FOUR

 

“What are you watching, Pres?” It was getting dark outside. Mom was in the kitchen making dinner, and Preston had plunked down on the couch watching TV for hours. Usually he’d be playing Xbox or games on his IPad.

Glancing back at me, he raised his brows as if he couldn’t believe I was asking. Was this a show I often watched too? Plopping down beside him, I smiled. Actually, I did know what this was.

“Oh, my gosh. This is Full House, right? Man, they’re so young here,” I said.

“What?” Preston’s forehead knit together.

I clamped my mouth shut. I really needed to keep my comments about the future to myself. “Nothing,” I mumbled.

Mom walked in the room. “Dinner will be ready soon. I’m dieting again, so I’m sticking to one of my microwaved meals. I’m making you guys some pasta though.”

Microwaved meals? Mom didn’t eat processed food. She was all about the plant-based organic whole foods. “Is that healthy?”

“Yeah.” She smiled. “They’re only like three or four hundred calories. It’s awesome.”

The 2018 version of my mom would be so grossed out right now. But it’s whatever. With the amount of junk food I’d consumed over the years at Ava’s house, I had no right to judge.

My heart pinched at the thought of Ava. I missed her. It had only been a day, but it was weird not talking to her. We texted and snapchatted all the time.

I glanced at the old-fashioned clock on the wall. “Hey, when are we facetiming Dad?” It was odd for him not to have called by now.

“Facetiming?” Mom scrunched up her nose. “I really need to get up with the new teen lingo.”

My face warmed. “Oh, yeah. I…just meant…when is he going to call?”

Mom shrugged. “He probably won’t. He’s been having trouble getting through this week.”

Heart sinking, I bit my lip. “So, we might not hear from him at all?”

“You act like that’s uncommon.” Mom laughed bitterly, her tone throwing me.

I felt slightly ill. “How often do we talk to him?”

Mom’s face scrunched up into a funny expression. “You’ve been acting so strange today. I think Nick is right. You might be sick.”

I was tired of everyone saying that. I wasn’t sick. I was trying to wrap my brain around this new timeperiod.

“I’m fine.” I ran a hand down my face. “It’s just been a long day.”

Mom placed a hand on my shoulder. “Well, I’ll get dinner on the table and then you can go lie down and listen to music or read a book or something.”

Funny, that was the first thing anyone had said today that sounded normal. Those were things I would’ve done in 2018 too.

A few minutes later, we were all seated around the dining table, Preston and me with our pasta and Mom with her microwaved diet dinner. After watching my mom eat a diet consisting of raw veggies, quinoa, brown rice and tofu for years, this was very strange.

“How was your step class?” I asked after swallowing down a mouthful of pasta. I’d been relieved when I came home from school and found Mom in jeans and a t-shirt.

“Good.” Mom smiled. “Kelly and I had fun.”

Thank god their relationship was still solid.

“How was school?” Mom asked me.

“Fine.” Weird. Different. Sort of awful, but also sort of awesome.

“Cheer practice?”

“Same.” I shoved another forkful of food into my mouth, hoping to stop this line of questioning. I wasn’t even sure how I was supposed to answer. How did “nineties Remy” respond? I hadn’t figured that out yet.

“What about you, Pres? How was school?” I sighed with relief when Mom moved on from me.

“Good.” He wiped pasta sauce from his face with the back of his hand.

I’d seen him do the same thing at dinner last night. It bothered me then. Now I found it comforting.

After dinner, Mom poured herself a glass of wine and sat on the couch with the remote. I headed into my room. Glancing in the corner where my computer desk used to sit, I sighed. What was there to do in 1993? I couldn’t watch a YouTube video or scroll through vines or memes. There weren’t a million Snapchat stories or pictures on Instagram to check out. Sinking down onto my bed, I wished for the millionth time that I could text Ava. I wanted to tell her everything about Nick. How he touched my face and held me. How he seemed so concerned about me not feeling well. It was like a dream. Like an incredibly epic dream.

But there was no one to tell. My heart sagged.

Talking with Ava and my dad were constants. It was something I could count on every night. I wasn’t sure what to do without them.

Reaching out, I touched the Discman that sat on my nightstand. If it was my wish that brought me here, could a wish take me back?

My phone rang, scaring the crap out of me. Man, that was loud. My cell was much quieter.

Heart beating erratically, I picked it up.

“Hello?” I breathed deep to slow down my racing pulse.

“Hey, Rem.” It was Brooke. Calling me. Voluntarily. Talk about weird. “Are you alone?”

I glanced around. “Uh…yep.”

“I just didn’t want to interrupt anything between you and Nick. Seemed like things were getting pretty hot and heavy after cheer practice.”

My face heated up, remembering the way Nick held me. The way his fingers felt against my back. “Yeah, they were.”

“Oh, my gosh. Tell me everything.” Brooke squealed.

I bit my lip. “Well…there’s nothing really to tell, I guess. Nothing happened. We sorta had a connection. I honestly thought he might kiss me, but then he pulled back because he thinks I’m sick.” Frowning, I was surprised at how easily I shared all this with Brooke. It was the kind of thing I usually would only tell Ava. But Ava wasn’t here. We weren’t even friends. And it appeared that Brooke and I were.

“I don’t blame him. You do seem sick or something,” she said. “But I told you he liked you. Now do you believe me?”

My insides quivered. Nick liked me? It seemed too good to be true. But he kind of acted like he did. “Maybe,” I finally answered.

“Not maybe,” she mimicked the way I said ‘maybe,’ and for a second was an ugly reminder of the Brooke I’d always known. But then she added, “Trust me. That boy is sprung on you, and he is fiiiine.”

I laughed, my heart flipping in my chest. “Totally.”

Only a few minutes after hanging up with Brooke, my phone rang again. This time it was Nick.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked immediately after I answered.

He called to check on me? How sweet is that? I swallowed hard. “Good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Seriously, I was the worst conversationalist in the world. “At least I think I will be by tomorrow. Just gonna get to bed early.” Ugh. Super lame.

“All right. Well, I’ll let you go then.”

“Okay.” Disappointment sank into my gut. Why had I said I was going to bed early? No wonder he’d never given me the time of day before.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said, his voice all smooth and low. “Sweet dreams.”

My mouth dried out. I could barely formulate a response. Oh, I’d have sweet dreams. I was sure of that. And I knew that he’d star in every single one of them.

My lips were plastered into a smile when I hung up the phone. Lying back on my pillow I stared up at the ceiling. Nick was picking me up again tomorrow. My insides danced. Maybe it wasn’t so bad in 1993.

Maybe I’d stay a little longer.