Dad never stops eating. He looks older than he used to: there’s gray hair at his temples and his mouth is framed by deep grooves when he frowns.
I hesitate. “Are we eating together tonight?”
Mom shakes her head without turning around. “I have a meeting.”
The tiny bit of intimacy we just shared already feels like a distant memory. “See you both later then.”
I fly out of the room and toward the front of the house. Wes was right—I stayed exactly the same after I traveled through the time machine, but I returned to a world I barely recognize. My family and friends expect me to be Lydia 2, with her thoughts and memories, and from the minute I arrived back in 2012 I’ve been trying to learn how to become this new version of myself.
It turns out that I’m the biggest mystery of all.
The red Toyota is already outside, idling on the curb near the front of my house. I rush down the driveway and yank open the passenger-side door.
“Whoa, what the hell, Lydia? Are you that excited to eat greasy fries?” Hannah asks as I slide into the battered leather seat.
“I just needed out.” I lean back and stare at the only home I’ve ever known. It has lost all of the coziness I’m used to. The gray siding is drab, and the windows are shadowed. Even the gutters look unfriendly, overflowing with leaves. My dad would never have let it get like that.
Without thinking, I reach up to touch the pocket watch Wes gave me.
“Yeah, I don’t blame you.” Hannah pulls away from the curb and heads into downtown Montauk. “We could freeze ice on your mom’s ass.”
“This is true.” But I think of that moment at the table. “She did just ask me a question about my life. Maybe she’s starting to change.”
“What kind of question?” Hannah sounds suspicious.
“Something about you and Grant,” I say vaguely, not wanting to draw attention to my mother thinking I’m a different person lately—which I am. But Hannah is the only one in my life who hasn’t changed much, and I can be myself around her in a way I can’t with anyone else.
“Well, I’m shocked. She isn’t exactly in the running for Mother of the Year.”
“Not lately anyway.” I look out the windshield as we drive around Fort Pond. The sunlight reflects off the water, and I can see the main drag of Montauk up ahead; the diner we’re headed for is right across the town green.
“So, is lover boy coming to meet us for eggs?”
I bite my bottom lip. “I guess so.”
“You know, he’s a Cancer, you’re an Aries, it’s not going to—”
“I already know what you think,” I snap. “I get it.”
“Sheesh.” Hannah sighs loudly. “Fine. New topic.”
The downtown area is packed with tourists. Hannah manages to find a parking spot on a side street, where we’re facing the beach. Even though it’s not yet noon, people cover every inch of sand. Striped umbrellas, volleyball nets, and lifeguard towers block our view of the water.
As soon as I open the car door, I smell the ocean and feel the heat of the sun beating down on my head. Sweat instantly gathers at my temples.
“Ugh, it’s like a million degrees today.” Hannah lifts up her straight black hair and fans her neck. “Let’s get to air-conditioning before I die out here.”
“You’re so dramatic.” A family passes us: two little kids run for the ocean while their parents lag behind, carrying coolers and towels and already looking disgruntled.
Hannah glances over at me. “I’m the dramatic one? Says the girl who believes in crazy government conspiracies! That’s rich, Lyd.”
I frown. “Can you just let it go?”
She holds her hands up. “You’re the one who’s always going off about time travel and aliens and scientists who fake their own death.”
“Whatever,” I mumble. “A lot of people around here believe in that stuff.”
“It doesn’t make it any less crazy.”
At the look on my face, she grabs my elbow. “Oh come on, I’m starving.” She tugs me toward the diner. “I promise not to tease you about wormholes anymore, okay?”
The diner is blasting cool air, and the shock of it causes goose bumps to rise on my skin. Hannah, who hasn’t let go of my arm, pulls me to our favorite table. The diner has a fifties feel to it, with red vinyl booths and a long, shiny, silver counter. The waitress comes by and I order a chocolate milk shake. Hannah gets coffee, black.
“What time do you have to go to work?” Hannah picks up the menu and glances at it more out of habit than necessity—we both have it memorized at this point.
“Noon.”
The waitress sets two waters down in front of us. I grab a straw and pull off the wrapper, fiddling with the fragile paper.
“I don’t know why you don’t just quit. You hate working there.”
“Yeah, but my dad needs me. We’ve been slammed lately. People watch all those home improvement shows and think they can do it themselves.”
Hannah crosses her arms over the loose brown tank dress she’s wearing. Even in this time line she dresses like a hippie. She claims that it’s an ironic homage to her free-spirit parents—her mom owns a record shop outside of town and her father is an experimental artist from Japan—but I think her family has affected her more than she lets on. Despite being insanely cynical, she does have a persistent superstitious streak.
Like her insistance that horoscopes actually mean something.
Signs. Aries. Leo. I instantly picture Wes, tall and lean, dark-haired and dark-eyed, standing by an army jeep, the black water of the ocean moving behind him. I told him Leos are supposed to be strong and protective, and he told me about being a recruit in the Montauk Project. I think that’s why he left me, in the end, because he knew they wouldn’t let him go and he wanted to keep me safe.
But who’s keeping him
