“Because then he wouldn’t be born?” Renner ventures.
“Exactly. But according to the grandfather paradox, Marty wouldn’t have to worry because his parents would meet regardless, in a different way.”
I blink. “But how? If he prevented them from meeting?”
“Think of it like a pool table. If you hit one of the balls, it knocks out a particular pattern. If you somehow interfered with the ball’s journey, the theory states that somehow, the interaction with the other balls on the table would force the journey back on its original path.”
“So what you’re saying is, regardless of interference, the outcome remains the same?”
“Exactly.” He leans forward and eyes us suspiciously. “Can I ask . . . why the sudden curiosity?”
We simultaneously shake our heads. Renner starts fidgeting and tapping his knee. “No reason. Nothing in particular—”
“We just watched a documentary on time travel and thought we’d come chat with an expert,” I cut in. “Thank you for answering our questions. It’s been really helpful.”
His eyes move back and forth between us. “Just so you know, time travel shouldn’t be fucked with. Ever. The consequences could be more severe than you can imagine,” he warns, like a sci-fi movie character.
“But I thought you said destiny is predetermined?” Renner asks.
Uncle Larry points at him and nods. “I did. But I also said it’s just a theory. Theories aren’t facts.”
Renner breaks the heavy silence as we drive home. “So if Uncle Larry’s theory is correct, even if we do manage to go back to seventeen, we can’t alter our path? We’d end up engaged regardless?”
My brain can’t comprehend. I have free will. I must. Right? “It doesn’t make sense. I mean, what if I purposely locked myself in a room for the rest of my life? Then I’d never have the chance to fall in love with you.”
He gives me a side-eye. “You’d rather live in solitary confinement than marry me?”
I consider that. Solitary confinement would probably be hell, come to think of it. “I’ll have to give that one some more thought.”
A smile hovers on his lips as he studies the road ahead. “Hey, that’s progress.”
TWENTY
Maybe my mom was right. Maybe adulthood is nothing but winging it and hoping for the best,” I wonder aloud.
Case in point: we’ve spent the last hour googling how to make the perfect fluffy pancakes but not actually making any due to lack of ingredients. I know. We’re supposed to do More Important Things with our Saturday afternoon—like time traveling. But we were starved by the time we returned from Uncle Larry’s.
“It doesn’t have to be,” Renner says, sliding a plate of sliced apple and peanut butter in front of me. When I peer at it a little too long, he adds, “We need at least one nutrient today.”
“I suppose that’s fair,” I say, plopping onto the stool, admiring how perfectly he sliced the apple. Even the skin is removed. “You don’t eat skin?”
“Nope. Do you know how many hands touch it at the grocery store? This is how my mom does it,” he says proudly, slathering his slice with a generous helping of peanut butter. He hands it to me.
“But this is exactly my point. Adulthood is boring so far. Who voluntarily eats apples without being forced by a parent?”
He shrugs. “Well, what do you suggest, Queen of Lists? Anything on your adult bucket list before we go back?” He nods at the pen and a crisp pad of paper. I note that the pad is personalized with The Renners in calligraphy across the top. Adult me is serious about stationery.
I flex my fingers, then pick up the pen, my list-making compulsions begging for release. “How big are we talking here? Because I have some dreams.”
He smirks. “Anything.”
I tighten my fingers around the pen, mind brimming with possibilities. “I want to go on a hot-air balloon ride over the Sahara.”
He tilts his head in consideration. “Okay. Not sure we can afford that. But let’s put it down as a maybe.”
“Oh, I’ve always wanted to go to Borneo, Indonesia, to see the orangutans before they go extinct. We could take one of those riverboats! Or visit one of those baby-elephant sanctuaries in Thailand. Or drive a Formula One car.”
“You like Formula One?” he asks through a bite of apple.
“Maybe. Why is that such a surprise?”
“It’s just . . . I didn’t know you were so adventurous.”
I shrug, inwardly pleased. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
A tiny smile plays at the corners of his lips. “Anyway, Formula One is dangerous,” he warns. “Let’s put that in the maybe section too.”
I swat his forearm. “Why are you pooh-poohing all my ideas? Aren’t you the ‘big-picture’ guy?”
“I wasn’t thinking literal bucket list or grandiose ideas. Just . . . realistic things we can do locally. Or at least in this country.”
I shift on the stool, shocked and frankly a little turned on by Renner being the voice of reason. “What’s realistic? Like skinny-dipping at the beach?”
He points at me, excitement renewed. “Exactly. Add that to the list.”
Flames heat my cheeks as I write it down. I’m being bombarded with images of naked Renner.
“What realistic things do you want to do with our newfound freedom?” I ask.
He ponders for a minute, stroking his chin. “I’ve always wanted to be in a food fight. My mom would slay me if I ever got food on her furniture.”
“Oh yeah?” I toss the last slice of apple at him and it bounces off his chest.
His jaw drops. “You just assaulted me with fruit.”
“I did.”
His gaze heats. “All right. I see how it is. You’ll be sorry,” he says, and turns to our nearly empty fridge. Before I can duck, he’s squirted a stream of mustard in my face.
Through my shock, I manage to let out a bloodcurdling battle cry and dive over the island like a grenade has just gone off behind me. I retrieve the ketchup bottle from the refrigerator door and promptly squeeze it over his head.
Within minutes, we’re collapsed on the floor, covered in every condiment in our fridge, including a can of expired whipped cream.
“That was epic,” he says, chest heaving with laughter.
I relish the vibration of his voice; then something sticky drips into my eyeball. As I wipe it away with my fist, I spot the fridge door slathered in ketchup. It looks like oozing blood.
Our kitchen is a complete disaster. Like my life right now. And as exhilarating as food fights and elaborate vacation plans are, fun never got me anywhere.
“Now I get why adults are so against food fights. The cleanup.” I let out a pained sigh. “Renner?”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve been thinking about something you said this morning. About movies with time travel.”
“Right.”
“In the movies, people are always going back in time to change things. But if Larry is right and we can’t change things, what if we’re just . . . meant to learn a lesson or something?”
“Interesting. What kind of lesson?”
I shrug. This is one of those abstract thoughts that sounded better in my head. “I don’t know. Everything in our lives is different now, right? Your parents are divorced. Kassie and I aren’t friends anymore. We have no memories between then and now. What if we need to fill in all these gaps before we try to go back?” When I say it out loud, I’m not overly convinced of that path. But it feels better to do something, anything, than lie here and admit defeat.
He sits up. “That’s not such a bad idea. I mean, worst case, if our future is set in stone, it’d be nice to know what happened the past thirteen years. Especially if we’re stuck here.”
“We won’t be stuck here,” I tell him, more to convince myself.