“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.
“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.”