Remember Yesterday

40

My mother was in front of me, but somehow in the short walk down the hall, I overtake her. The closer we get to Preston’s apartment, the slower she walks. It’s as though she’s trying to prove the old scientific joke: If she goes half as far with every step, she’ll never arrive.

I look over my shoulder and give her a fortifying smile, but she’s beyond encouragement. Her arms are crossed tightly, and her every step is accompanied by a labored huff of air.

“It’s okay, Mom,” I say. “You’re not facing a monster. It’s just Dad.”

Dad. The name rolls off my tongue more and more easily. Yes, he’s only fifteen years older than me, and yes, he’s a time traveler from the past. But he’s still my dad. The same age gap exists between Ryder and his adopted father, Mikey. Families come in all shapes and sizes. They’re formed in countless ways—including time travel.

Only one question remains. Will my mom and dad be able to accept each other?

I walk into the apartment. Preston has emerged from his sleeping area, and he sits on the couch, twisting his necktie. I cover my mouth to hide a giggle. Twenty years ago, the height of fashion was to dress like our pre-Boom ancestors, including this unfortunate accessory. Most of the men eliminated ties from their wardrobe years ago—but not Preston. He’s so cute. And if he twists the tie any harder, he’ll rip it in two.

His head snaps up as we enter the room. On his face, I see hope and yearning, anticipation and fear. But the instant he glimpses my mom, every other emotion drops away, and sheer joy radiates from his every feature, his every movement.

“Phoebe,” he whispers, and I’m no longer uncertain about what her name means to him. It is a prayer, pure and simple. My mother is his every dream come true.

He crosses the room in four large steps. He stops in front of her, and the air shivers with indecision. But then he grins, as if to say: Forget that. I’ve been waiting too long for this moment. Picking her up, he spins her around, in what is clearly one of their patented moves.

My mom is crying now, tears rolling freely down her face. He sits down and arranges her carefully on his lap, kissing her cheeks, right at the spot where the tears drip, as if he is ingesting her very essence.

“I’ve missed you so much.” She lays a hand on his cheek. “You’re the same, the exact same.”

“As are you.” He turns his head, so that her fingers are against his lips.

She opens her mouth like she’s about to argue. I could tell you stories with the lines on my face, her parted lips seem to say. In fact, I did. For the daughter you never knew was born.

Instead, she closes her mouth and leans her forehead against his, enjoying the present in the way only a person who has been ravaged by time can.

My heart full, I back out of the room, slowly, silently. In the future, they will have problems to work out, insecurities to smooth over, misunderstandings to unravel. But for now, in this moment, love is timeless.