The Time Traveler's Boyfriend (7 page)

So when Adam asked me for my number at the end of the night, I didn’t hesitate to say yes.

***

I wake up hours later feeling really disoriented. You know that feeling you get when you fall asleep in an unfamiliar place like a hotel or a boyfriend’s house, then wake up and have no idea where you are? Well, imagine you fall asleep in an unfamiliar
year
. Yeah, I’m pretty out of it.

I sit up in the double bed of my parents’ guestroom, rubbing my eyes, gathering my thoughts. There’s part of me that feels like this has all got to be some sort of crazy dream, but obviously it isn’t, because I’m here instead of in Adam’s bed. I’m actually doing this.

I hear a crash coming from the living room and I clutch the blankets to my chest. Who’s here? Oh, my God, is that my
parents
? Were they so freaked out about Y2K that they decided not to go to Florida in 1999? Is that possible? Am I about to spend the next two weeks in jail for breaking and entering?

In any case, I’m on the fifteenth floor, so there’s absolutely no way I can escape through the window or something like that. So as quietly as I can, I tiptoe out into the hallway to investigate.

There are two people in the kitchen, a boy and a girl. They’re rifling through the cupboards, pulling out seasoning and pasta. The girl is laughing as the boy tries to kiss her and she pushes him away then finally acquiesces.

I know who they are. The boy is Jed Morton. He’s just as tall and lanky as I remembered him, his long brown hair hanging loose around his face. Jed Morton, drummer for
Snugglepuss, a name that will likely go down as the worst band name in the history of the world. He’s also a waiter. He also cheated on me with a stripper named Crystal-Joy. You don’t forget a name like that.

And the girl, of course, is me.

Apparently, I was going through a Britney Spears “One More Time” phase back then. My ash-blond hair is tied in two messy braided pigtails resting on each shoulder, and I’ve got on a plaid skirt that’s almost short enough to show off my panties. And I’m wearing
so
much black eye make-up that it looks like I smeared it on with my fists. It’s almost painful to look at.

It’s equally painful to look at my former body. Wow. Is it possible I really used to look like that? My thighs are so thin and toned, without an ounce of cellulite to be found, even though I know for a fact that I never went to the gym. My waist is so trim and my boobs are so … high. They’re perfect. The most perfect breasts I’ve ever seen.

I look down at my own breasts, secured with supportive underwire, and I almost cry.

I’m so busy thinking about my breasts that I don’t watch what I’m doing and slip against the wall. The couple looks up at me in surprise. Jed doesn’t look too concerned but young Claudia quickly brandishes a spatula in a very threatening way and edges toward me. She eyes my face and I hope to God she doesn’t recognize me. “Who are you?”

I raise my hands up in the air to show I don’t have any weapons. “I’m your cousin. Your parents … Marge and Don … they said that I could stay here while they’re in Florida. They gave me a key.”

Claudia looks me up and down, her blue eyes filled with suspicion. “What cousin? I don’t remember you, and you don’t look like you’re related to me.”

“Sure she does,” Jed pipes up. Even though he’s sticking up for me, I still want to punch him in his handsome face. Really, I can’t believe he cheated on me with a stripper. Or he
is going
to cheat on me. “You guys have the same nose and eyes.”

“I don’t see it,” Claudia says, squinting at me. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Beth,” I say, sticking with my pattern of four letter names. “I’m your second cousin. Sue and Steve’s daughter.”

Steve is my father’s cousin and Sue is his wife. I have no idea if they have a daughter named Beth, but the good thing about that is that I’m pretty sure that Claudia doesn’t know either. In any case, the lie works. She lowers the spatula, her shoulders relaxing. “Oh, okay,” she says. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem,” I say, shrugging like I didn’t just about have a heart attack. My left arm almost feels like it’s tingling.

“Do you have any plans for your trip, Beth?” Jed asks me. He’s leering at me and it’s making me uncomfortable. I know I said there was that rule about how you can’t technically cheat on a person with their younger or older self, but I think the rule is voided if you don’t know it’s the same person. And Jed definitely doesn’t realize I’m an older version of his girlfriend.

“Well, it’s my first time in New York,” I lie, “so I figured I’d just try to, you know, soak up some culture.”

“You should come hear Jed’s band play tonight,” Claudia says, her eyes widening with excitement. She’s very friendly now that she doesn’t think I’m an intruder, although in all honesty, she’s not the kind of person I’d want to befriend these days. I really just want to grab a tissue and dab off some of that black make-up. Claudia, you’re making me look like a whore.

“You’re in a band?” I say to Jed, trying to look surprised. “Wow. What’s it called?”

“
Snugglepuss,” Claudia says because Jed is too embarrassed. Rightfully so. “They sound just like Limp Bizkit, only more edgy.”

“
Snugglepuss?”

“It’s the brand name of our lead singer’s girlfriend’s vibrator,” Jed explains, turning slightly red. Seriously, I can’t imagine finding your girlfriend’s vibrator in a drawer and saying, “Hey, what a great name for my band!”

“Interesting,” I say. I really don’t want to listen to Jed’s band’s cacophonous music, but then again, this will give me a chance to talk to Claudia. I have to convince her to dump Jed’s ass and go out with a nice guy like Adam instead. Actually, this will be great. If Claudia dumps Jed now, I can spare her (me) being cheated on. “All right, I’m game.”

“Sweet!” Jed says, which reminds me how long it’s been since I’ve heard someone call something “sweet.”

“Also,” Claudia says to me. “There’s kind of a particular way people dress at these places.” She looks me up and down. “Maybe I can lend you some of my clothes. What size are you?”

It takes all my self-restraint to keep from glaring at her. No, I am not the same size I was when I was twenty-two. Who is? “Size eight,” I say.

“Oh, sorry,” Claudia says. “My stuff is probably going to be way too small on you.”

Yeah. Thanks.

She’s right though.

“I guess what you’re wearing now is fine,” she says. “Just let me help you with your make-up. I bet I can make you look totally cute.”

I know I said I wanted kids with Adam, but right now, I really don’t want to have a daughter.

***

As I expected, Claudia and I nearly come to blows over the make-up. She’s got the full line of Revlon products, but in colors that are just way too vivid. Over the years, I’ve changed my make-up style to be more subtle than in the old days. I mean, when you’re a first grade teacher, you can’t walk around looking like a clown. But I guess you can if you’re a waitress at Plucky’s. It’s almost encouraged.

“This black eyeliner will really bring out your eyes,” Claudia insists. She looks like she’s about to stab me in the eye with it.

“It’s okay, really,” I say.

Claudia puts her hands on her hips. “Just because you’re forty, Beth, it doesn’t mean you have to look it.”

“I’m not forty,” I say through my teeth.

Claudia looks at me sideways. “Really? Older or younger?”

I am beginning to hate this girl, I really am.

Claudia insists on my putting on a thin layer of eyeliner and it doesn’t look too bad. I still think it’s too much for my age, but I know that I’m definitely not going to run into my employer here. It would actually be a good time to cut loose a little if I didn’t have an important plan I had to carry out.

Claudia actually looks pretty amazing. Even though she’s wearing far too much make-up, somehow it suits her. She’s ditched the Britney Spears look for fishnet stockings, black leather boots, and a short leather skirt. It’s almost too much, but somehow she manages to pull it off and looks great. I’m getting incredibly jealous of myself here.

Snugglepuss
is playing at a seedy bar in the village, which is filled with the smell of cigarettes and cheap beer. Claudia snags us a tiny round table right where the instruments are set up and the thirty-six-year-old in me starts to protest. I don’t want to be right up close to the bass and have my ears ringing the whole night. But Claudia doesn’t seem to care about that, and also doesn’t care that she’s damaging the hearing of her future self (me).

I almost choke when Claudia pulls a pack of Virginia Slims out of her purse and lights one up. I completely forgot how I used to smoke back then. I want to rip it right out of her hand, yelling that she is going to have to pay for the tooth whitening I’m going to have to get in a few years. Plus I can just feel the wrinkles forming on my face.

“You really shouldn’t smoke,” I say to Claudia, unable to stop myself. “It gives you wrinkles and makes your teeth yellow.”

“Yes,
mother
,” Claudia says.

“I’m serious,” I say. “You may be twenty-two now, but you won’t be forever. Don’t you care about looking young when you’re older?”

In answer to my question, Claudia blows smoke in my face. I am beginning to think she’s sorry she let me tag along. I’m very tempted to go out and buy her a nicotine patch, but I know she won’t appreciate that gesture. I need to try to be her friend, but I can’t help wanting to keep her from ruining my body.

I have to try a different tactic with her. Right now, we kind of hate each other, and that’s not going to bode well if my goal is to get her to dump Jed and date Adam. She’ll probably do the opposite of anything I tell her to do, just out of spite. I have to act less like her mother and more like her cool older sister.

In an attempt to seem casual, I lean my elbow on the table, which tilts threateningly to one side. I pull my arm away and notice my shirt is sticky where it had been touching the table. In fact, the whole table is sticky and covered in crumbs, but Claudia doesn’t seem to care in the slightest. I am way too old to be in a place like this.

“So how long have you been dating Jed?” I ask her.

A dreamy expression comes over her face. I suppose Jed is handsome in a starving musician sort of way, but I honestly can’t even remember feeling that way about him. I only hate Jed now. “About six months,” she says. “He’s crazy sexy, isn’t he?”

I shrug. “I guess so. If you’re into guys who are broke.”

Claudia looks at me sharply. “He’s not broke.”

“He’s not?” I raise my eyebrows at her. “He’s a bartender, right? And is he even getting paid for this gig?”

“So what?” Claudia says. “The band is great, and they’re totally going to be a huge hit. He’s probably going to be a millionaire.”

Don’t count on it, honey. Actually, I have no idea what Jed is doing in 2013, but I know for a fact that
Snugglepuss is not a huge hit, that’s for sure.

“Anyway,” Claudia says. “Money isn’t important to me. I mean,
look
at him.”

I’m getting this really bad feeling. If Jed is her ideal guy, then I have no idea how I’m going to sell Adam. Adam is just about the diametric opposite of Jed.

Jed and his band finally come on for their set. I have to admit, I’m beginning to remember what I saw in Jed. I still hate the guy for cheating on me with a stripper, but he’s also super hot. He works up such a sweat from drumming that his T-shirt sticks to his skin and I can see the outline of perfect pecs. Adam has a great upper body thanks to all the wheeling, but I think Jed probably still has him beat. I look over at Claudia and she’s practically salivating.

This isn’t going so well. Claudia has a boyfriend that she’s totally infatuated with, and I don’t even know where the hell Adam even is. Great.

Hopefully, my luck will turn around real soon.

CHAPTER TEN

Considering last night with Claudia was a total loss, when I wake up the next morning, I decide to go at the other end of my plan. Adam. I need to find him.

And no, he’s not in the phone book. My parents actually have one and he’s not in it.

A few facts I know about Adam Schaffer:

1.
He was born and raised in Akron, Ohio, and couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there when he turned eighteen.

2.
He’s the youngest of three kids. He has an older sister Kim and an older brother Ryan. He has a bunch of nieces of nephews, none of whom have apparently motivated him to want to procreate with me.

3.
He has horrible vision. If I’m two feet away from him and he’s not wearing his glasses, he literally cannot tell if I’m frowning or smiling.

4.
He sings in the shower and is completely off-key.

5.
His least favorite food is pickles. If we get fast food burgers, he’ll ask for no pickles. And if he ends up with pickles anyway, he’ll remove them with a napkin, then fling them in my general direction. (I like pickles.)

None of these factoids are remotely helpful in finding him, unless one of the places I’d been considering looking was a pickle store (it wasn’t). It occurred to me that maybe after his accident, Adam had gone back to live with his parents for a while. Then again, I remember him saying that his mother tried to bulldoze him into going back to live at home when he first got hurt, but he couldn’t stomach the idea.

So he’s probably in the city. Somewhere.

He went back to school to get his Master’s in computer science in 2003, so he’s probably still working full time at this point. Except where? He’s been at his current company for several years, but not since 1999. He was probably working for … some other computer company. So yeah, I have no idea where he works.

In summary, I have no idea where Adam works, I have no idea where he lives, and I have less than two weeks to get him to fall in love with my younger self, who incidentally has a boyfriend.

The good news is that I know Adam is single. It’s well known that The Bitch was his first girlfriend after his injury and he won’t meet her for another year or two. So I may actually have a chance to convince him to go out with Claudia, who’s at least pretty.

I just have to find the guy.

***

I borrow one of my mother’s coats because I feel ludicrous in Adam’s oversized coat from 2013. I hoof it to Murray Hill and do a little stakeout of Adam’s old building, which is pretty much the only place I can think to look. I sit on the steps of the brownstone from two years ago, and watch the entrance of the building for any signs of guys in wheelchairs. But it’s freezing out, and I can feel my ears getting frostbitten after about fifteen minutes. I decide to get some sustenance: coffee.

I look around and see that café Adam had pointed out to me two years ago. It’s still there. Yes, I am a little disturbed that he almost died getting coffee from there, but I’m freezing and it’s no time to be picky. I go across the street and order myself a cup of decaf.

The café is small and quaint, filled with the thick aroma of roasting coffee beans. There are free tables, and as much as I know I need to go out there and look for Adam, it is really freaking cold outside. I’m sure I won’t miss him if I spend fifteen minutes here drinking my piping hot beverage.

The coffee is just as good as Adam had promised it would be. I wrap my fingers around the paper cup, absorbing its warmth. Ah, this is nice. For the first time since I got to this goddamn year, I finally feel relaxed.

That is, until I see Adam
come in through the door.

Wheel
in, I should say. Unlike last time, he’s in a lightweight wheelchair that doesn’t look terribly different from the one he uses in 2013. His feet rest quietly on the single footplate and his legs don’t move at all, except when they bounce slightly after he wheels over an imperfection in the floor. His hair is cut a little shorter, and he has the same face from two years ago, but something is different somehow. It’s hard to put my finger on it—something in his eyes.

“Medium coffee, black,” Adam says to the cashier. He’s got leather gloves on his hands, which he pulls off so that he can dig his wallet out of a bag attached to the back of his chair. He seems pretty comfortable with the wheelchair, but then again, it
has
been over two years.

I sink into my own seat, knowing I have to approach him, but half-hoping he won’t see me. Maybe he won’t recognize me. It
was
over two years ago, we only talked for a brief time, and my hair is a different color. He probably won’t have any idea who I am. I’ll say I’m Beth and he won’t suspect a thing.

Adam grabs the cup of coffee from the cashier and tucks it between his legs. He wheels around and is about to head for the door when his eyes rest on me. He does a double-take, but it’s definitely not followed by a smile this time. Adam does not look happy to see me. In fact, I’d say there’s a pretty good chance he hates me. In any case, he definitely knows who I am.

“You!” he says, wheeling closer to me.

I blink innocently. “Uh, hi. Adam, right?”

“What are you doing here, Psychic Girl?” he hisses in my direction. I see that underneath the stubble on his chin, he now has that sexy scar along his jawline. “Come to finish me off?”

I grip my coffee cup. “No. I, um …”

Adam is glaring at me, waiting for an answer, an explanation of some sort. I don’t blame him. I told him something awful was going to happen if he rode his bike, then something awful happened.

“I’m not really psychic,” I say lamely.

“Oh, really?”

“But it’s not my fault that taxi hit you,” I insist. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“You know, this is
permanent
,” Adam says, waving at his legs. “It’s not, like, a broken leg. I’m in a wheelchair for the rest of my life. I’m not going to walk again. Ever.”

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly.

“Why are you apologizing?” he retorts. “I thought it wasn’t your
fault
.”

“It wasn’t,” I say. “But I’m still … sorry.”

“I don’t need your pity, thanks,” Adam says. He takes his coffee cup and places it on the table in front of me. “Don’t take this to mean I’m joining you. I just don’t want my legs to get scalded. Nice dye job, by the way.”

I touch my hair self-consciously then take a sip of my coffee, more to have something to do with my hands than anything else. Adam is continuing to glare at me, and it’s pretty uncomfortable. I’m worried he’s going to try to have me arrested.

“I actually tried to look for you, you know,” he says. “After I got out of the hospital. I wanted to figure out what the hell happened that day. But I didn’t have much to go on, aside from the name Tina. That probably isn’t even your real name, is it?”

“It’s Beth, actually,” I say.

“Really? Is that the fake name you’re going by now?”

“It’s my real name!”

“Yeah, well, how about showing me some ID,
Beth
?”

Okay, he’s got me there. He rolls his eyes to demonstrate how unsurprised he is that I’m unable to produce any kind of identification.

“Let me make it up to you,” I say.

He leans across the table, staring at me with his nice brown eyes. It’s the man I love, but fourteen years younger. He’s very sexy, actually. Maybe I really can get young Claudia to fall
for him. “You’re going to make it up to me?” he growls. “I’m paralyzed for life. What are you going to do? Buy me flowers?”

He’s got a point.

“A girl,” I say in a hoarse voice. “I’ll set you up with a girl.”

Adam’s brow furrows for a minute. Finally, he laughs. It’s not exactly a happy laugh, but it’s still a bit of a relief after how angry he was a minute ago. “Yeah, sorry, not interested.”

“She’s really amazing,” I say. “She’s twenty-two years old, really beautiful, smart, funny, nice …”

I’m probably laying it on too thick, especially since Claudia isn’t exactly all those things. Well, she’s twenty-two. And she’s very attractive. The rest … not so much.

“Wow, sounds great,” Adam says, an edge of sarcasm in his voice.

“I think you’d really like her,” I say.

Adam shakes his head at me. “Sorry, I just don’t do that whole … blind date thing.”

He reaches for his cup of coffee and I start to panic. He’s going to leave before I convince him to go out with Claudia. This is bad.

“You’re not seeing anyone though, right?” I say.

Adam narrows his eyes at me. “No …”

“So … don’t you want to get back on the horse? Start dating again?”

“That’s pretty insulting,” Adam says. “You’re just assuming I haven’t dated any girls since I got hurt.”

I look him in the eyes. “Well, have you?” I know he hasn’t.

“Right,” he grumbles. “I forgot you’re psychic. Fine. No girls.”

“I’m not psychic, actually.”

Adam rolls his eyes again. “You know,” he says, “I thought a lot about what would happen if I ever ran into you again. I definitely never thought you’d bulldoze me into going on a blind date.”

“I guess you’re not psychic, either.”

“Guess not.”

He stares at me across the table. I can’t help but think of what Adam said to me before he sent me back to 1997.
I’ll do it because I’ll think you’re pretty.
Does he still think I’m pretty? Enough so that he’ll agree to do what I want?

Adam tugs on his earlobe, the same nervous habit he has in 2013. Another fun fact about my Adam: he goes completely crazy when I suck on his earlobes. I just discovered it by accident once, when I was exploring his upper body, trying to figure out what turned him on the most. As soon as my tongue touched his earlobe, I knew I had hit the money spot. He squirmed and groaned, completely losing control of himself.

As Adam’s eyes meet mine, I know he doesn’t have a clue what I’m thinking about and I’m very grateful for that. Can you imagine if he knew I was thinking about sucking on his earlobes? That wouldn’t do at all.

Anyway, after what feels like an hour, he finally breaks the silence: “This fantastic girl … what’s her name?”

“Claudia,” I say.

“Claudia?” he snorts. “What is she—French?”

“I think it’s a nice name,” I say defensively, and he shrugs.

“And she’d be okay with my whole … situation?”
Adam asks. His brows knit together and my heart aches just a tiny bit for him. I can see how easy it must have been for The Bitch to break him.

“Absolutely,” I say with more confidence than I feel.

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll do it. You’re right about, you know, the horse and all. Getting back on it. I should.”

Wow, that was … well, not
easy
, but not as bad as it could have been. I almost expected to have scalding hot coffee thrown in my face by now.

“So let me get your cell number,” I say to Adam.

He stares at me blankly. “My … what?”

Oh right, hardly anybody had cell phones back in 1999. God, how did we live like that? We were like cavemen. “Your phone number, I mean.”

He scribbles it down for me on a napkin and I promise I’ll give him a call. Now all I have to do is convince the girl to go out with him.