She smiles and takes the food to a plastic table, where she sits on a plastic chair in a plastic restaurant to eat and people-watch.
She has been told about the American obesity crisis. She can see it. She looks round and feels thin. It gets worse too, in the future. Much worse. Britain and Europe aren’t far behind, but at least they pass laws to reduce sugar and fat content.
Tastes nice though. She eats slowly, but only so she can people-watch and hear snatches of conversations. These people are probably all dead by the time she is born. Hang on, this is 2010. Ria was born in 2039, so that’s twenty-nine years from now. Okay, maybe they’re not all dead. Some. The rest are just old.
Nihilism settles. A profound sense of what’s the fucking point? Why bother? She misses home and hanging out on sets. She was quite good at costumes and set design too. Not the actual sets, but the little things in the foreground or background that added realism. She thinks back to the day she stepped in when the set designer walked out in a huff. She designed a whole scene. Furniture. Background props. Everything. It was the main scene too. The part where the bad guy gets his comeuppance. That was the best day ever. She got a kiss on the cheek from the director, and even had her name in the credits. She was so thrilled. She posted it straight away and had the biggest reaction she ever had on social media. She misses drinking and sex. She misses being promiscuous and not giving a shit because she was wealthy and didn’t care; now she has access to millions of dollars and a time machine and couldn’t feel more empty inside. She finishes eating, but wants more. Food is comfort.
‘Help you?’
‘Six nuggets, please.’
‘Hey, British girl. Still hungry, huh? You wanna apple pie? Free. Call it a vacation gift.’
‘Won’t you get in trouble?’
‘Nah, I’m leaving in a week. Enlisted. Marine Corps.’
‘What, like a soldier?’
‘Yeah, but better – a US Marine, hooyah.’
‘Cool. Well, good luck.’
‘What’s your name, British girl?’
‘Maria.’
‘Hispanic?’
‘No, I said I’m British. Everyone calls me Ria.’
‘Ria. Nice. I like that.’
‘Thanks.’
She goes back to the plastic table to watch people, although now she is glancing over at the boy behind the counter. Not a boy. A man. Young. Black. Very handsome. Big arms. She likes big arms. His teeth are very clean too. She likes clean teeth. She dips a nugget in some ketchup and bites into it as he looks over and smiles. She smiles back, then covers her mouth because it’s rude to smile or speak when you are eating. He seems to find that funny and laughs.
She’s full, but she wants to get more nuggets so she can talk to the nice boy. She thinks about getting another drink, but this is America and she can refill from the soda machine on her own.
‘Hey, Ria, British girl, more nuggets?’
‘Um, no, thanks. Do you have a napkin or a serviette, please? I spilled some Coca-Cola on my leg.’
‘Hey, sure thing. Let me get you a wet wipe.’
‘Thanks.’
‘So how’s the vacation in Milwaukee?’
‘Boring.’
‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty-two. You?’
‘Twenty-one. Last week.’
‘Happy birthday for last week.’
‘Thanks. Say, y’all gotta get back somewhere?’
‘Pardon?’
‘I said, y’all gotta get back? Go home. You know, you on a curfew?’
‘Curfew? I’m twenty-two.’
‘Hey, just checking,’ he says, holding his hands up and smiling broadly. ‘Wanna go to a party?’
‘Me?’
‘No, the girl behind you.’
‘Oh, sorry,’ Ria says, looking round.
‘Yes, you,’ he laughs. ‘Wanna go? Few beers, nothing serious, you know.’
‘Where is it?’
‘Bar near here.’
She knows she shouldn’t. Miri told her the rules. Fuck Miri. Fuck everyone. ‘Okay, what time?’
‘I finish in an hour. Wanna eat more nuggets and wait, or, like, come back?’
‘I can’t eat anymore nuggets. I only got those because you’re cute.’
He laughs. ‘I thought British girls were, like, totally shy.’
‘I am,’ she says. ‘I’ll come back. One hour?’
‘Sure thing. One hour.’
‘What’s your name?’ Ria asks, hoping that’s it’s something totally cool and American, like Brad or Chuck.
‘Derek.’
Never mind. He’s got nice arms and clean teeth.
She walks slowly round the mall feeling like a fat bloater for eating a Big Mac, twelve nuggets, an apple pie and the largest cup of Coca-Cola she has ever seen. She burps softly, checking to make sure no one heard her. She shouldn’t be going to a party or drinking with anyone. Miri said to keep interactions to an absolute minimum. Ria can’t understand why though. Everything bad that happens takes place in 2061, which is the future from here, and even if someone else has a time machine, which she knows is a possibility Miri has not ruled out, it still means these other time travellers would have to know where they are. Whatever.
She stops at a window display and immediately gets an idea for Emily’s room. Emily seems more mature and refined, so her room should reflect that. It should be serious and elegant. Ria stops herself from falling into a trap of decorating rooms to reflect perceptions of character, otherwise Harry’s would be a military cot with camouflage netting on the walls. What about the corridor at the end? That needs something. Painting definitely. That will really help get rid of that austere look. The gaps in the main room too. They need sorting.
What happens after all this? What then? They’ll train to get ready and go back for the thing at her house – but then what? The end-of-the-world thing, she supposes. And after that? Will she just live in the bunker forever? She strolls through the store half seeing the displays while half lost in her own thoughts, then spots the white, shabby-chic low chest and instantly knows it’s perfect for Emily’s room. She lifts the lid to make sure a pair of assault boots can fit inside.
‘Hey, you came back,’ Derek says an hour later.
‘I did.’
‘What’s that?’
‘A shabby-chic chest.’
‘Damn,’ Derek says, staring at it on the low trolley.
‘Help me take it to my van?’
‘Sure thing. You buy furniture on vacation?’
Shit. ‘For my aunt. She’s American.’
‘From Milwaukee?’
‘California.’
‘We’re in Milwaukee.’
‘She’s from California. She lives here now.’
‘Where she live?’
‘In Milwaukee. I like your arms. You work out?’
‘Every damn day, hooyah. I ran track in school. I was a quarterback too and had trials, but I wanna serve my country. I enlisted.’
‘Yes, you said.’
‘Marine Corps. Hooyah. Yes, ma’am.’
‘Wow,’ Ria says, nodding at him as he pulls the trolley out the doors of the mall and into the car park.
‘Where’s the truck?’
‘Van. Over there, other side.’
‘Your aunt like furniture then?’
‘She likes guns. Where’s the bar?’
‘Over there.’
‘Do you live with your family?’