Woke Up Like This(44)

Uncle Larry’s thick, bushy brows part. “Time travel? Didn’t expect that.”

“You taught physics, right? We figured you might know a bit about it,” I say.

“Time travel wasn’t my exact field of study, but I know a thing or two, yes. What’s your question?”

“Could you, um, maybe explain how it works? A quick 101? Time travel for dummies?” I squeak.

This elicits a rumble of laughter. “No one knows for sure. There are multiple theories. Time travel via speed, via light, gravity, suspended animation, wormholes . . .” My eyes glaze over as he starts to explain quantum mechanics, general relativity, and quantum gravity. Renner nods along, pretending to grasp each concept, though I know he has no clue what the hell Uncle Larry is saying.

I clear my throat at the first opportunity. “Hypothetically speaking, if a hypothetical person traveled into the future, could they hypothetically change an outcome?” I ask, thinking about Nori’s question yesterday morning, about whether we’d been sent to the future to prevent something from happening.

“You’re asking, hypothetically, whether that future would be predetermined no matter what, or if you could change it?”

“Yes. Hypothetically,” I add.

He leans back in his chair, hands folded over his stomach, eyes tilted up as though the answer is on the ceiling. “You’re talking about a reverse grandfather paradox.”

“What’s the grandfather paradox?” Renner asks.

“It’s the theory that history can’t be changed, even if one goes back in time to try to alter it.” He can see we’re both still confused, so he continues. “Take Back to the Future, for example. You’ve seen it, right?”

We both shake our heads. “Nope.”

He shakes his head. “No wonder your generation is so . . . Anyway. In the movie, when Marty McFly goes back in time, he accidentally almost stops his parents from meeting, which would be disastrous because . . .”

“Because then he wouldn’t be born?” Renner ventures.

“Exactly. But according to the grandfather paradox, Marty wouldn’t have to worry because his parents would meet regardless, in a different way.”

I blink. “But how? If he prevented them from meeting?”

“Think of it like a pool table. If you hit one of the balls, it knocks out a particular pattern. If you somehow interfered with the ball’s journey, the theory states that somehow, the interaction with the other balls on the table would force the journey back on its original path.”

“So what you’re saying is, regardless of interference, the outcome remains the same?”

“Exactly.” He leans forward and eyes us suspiciously. “Can I ask . . . why the sudden curiosity?”

We simultaneously shake our heads. Renner starts fidgeting and tapping his knee. “No reason. Nothing in particular—”

“We just watched a documentary on time travel and thought we’d come chat with an expert,” I cut in. “Thank you for answering our questions. It’s been really helpful.”

His eyes move back and forth between us. “Just so you know, time travel shouldn’t be fucked with. Ever. The consequences could be more severe than you can imagine,” he warns, like a sci-fi movie character.

“But I thought you said destiny is predetermined?” Renner asks.

Uncle Larry points at him and nods. “I did. But I also said it’s just a theory. Theories aren’t facts.”





Renner breaks the heavy silence as we drive home. “So if Uncle Larry’s theory is correct, even if we do manage to go back to seventeen, we can’t alter our path? We’d end up engaged regardless?”

My brain can’t comprehend. I have free will. I must. Right? “It doesn’t make sense. I mean, what if I purposely locked myself in a room for the rest of my life? Then I’d never have the chance to fall in love with you.”

He gives me a side-eye. “You’d rather live in solitary confinement than marry me?”

I consider that. Solitary confinement would probably be hell, come to think of it. “I’ll have to give that one some more thought.”

A smile hovers on his lips as he studies the road ahead. “Hey, that’s progress.”





TWENTY



Maybe my mom was right. Maybe adulthood is nothing but winging it and hoping for the best,” I wonder aloud.

Case in point: we’ve spent the last hour googling how to make the perfect fluffy pancakes but not actually making any due to lack of ingredients. I know. We’re supposed to do More Important Things with our Saturday afternoon—like time traveling. But we were starved by the time we returned from Uncle Larry’s.

“It doesn’t have to be,” Renner says, sliding a plate of sliced apple and peanut butter in front of me. When I peer at it a little too long, he adds, “We need at least one nutrient today.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” I say, plopping onto the stool, admiring how perfectly he sliced the apple. Even the skin is removed. “You don’t eat skin?”

“Nope. Do you know how many hands touch it at the grocery store? This is how my mom does it,” he says proudly, slathering his slice with a generous helping of peanut butter. He hands it to me.