An empty box at the top of the page was titled “My Goals for the Week.” A few times, early in the loop, Amie had opened herplanner and scribbled phrases into the box like “WHO CARES” and “WHATEVER I DID YESTERDAY I GUESS.” One time she wrote so hard the pen ripped through the paper, and the planner ended up in the trash can.
Now it was sitting open on the kitchen table, showing no signs of past scribbles or rips, much more vulnerable to a lasting impact from either.
“ ‘Mammogram piece due,’ ” Amie muttered to herself, reading the notes in the September 18 box. She’d planned on finishing that article the day before, then looking it over the next day before filing it. Obviously, that didn’t happen, seeing as the day before she had no idea whether or not September 18 was ever going to come.
Amie was employed by a lighthearted online magazine, writing about health and science trends targeted at women over the age of forty. Many of the articles were listicles, and most were shared by people who didn’t read past the catchy title, but Amie worked hard at the job. She’d never missed a deadline before, but she had a good relationship with her editor. After addingEmail Vivian for extensionto the September 18 box, she looked to see what else she had originally planned to get done that day.
Pitch vitamin C piece. Water plants. Test lotions.
The corner of her mouth quirked up as she recalled how she’d been planning on trying out a variety of “de-aging” facial lotions for an article. She could picture the final paragraph:
While the Celina Facial Cream had the best results of all these lotions, the most effective way of ensuring your face doesn’t age for two years is getting stuck in a time loop! Tried and tested!
She moved the pitch to the 19th, watering the plants to the 18th, and crossed out the lotion test.
At the bottom of the 17thshe’d written:Ziya friend date @ Fork and Egg (8pm).
She suddenly remembered the text she’d received that morning. The first indication that she was free from the loop. Ziya.
Amie jumped up so quickly her left knee slammed into the underside of the table.
“AGHHH. Ow.”
Limping, she crossed the apartment and retrieved her purse from its hook near the front door. After fishing out her phone, she returned the bag to its hook and hobbled back to the kitchen table to reread the texts from her ex-girlfriend:
Ziya: Hiya, feeling better this morning?
Ziya: Lmk when you’re free to reschedule our dinner
Ziya: Unless you’re not ready. Totally fine!!
Amie stared at the texts as she tried to formulate a reply, thumbs twitching with anticipation before she began tapping at the screen.
Good morning!she typed.I’m feeling much better, thanks for ask—
She deleted the message. Boring, basic. And it was perpetuating a lie, which she’d rather avoid, especially since her actions now had consequences.
I’m totally ready for this.
Amie stared at the message. Added a smiley emoji. Deleted the whole thing.
Shit, she thought.What if she sees me typing?
She swiped out of her messages and opened her notes app, then spent the next ten minutes of her newly linear life composing the perfect response.
Amie: Hey, good morning!
“Good” was a stretch, considering how she spent fifteen minutes of her morning scrubbing dog poop off of her sneaker, but she felt confident with that opener.
Amie: Thanks for checking in, I’m feeling great
Also a bit of a half-truth, but she could live with that. Time to bring it home.
Amie: Definitely down to reschedule. Free any time
Amie set down her phone with an exhale, mentally patting herself on the back. This was going well. Everything was getting back on track. Soon the time loop would be a distant memory, something she’d think back to at eighty and wonder if it had just been a bad mushroom trip (if she ever decided to try mushrooms).
She was finishing up planning the rest of her week when the phone lit up with a reply from Ziya:
