Chapter Eighteen

August 27

Michael hasn’t called or texted by the next morning. I stand over the coffee maker while NPR blasts, trying to compose a text

to him that isn’t incredibly awkward.

Hey, Michael, it was great to see you last night, could we talk?

Sorry to text, do you have time for a chat?

So about last night...

I delete everything I type. I don’t even know what I would say if I did talk to Michael. The only things I know are that I wasn’t lying when I said I miss him, and I have no idea what that kiss

meant, and I also don’t regret it at all.

The back door opens and Mom comes in, nudging Mr. Grumpy in front of her. “How about a trip to the thrift store?” she says,

her voice raised over the radio.

I set my phone down on the counter. “Um. Now?”

“After you have coffee. Grumpy wouldn’t stop eating grass, so now we need to wait and see if he’s going to barf.” Mom glowers

down at the basset hound at her feet, who’s watching us placidly. “I need to buy more packing tape and Bubble Wrap anyway,

so I figured we could run over to Main Street and you could help me unload everything at the thrift store.”

My pulse speeds up. Going to Main Street means an easy excuse to stop at In Between Books. And I need to get back there. I

need to talk to my younger self. I still don’t know how, or what on earth to say, but if the present-day version of Michael

won’t talk to me...

Well, talking to Young Darby seems like the next best thing.

“Yeah. Sure.” The coffee maker beeps and I pick up one of the birthday mugs—this one features a pink-haired stick person named Bob. A masterpiece by Darby, age seven. “Give me an hour to get caffeinated and take a shower.”

Oak Falls’s single thrift store is in the basement of First Church, the Presbyterian church at one end of Main Street, which

has a plaque out front proudly proclaiming it as the oldest church in Oak Falls—in case First didn’t make that obvious enough. It’s an old brick building with a tall white steeple that has a big clockface on one side

and a bell tower that still chimes on the hour.

The thrift store in the basement is basically like any other thrift store: random pieces of mismatched furniture, shelves

of knickknacks, and racks of clothes that aren’t remotely sorted, all under a low ceiling and ugly fluorescent lights. The

old lady staffing the store just nods when we show her everything in the trunk of the Jeep and waves me and Mom to a back

room to unload everything. It takes several trips, and by the end, my arms feel like wet noodles.

But Mom still lets out a contented sigh when we leave the thrift store and go back to the Jeep, where Mr. Grumpy is waiting.

“Finally rid of those skis!” she says. “Now I can actually start running things over to the condo.”

“You’ve got movers coming,” I say, opening the passenger door and wiggling my way under Mr. Grumpy, who doesn’t seem inclined

to give up the seat.

“Yes, yes, but I’m not trusting them with everything. Some things are too precious.” She turns the key and the Jeep rumbles

to life. “Anyway, I’ve got to pick up the keys from Cheryl, so I might as well use it as an excuse to take a few things over

there.”

We leave the church parking lot and go all of twenty feet to a free spot on Main Street, so Mom can go to Floyd’s in search

of packing supplies. Noon on a Saturday is the busiest I’ve seen Main Street so far. Every table outside Magic Beans is full,

and there are actually people waiting in front of the Oak Café.

“See?” Mom waves a hand at the cars that rumble past us on their way up Main Street. “Traffic!”

“Yeah. Sure.” But I’m not paying attention. My eyes have gone, without me even thinking about it, to the frosted window of In Between Books just a few storefronts away.

Mom follows my gaze. “We should go in!”

I jerk. “What?”

“The bookstore!” Mom clips Mr. Grumpy’s leash to his collar. “Let’s see if Hank is there and you can say hi. You haven’t seen

him yet, right?”

I stare at her. But I’m not thinking about Hank. I’m thinking about something else.

Every time I’ve walked into the bookstore, I’ve been alone. No one’s come with me—not since I’ve been back in Oak Falls.

What would happen if I walked in with my mom? Would she travel with me?

My heart slams against my ribs. Forget trying to take a picture with my phone; if I could take my mom with me and she could

see everything for herself...

Well, I suppose her head might explode at seeing me and Young Darby at the same time. Maybe Young Darby’s head would explode

at seeing Mom, because there’s no way the younger version of me wouldn’t recognize her , even if she’s older and grayer than she was in 2009.

I don’t care. I want her to come with me. Because if she could, then I wouldn’t be alone, trying to figure out why this is happening or what’s going to happen between Young Darby and Michael or any of it.

And in this moment, I desperately want to not be alone.

“Yeah.” My voice cracks. My throat feels like sandpaper. “Let’s go in.”

Mom hands Mr. Grumpy’s leash to me, and I lift him down to the sidewalk.

“I hope Hank’s here,” Mom says as we walk up to the door. “He’s not in the store much anymore. The latest I heard is that

his daughter’s taking over. You wouldn’t have met her, I think. She grew up with her mom over in Monroe...”

I can hear my pulse in my ears. “Should we leave Grumpy outside?”

“Oh, they don’t mind Grumpy.” Mom reaches out and grasps the doorknob. “Did I tell you there are book clubs now? The daughter—her

name is Ann—she’s made a lot of nice changes, I think...”

The door opens. The bell jingles. We walk in.

And it’s wrong.

It smells different. The musty, comforting smell of books and boxes and dust is gone. The air smells flowery. A fake kind

of flowery, like scented candles or room spray. The table of new releases is in the same place, but the sign is different—it’s

a typed sign instead of the literal sheet of plain paper with Hank’s handwriting in Sharpie that used to be taped to the table.

The handwritten signs on the shelves are gone too, replaced by printed labels. And instead of the magazine stand, there’s

a big flat table piled with pretty journals, notecards, mugs, and candles.

I guess that probably explains the flowery smell.

The store is more crowded than I’ve ever seen it. It’s still not exactly full, but there are people. People looking at the

pretty journals. People browsing the shelves. People picking up books from the table of new releases and flipping through

them.

I can’t breathe. This isn’t 2009. I know it isn’t, but I pull out my phone anyway. Just to make sure.

It wakes up, battery at 67 percent.

“Hank isn’t around today, is he?”

I look up. My mom has wandered up to the counter, Mr. Grumpy plodding along behind her.

The woman behind the counter shakes her head. She’s tall, with light-brown skin and dark wavy hair—in her early thirties,

probably. “Sorry,” she says. “He hasn’t been in for a couple weeks.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Mom sighs. “Knee still giving him problems?”

I force myself to move, to walk up to the table of new releases. I already know what I’m going to find, but I flip back one

of the book covers anyway.

The publication date is this year. An actual new release.

I didn’t travel.

“Darby!” Mom turns around, eyes searching until she finds me. She beckons.

I go up to the counter, but I feel like I’m on autopilot.

Why didn’t I travel?

“This is Ann,” Mom says, gesturing to the woman behind the counter. “This is my son, Darby. He used to work here with your

dad back in high school.”

“Oh, how cool.” Ann gives me a friendly smile.

I mirror it, my mouth stretching while my mind feels a million miles away.

“Isn’t the store nice now?” Mom raises her eyebrows, prompting me. Say something nice, Darby.

“Yeah. It looks...”

Different. Strange. Cute and Instagrammable.

“It looks nice,” I say.

Mom shoots me a frown, but Ann just smiles again. “Thanks,” she says. “It’s been great to pull more people in from the town.

We have book clubs.” She reaches to a neat stack of bookmarks on the counter and holds one out to me. A list of book clubs

and their meeting dates, all against a soft purple background dotted with flowers. “If you’re around, come by and check one

out. The next one is the murder mystery club, Labor Day weekend.”

“That one’s very good,” my mom tells me. “Jeannie and I went last month and read an Agatha Christie book.”

I nod, looking at the bookmark, but I’m barely seeing it.

Is everything just over now? Am I done traveling?

My insides clench. I don’t want this to be over—not yet. I can’t believe the only reason I traveled for four days straight

was just so the universe could remind me that I was confused and lost and kind of a moron as a teenager.

Maybe it’s my mom. Maybe something about her presence messed up the wormhole or the singularity or the freaking portal or whatever it is that I traveled through. Maybe there was a reason I only ever traveled alone—maybe that’s how it works.

I need to get us out of here. I need us to leave so I can come back alone.

“I’ll definitely check this out.” I wave the bookmark vaguely, forcing as friendly a grin as I can manage. “Mom, should we...?”

I jerk my head toward the door.

She looks surprised. “You sure? We can look around more.”

“Let’s go get the packing supplies.”

She shrugs. “Okay, then. Nice to see you,” she says to Ann. “Tell your dad we came by. Come on, Grumps.”

As soon as we’re back outside, Mom shoots me a judgmental look. “You could have talked to Ann more. I thought you might like to hear how the bookstore’s doing these days!”

“I stopped in before,” I say defensively, and then pause. I shouldn’t argue; this is the perfect excuse. “Actually, you’re

right. It might be nice to look around the store and hear about these book clubs.” I wave the bookmark. “You could run over

to Floyd’s and I’ll come meet you in a few minutes?”

“Well...” Mom hesitates. “You sure you don’t want company?”

I feel slightly guilty. She wants to go with me—of course she does. She wants me to get on board with the new bookstore just

like she wanted me to get on board with the condo.

God, does Mom think I hate Oak Falls too?

I push that thought out of my head. “I’m good. I’ll meet up with you in a bit.”

She looks a little deflated. “Okay. If you’re sure. Come on, Grumps.”

I wait until she’s gone far enough in the direction of Floyd’s five-and-dime that I’m pretty sure she’s not going to change

her mind and turn around. And then I check my phone one more time (still nothing from Michael), turn for the door of In Between,

and pull it open.

Musty smell. Magazine stand. Handwritten signs. And the store is empty—all the people who were browsing a minute ago have

vanished.

Oh, thank god .

“Hey.”

I turn to the counter. Young Darby is sitting behind it, holding a book and looking at me.

Maybe it’s relief that my younger self is still here. Maybe it’s everything that happened last night and the deafening silence

from Michael. Maybe it’s frustration at myself, that I still don’t know why this is happening, and now I only have three more

days until Michael and I fall out and set everything in motion that’ll lead us here, to a kiss I don’t understand and this

deafening silence...

But I snap. I’m too tired of not having answers, and I’m too worn out to pretend that I care about whether I seem like a creeper

or not.

“Why are you so eager to get out of here?” I say.

Young Darby’s eyebrows jump in surprise. “What?”

“The other day, when we were talking about boarding school, when you were talking to Michael... it’s like you can’t get out of here fast enough. What’s so bad about Oak Falls?”

Young Darby shifts awkwardly, shoulders hunching forward, chest caving. “Nothing.”

Well, that’s an obvious lie. “Then why do you want to leave?”

“Because it’s a good academic program. And it’s just for a semester.” Young Darby sounds defensive. And also like these are

lines my younger self has said a million times—justifying it, even though I can’t remember who I was justifying it to. Michael?

My mom? Myself?

“Yeah,” I say, and I can’t stop the hint of bitterness creeping into my voice, “that’s not an answer.”

Now Young Darby shoots me a glower. “Why do you care? You don’t know me.”

Heat rushes through me. Because in this moment, I feel like I don’t. I don’t know this kid in front of me at all. “Maybe not.

But I know what it’s like to fuck things up with a friend and I feel like that’s where you’re heading.”

Young Darby stares at me, looking genuinely confused. “What are you talking about? Michael and I are fine.”

It’s the clearest answer I’ve gotten so far, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. It just makes me more frustrated. Because

if Young Darby can’t tell me why everything is about to fall apart with Michael, then nobody can, and then why am I traveling

anyway? What’s the point of all this?

What am I doing here?

“You’re not fine,” I say, and I don’t even know who I’m really talking about. “Michael doesn’t seem to hate Oak Falls. And

clearly you do, and all you want to do is run away from it.”

“Michael’s not a broken, messed-up weirdo like I am!” Young Darby shouts.

It bursts out, like something my younger self has been holding in for a long time, and it hits me with the force of a gut

punch, the words curling in like claws.

“You’re not a messed-up weirdo,” I say, but it’s flat in my ears. An automatic response that I’m not even sure I believe.

“Thanks.” Young Darby’s voice comes out sour. “But you have no idea.”

“How would you know?” I sound petty and challenging, but I don’t care. “You don’t know anything about me, either.”

“Yeah, well, nobody else seems to feel like this,” Young Darby says, as bitter as I sounded a minute ago. “Everyone else here

seems to exist just fine—except me. So I think I know.”

I have a sudden, very unhealthy urge to strangle myself. “You don’t have any way to know what anyone else is feeling.”

“And you don’t know what I’m feeling, and you don’t know me,” Young Darby shoots back.

“Fine.” This is going nowhere. I don’t know what to say to convince my younger self that I get it, that I do know, without just telling this version of me that I’m trans. That we’re trans.

But I can’t do that. Why would Young Darby even believe me? What if I make it worse because Young Darby isn’t ready and can’t

hear it? The last thing I need is to send my younger self into an even worse state of denial.

I rub my eyes. How did I realize I was trans anyway? How did I really figure it out?

I can’t remember.

I think it crept up on me. And then it was just there. But I can’t remember some singular moment everything shifted or what

pushed me over the edge. I remember when I came out to Olivia. I remember when I told Ian.

But I don’t remember the moment I admitted it to myself. The moment I understood anything clearer than broken, messed-up weirdo .

This isn’t helping. None of this is helping. And I need to go catch up with my mom, before she comes back to the bookstore

looking for me.

I don’t know how to fix this, and I’m suddenly too overwhelmed and angry to try.

“Fine,” I say again, like that settles anything. And then I turn around and storm out of the bookstore, leaving Young Darby

behind.