
I would ask, but we’re the only two in here, and I don’t need Stephanie overhearing that vulnerable conversation. Besides, ifwe’re trying to keep things as uncomplicated as possible, I can’t be questioning Drew over practice kisses. It wouldn’t be right.
I turn my attention back to the crystal hunt.
Dilapidated ceiling fans sputter overhead. Posters of scenic vistas and birthstone charts line the walls. Long-armed lamps shine down on hundreds of different, shiny stones available for purchase on tables draped in black fabric.
When we committed to this plan, I hadn’t considered the number of variables at play. The right kind of crystal might not be enough. What if the shape is wrong? What if they need to be from a certain area of the world? I have no idea where Doop sourced those crystals from nor what they did to them afterward in that ridiculous lab.
Unwilling to stress out over the unknowable, I start browsing.
The metaphysical store displayed their stones like they were otherworldly adornment meant to be worshipped and worn with reverence and care. Here, the stones are no more than natural wonders. Completely of this earth, and not connected to any kind of higher power.
It just goes to show that the product doesn’t matter. The story you spin around it is what you’re selling. Doop knew that.
Stephanie throws her flannel over a creaky chair by the register and meets Drew and me by the largest bunch. “Anything in particular you’re looking for?”
In my dream a few nights ago, I was overwhelmed with a kaleidoscope of orange imagery. It prompted the faintest memory of the crystal collection. “Do you have any orange stones?” It’s not the best or most reliable lead, but it’s not nothing.
“Tons,” Stephanie says, pointing around.
Drew and I begin sorting, picking some up, passing others by. No one group stands out more than the other, so in the end, to pay Stephanie back for those lost Starbucks lattes, I buy one of each to cover our bases and sign an autograph for her before I go.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The hodgepodge of crystals jangles around on my lap as we sit in the back of another rideshare, another driver blasting pop hits—songs by artists I’ve never heard of with production that sounds wrong to my untrained ears.
Luckily, lyrical trends haven’t changed all that much.
The female singer belts about dancing while we can and living for the moment, and considering it more closely, those themes have never been more relevant. I’m hit with flashes of prom. Our history is so robust you could fill an entire book with it.
Isn’t it weird to be back here like this?I want to ask Drew, who’s watching the neighborhood flit by out the window, drumming the rhythm of the song with his fingertips on the door’s armrest, lips half-heartedly forming the lyrics. I don’t ask because, while he may be experiencing my turmoil by proximity, he has no idea how supernatural it is to be twenty-three in the body of a thirty-year-old and going to your childhood home.
The driver pulls up in front of the mailbox. It’s a gray house with a short driveway and overgrown shrubbery. It’s not like Dad to let those laurels get so tall, nearly blocking the view from the living room window.
After CeeCee’s college graduation, I avoided this house like Iavoided the kid in my third-grade class who brought lice back from summer camp. The one feature I wasn’t insecure about as a child was my hair, so I didnotwant a buzz cut. I don’t have the face shape for it.
Now, I stand in the driveway behind a compact green car that doesn’t look familiar to me. Mom must’ve traded in the family-friendly SUV at some point, too bulky for just her and Dad.
While home has made me queasy over the last few years in my timeline, it’s never made me downright nervous. Which is why I’m all out of sorts as I notice the solar panels, the keypad beside the door, and other techie advancements that seem more a product of time than an addition or expense Mom and Dad were happy about.
“You coming in with me or will you go see your mom?” I ask Drew who’s been very quiet since Stephanie mistook us for a couple.
Drew shakes his head. “My mom moved out of town a few years ago. She got a condo closer to the beach. But if it’s okay, I think I’d like to go for a walk.”
“Of course that’s okay,” I reply. These trips have been somewhat intense. Hunting for rocks that may or may not work. Teetering between rebuilding a friendship and knowing whatever happens in this timeline may be nothing more than a false future.
“Call me when you’re done,” Drew says, taking off in the direction of the neighborhood’s entrance. I watch him disappear over the crest of a hill, and he takes a little chunk of my heart with him as he goes.
