“Aunt Livi found a book in the donation bin. It looked old and creepy. But Aunt Livi thought it would be fun. Believe it or not, the other you totally predicted weird shit was going to happen, but we went ahead and did it anyway.”
Kiersten snorts. “That’s the first believable thing you’ve said since I got here.” She holds her palm up to my forehead. “And you’re sure you haven’t had a fever or anything?”
I swat her hand away. “For the last time, no.”
“I know that book.” Aunt Livi claps her hands in excitement. “I showed it to you yesterday.” She looks at me, her eyes big and round. “Well, not you-you, the other you.”
My stomach flutters with hope. “Is it brown leather with blue loopy writing? Something like Modern Magic for Practical People?”
Aunt Livi nods. “That exact one. I thought it could help you find a nice, steady boyfriend. Not erase one.”
This is good. If we have the book, then maybe there’s something in it to turn everything back to the way it was. At the very least, it will provide some evidence that I’m not making all of this up.
“Well, where is it?” My eyes search the bookshelves covering almost every wall of the store.
“I’m not sure,” she answers. “I gave it to you while you were at Wilde Beauty. Maybe it’s still there?”
We head back to the apartment to grab our shoes and are out the door in less than a minute, walking the three blocks to the store.
When its white-brick storefront comes into view, my breath catches in my throat, and my pace slows to a halt because it’s exactly how I dreamed it would be. Possibly even better.
Like most retail establishments on this busy downtown street, Wilde Beauty is narrow and long. At a closer glance, the bricks are, in fact, red, but have been painted a creamy white, which is a stylish but stark contrast to the shiny black door and painted sill of the big storefront window. Above, the word Wilde is spelled out in simple iron block letters with Beauty written below in a dainty gold script. Although the lights are all still out, I can see the arrangement of clean, all-natural beauty products displayed on mismatched wooden tables and crates. It’s simple. It’s perfect. Exactly like I envisioned.
Tears prick at the edges of my eyes because although I’ve never wanted children, I feel like I’ve just given birth.
“Yo. Marty McFly. We need the keys.” My sister holds up her palms in a gesture easily interpreted as Let’s move things along here. I pull the corgi keychain from my purse, insert one of the metal mystery keys, then, after it doesn’t fit, try the second. It slides in, buttery smooth.
There’s a beeping as I push open the door as a small alarm panel on the wall starts to go berserk. I instinctively type in 05-03-2015, Dr. Snuggles’s birthday. It seems to do the trick, as the beeping is silenced.
“Good guess?” My sister’s narrowed eyes are rightfully skeptical.
I shrug. “Apparently, this timeline’s Gemma and I have a lot in common.”
She holds her palm to my head again. I swat it away and move past her.
I know I should be looking for the book, but my holistic-loving heart cannot help but take in every tiny detail of the store. The products lining the walls find that delicate balance between truly beneficial ingredients and a price point that makes them accessible. I inch my way along the pine board floors, too afraid to touch anything out of fear that it might burst this beautiful bubble. Twice, I catch myself letting out an audible, very Aunt Livi–like “Oh my.”
“You worked your ass off to open this place almost six months ago.” My sister appears at my side with a smile on her face that I’d describe as proud. “I guess you don’t own Wilde Beauty in your timeline?”
I shake my head because the answer is the exact opposite of Wilde Beauty. “I’m a senior buyer at Eaton’s Drug Mart.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“The pay is amazing,” I explain, “but it definitely doesn’t feel like this.” I allow myself the luxury of running my fingers over a smooth aluminum shelf, then opening one of the tiny jars marked sample and rubbing a lemon-scented balm into my hands.
“Gemma, sweetheart,” Aunt Livi calls. “If you were you, where do you think you’d put the book? I’ve looked around and haven’t had any luck.”
Right. The book. The entire reason we’re here. I scan the walls and the cash-out counter, trying to figure out where Other Me may have put it. Everything is so different, I have no clue where to start.
“Honestly, I have no idea.”
My aunt nods, then braces her hands on her hips.
“I guess we divide and conquer. Gems, you take the office, Kiersten the storeroom, and I’ll check out the bathroom.”
Although my store is adorable and quaint, it’s not very big at all. Five solid minutes gives us the confidence to say the book is not here.
“I guess we’ll try your house next,” Aunt Livi suggests.
I nod, but as I do, I catch a flicker of movement outside. Adrenaline floods my veins even before I register the familiar broad shoulders and brown wavy hair of the tall pedestrian crossing the street—heading directly for my front door.
“We need to hide.”
My hulked-up adrenaline-fueled body grabs Aunt Livi by the arm, then dives at Kiersten, bringing the three of us down in a tangle of arms and legs behind the cash counter.
“What the actual fuck, Gems.” Kiersten kicks me until I roll off her. She hauls herself into a seated position next to my aunt, throwing me a dirty look.
“I don’t want him knowing we’re in here,” I shoot back in a fierce whisper.
“Who?”
The answer to her question is a sharp knock on the front door followed by a “Hello, anyone home?” in a very male, very familiar voice.
“Dax is out there.” I gesture wildly at the door. “We had a little bit of a run-in this morning. There’s a strong possibility he thinks I require medical attention.”
Before I can stop her, Kiersten’s on her hands and knees, crawling to the end of the counter.
“Get back here, you jerk,” I whisper-yell. “Don’t let him see you.”
“He’s not going to see me.” She waves me off. “I just want to see what all the drama is about.”
To her benefit, when she peeks around the corner, it’s slow and stealthy. That is, until she whips back around and says in a voice that is definitely not quiet, “Well, helloooooo, Dax. Your hallucination is hot, Gems.”
Heat flushes my face for no good reason. “He’s not hot. He’s Dax.”
“Seriously.” My sister goes in for another look. “He’s hipstery, but not too weird. And great arms. I’ve always been an arm girl.”
“Stop being creepy.” I shove her with my foot, but it does not deter her from stealing another look.
“There is nothing creepy about appreciating,” she counters as she turns back around to face me. “You can see the man’s chest muscles through his T-shirt.”
“So now you’re a chest girl too?”