Woke Up Like This(45)

“But this is exactly my point. Adulthood is boring so far. Who voluntarily eats apples without being forced by a parent?”

He shrugs. “Well, what do you suggest, Queen of Lists? Anything on your adult bucket list before we go back?” He nods at the pen and a crisp pad of paper. I note that the pad is personalized with The Renners in calligraphy across the top. Adult me is serious about stationery.



I flex my fingers, then pick up the pen, my list-making compulsions begging for release. “How big are we talking here? Because I have some dreams.”

He smirks. “Anything.”

I tighten my fingers around the pen, mind brimming with possibilities. “I want to go on a hot-air balloon ride over the Sahara.”

He tilts his head in consideration. “Okay. Not sure we can afford that. But let’s put it down as a maybe.”

“Oh, I’ve always wanted to go to Borneo, Indonesia, to see the orangutans before they go extinct. We could take one of those riverboats! Or visit one of those baby-elephant sanctuaries in Thailand. Or drive a Formula One car.”

“You like Formula One?” he asks through a bite of apple.

“Maybe. Why is that such a surprise?”

“It’s just . . . I didn’t know you were so adventurous.”

I shrug, inwardly pleased. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

A tiny smile plays at the corners of his lips. “Anyway, Formula One is dangerous,” he warns. “Let’s put that in the maybe section too.”

I swat his forearm. “Why are you pooh-poohing all my ideas? Aren’t you the ‘big-picture’ guy?”

“I wasn’t thinking literal bucket list or grandiose ideas. Just . . . realistic things we can do locally. Or at least in this country.”

I shift on the stool, shocked and frankly a little turned on by Renner being the voice of reason. “What’s realistic? Like skinny-dipping at the beach?”

He points at me, excitement renewed. “Exactly. Add that to the list.”

Flames heat my cheeks as I write it down. I’m being bombarded with images of naked Renner.

“What realistic things do you want to do with our newfound freedom?” I ask.

He ponders for a minute, stroking his chin. “I’ve always wanted to be in a food fight. My mom would slay me if I ever got food on her furniture.”



“Oh yeah?” I toss the last slice of apple at him and it bounces off his chest.

His jaw drops. “You just assaulted me with fruit.”

“I did.”

His gaze heats. “All right. I see how it is. You’ll be sorry,” he says, and turns to our nearly empty fridge. Before I can duck, he’s squirted a stream of mustard in my face.

Through my shock, I manage to let out a bloodcurdling battle cry and dive over the island like a grenade has just gone off behind me. I retrieve the ketchup bottle from the refrigerator door and promptly squeeze it over his head.

Within minutes, we’re collapsed on the floor, covered in every condiment in our fridge, including a can of expired whipped cream.

“That was epic,” he says, chest heaving with laughter.

I relish the vibration of his voice; then something sticky drips into my eyeball. As I wipe it away with my fist, I spot the fridge door slathered in ketchup. It looks like oozing blood.

Our kitchen is a complete disaster. Like my life right now. And as exhilarating as food fights and elaborate vacation plans are, fun never got me anywhere.

“Now I get why adults are so against food fights. The cleanup.” I let out a pained sigh. “Renner?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been thinking about something you said this morning. About movies with time travel.”

“Right.”

“In the movies, people are always going back in time to change things. But if Larry is right and we can’t change things, what if we’re just . . . meant to learn a lesson or something?”

“Interesting. What kind of lesson?”

I shrug. This is one of those abstract thoughts that sounded better in my head. “I don’t know. Everything in our lives is different now, right? Your parents are divorced. Kassie and I aren’t friends anymore. We have no memories between then and now. What if we need to fill in all these gaps before we try to go back?” When I say it out loud, I’m not overly convinced of that path. But it feels better to do something, anything, than lie here and admit defeat.

He sits up. “That’s not such a bad idea. I mean, worst case, if our future is set in stone, it’d be nice to know what happened the past thirteen years. Especially if we’re stuck here.”

“We won’t be stuck here,” I tell him, more to convince myself.



After spending the entire morning cleaning up condiments from the crevices in our kitchen, and our bodies, I hole up in my home office and set to work. Operation Fill in the Gaps.

Admittedly, I get a little distracted by the “wedding stuff” folder on my desktop. Adult me is seriously organized, with at least twenty separate files for things like “catering” and “dress inspo.” There’s even a folder with a seating plan. I double-click and do a quick scan, fascinated. It seems most of the guests are Renner’s extended family. They take up two long tables at the front. My family table is relatively small, with Mom and my grandparents next to Alexandra and my two sisters. I expect Dad to be seated next to them, but he isn’t.