I might have restricted my response to a dirty look, but I catch Trey’s face—embarrassed, a little hurt—and can’t hold my tongue. “The lasagna is perfect, Katherine. It’s lasagna, for God’s sake. It’s supposed to be crispy around the edges.”
And then I realize I sound shrill and mean, which isn’t really the picture I want to paint for this Trey who barely knows me. So I give her a smile, hoping to pass it off as a joke.
She doesn’t smile back, just slides her chair from the table and says, “Trey, it was a pleasure to meet you . . . again. I think I’m going to skip the rest of the evening, since I’m feeling tired and I suspect Kate will just have to introduce you to us all over again at some point. And please, try not to keep Kate up too late—she has a lot of work to do tomorrow.”
Trey, as always, is super polite. “My pleasure, Mrs. Shaw. I promised my dad that I’d be in by ten, so I’ll have to clear out within the hour anyway.”
That seems a bit odd. We usually wrapped things up by midnight . . . before. If Trey had a curfew, he never mentioned it, and ten o’clock? Yikes. That was my curfew in middle school.
I help Dad serve the cheesecake. Connor takes his and exits, probably checking on Katherine. Dad, Trey, and I chat briefly about Briar Hill, whether Trey liked his school down in Peru, and something about a sport-fishing trip Dad took to Costa Rica a few years back.
I watch Trey as he tells Dad about fishing down in Peru. His hair is a little longer and blonder than I’ve seen it, and his skin is a few shades darker. His nose is a little pink in places, like it suffered a bit of a sunburn a few days back. I guess this is his summer look. We never made it to summer last time. I want to just sit there and drink him in with my eyes, but I make myself look away to avoid giving off a stalker vibe.
I put the dishes in the sink, and Dad makes some excuse about course planning, which leaves me alone with Trey. Well, except for Daphne, but I’m kind of glad she’s still here, because I’m suddenly feeling awkward and petting her gives me something to do with my hands.
“I’m sorry about Katherine,” I say. “Earlier.”
Of course, earlier, since she’s not in the room now. He must think I’m an idiot.
“It was rude of me to be so late, and she called me on it. Not your fault.”
“Not really yours, either.”
Trey shrugs. “No, it was my fault. I should have left earlier. There were just a bunch of things that Dad wanted me to get done today, and it took a lot longer than I thought.” Then he reaches down to pet Daphne, too, and I’m reminded that this is at least as odd for him as it is for me.
This awkwardness feels a lot like our last date. We watched the movie, which was okay, but it was the sort of generic date-night flick that neither of us really likes. In retrospect, I should have taken him up on the offer to pick the film, since I have a better idea of what we’d both like. We held hands in the theater, which was nice, and he kissed me good night, a kiss very similar to the one he gave me on the porch that first night in the other timeline—brief, tentative, a little shy.
“You want to go outside?” I say. “It’s kind of dark, but there should be enough light from the patio for the Frisbee.”
He looks surprised. “You want to play Frisbee?”
I laugh. “Well, not especially, but Daphne will be all over it. You used to . . . I mean, I . . .”
I sigh, understanding a little better now why Kiernan has such a difficult time finding the correct pronouns when he talks to me.
“Sure,” Trey says. “Sounds like fun.”
And it is fun. It’s hard not to have a good time when Daphne is so enthusiastic. Trey tends to overthrow it, because he’s not used to her range, so she keeps bringing it back to me, giving him these disappointed side glances. And I have to wonder—does she remember him? She’s been under the CHRONOS field, too. Is she juggling two sets of memories—one where she’s just meeting Trey and another where he should already know exactly where she likes her ears scratched and how far to fling the Frisbee?
Trey overthrows it again, and this time it lands near the garage, skidding under the base of this rusty, swinging bench left behind by the previous owners. The Frisbee is wedged in pretty tight, and Daphne is a little spooked by the fact that the swing moves each time she tries to grab it.
I run over to help her, and Trey follows. He holds the swing back as I dislodge the disc, and then, after I toss it to Daphne, he pulls me down onto the bench.
This kiss is much closer to right. And Daphne doesn’t even pretend to play chaperone this time, so maybe she does remember Trey.
“Were you serious about needing to be home by ten?” I ask when the kiss ends. “Because we could watch a movie or—”
“No,” he says. “I really do have to go. Dad actually wanted me to cancel because . . . well, we’re flying out to see my mom really early tomorrow morning. She’s on assignment in Haiti, and she wants to be with me for my birthday, so . . .”
“Oh. I didn’t know.”
“Neither did I. Dad just told me yesterday—he’s suddenly all about surprises.” Trey’s voice takes on a slightly snarky tone, and I’m about to ask why, but he continues. “Anyway, it was very last minute, so the only flight he could get leaves at five thirty in the morning. I’ll need to be up by around three.”
“Ouch. How long will you be gone?” I try to keep the tone light, because I don’t want to be that kind of girlfriend, the one who clings too tight, especially since I’m not really even his girlfriend at this point.
“Should be back the Friday before school starts.”
“What will you do in Haiti?”
“Well, we won’t actually be in Haiti. Mom wants a break—this is her vacation time—so we’re going to meet her at Punta Cana, over in the Dominican Republic. It looks nice, but to be honest, I’m a little beached out. I’d rather stay in DC. Unfortunately, that’s not an option.”
“I completely understand about family members dictating travel plans. I have a few trips coming up that I’d much rather skip, believe me.”
“So . . . you really went to Dallas 1963 today? Did you bring back any souvenirs?”
I might be imagining it, but there’s a tiny hint of doubt in his voice, and I suspect that when he said souvenirs what he really meant was proof. I’m not surprised, but I make a mental note to give him an actual demo at some point in the near future.
“No souvenirs,” I say, although my mind flashes briefly to that leaf tumbling down the drain earlier today. “It really wasn’t a sightseeing trip. I met my grandparents, although it’s really hard to think of them as grandparents when they’re maybe six or seven years older. I got their medallions. And I stood on the infamous grassy knoll. I may have even seen the so-called second shooter, but we had to leave the area before there was any evidence one way or the other.”
“Incredible. Just wow.” He shakes his head. “Where to next?”
I shrug. “We’re still debating. It’s looking like World War II Australia. At some point, I’m probably heading into Soviet Russia. And 1938 Georgia, but that one is apparently complicated, so I’m saving it until the end.”
“You mean you can go anywhere, to any time you want?”
“If a stable point has been set, then yes, I could. There are stable points going back to early civilizations and going forward to just before CHRONOS was established in the late 2100s. But I’m not sure I want to know that much about the future—I’d like to live a normal life when this is all over—and when I go back in time, there’s always the risk of changing something that affects the present.”
He laughs. “ ‘I wish, I wish I hadn’t killed that fish.’ ”