I don’t. It’s so weird. This store that up until now has only existed in the wildest depths of my imagination is suddenly a real thing that is apparently just flung into casual conversations. And yet other parts of my life, like Kiersten, or this bookstore, are so achingly familiar. It’s like trying to put together one big jigsaw puzzle with the picture facing down.
Kiersten flips around so her back rests against the counter. “Okay, fine. I’ll humor you. So we all came over to Livi’s. I’m gonna go ahead and assume drinking was involved and then we performed—what did you call it earlier—a love cleanse?”
I draw a deep breath and repeat my explanation.
“Aunt Livi found a book in the donation bin. It looked old and creepy. But Aunt Livi thought it would be fun. Believe it or not, the other you totally predicted weird shit was going to happen, but we went ahead and did it anyway.”
Kiersten snorts. “That’s the first believable thing you’ve said since I got here.” She holds her palm up to my forehead. “And you’re sure you haven’t had a fever or anything?”
I swat her hand away. “For the last time, no.”
“I know that book.” Aunt Livi claps her hands in excitement. “I showed it to you yesterday.” She looks at me, her eyes big and round. “Well, not you-you, the other you.”
My stomach flutters with hope. “Is it brown leather with blue loopy writing? Something like Modern Magic for Practical People?”
Aunt Livi nods. “That exact one. I thought it could help you find a nice, steady boyfriend. Not erase one.”
This is good. If we have the book, then maybe there’s something in it to turn everything back to the way it was. At the very least, it will provide some evidence that I’m not making all of this up.
“Well, where is it?” My eyes search the bookshelves covering almost every wall of the store.
“I’m not sure,” she answers. “I gave it to you while you were at Wilde Beauty. Maybe it’s still there?”
We head back to the apartment to grab our shoes and are out the door in less than a minute, walking the three blocks to the store.
When its white-brick storefront comes into view, my breath catches in my throat, and my pace slows to a halt because it’s exactly how I dreamed it would be. Possibly even better.
Like most retail establishments on this busy downtown street, Wilde Beauty is narrow and long. At a closer glance, the bricks are, in fact, red, but have been painted a creamy white, which is a stylish but stark contrast to the shiny black door and painted sill of the big storefront window. Above, the word Wilde is spelled out in simple iron block letters with Beauty written below in a dainty gold script. Although the lights are all still out, I can see the arrangement of clean, all-natural beauty products displayed on mismatched wooden tables and crates. It’s simple. It’s perfect. Exactly like I envisioned.
Tears prick at the edges of my eyes because although I’ve never wanted children, I feel like I’ve just given birth.
“Yo. Marty McFly. We need the keys.” My sister holds up her palms in a gesture easily interpreted as Let’s move things along here. I pull the corgi keychain from my purse, insert one of the metal mystery keys, then, after it doesn’t fit, try the second. It slides in, buttery smooth.
There’s a beeping as I push open the door as a small alarm panel on the wall starts to go berserk. I instinctively type in 05-03-2015, Dr. Snuggles’s birthday. It seems to do the trick, as the beeping is silenced.
“Good guess?” My sister’s narrowed eyes are rightfully skeptical.
I shrug. “Apparently, this timeline’s Gemma and I have a lot in common.”
She holds her palm to my head again. I swat it away and move past her.
I know I should be looking for the book, but my holistic-loving heart cannot help but take in every tiny detail of the store. The products lining the walls find that delicate balance between truly beneficial ingredients and a price point that makes them accessible. I inch my way along the pine board floors, too afraid to touch anything out of fear that it might burst this beautiful bubble. Twice, I catch myself letting out an audible, very Aunt Livi–like “Oh my.”
“You worked your ass off to open this place almost six months ago.” My sister appears at my side with a smile on her face that I’d describe as proud. “I guess you don’t own Wilde Beauty in your timeline?”
I shake my head because the answer is the exact opposite of Wilde Beauty. “I’m a senior buyer at Eaton’s Drug Mart.”