Even while clinging to a dodgy fire tower in rural Massachusetts, it was impossible to deny how much more advanced the world was in my time. It was hard not to look at Nick and feel like I’d beaten him in the Olympics…again. Why was he so sure that he couldn’t live here? It was infinitely less tense, and the terrifying nobles were hundreds of years away. Plus, I could be so much more impressive in this place—I knew how to take the twenty-first century by storm, but in the Tudor world, I felt mousy and untalented. Did Nick really want that side of me?
Regardless, his deer-in-headlights expression over the airplane was priceless. I was still giggling about it after we’d crawled back down the ladder, our calves cramping with stiffness.
“It was like you were a kid with every single ice cream flavor on one giant cone,” I recalled, pausing to bend over and laugh again.
“What is ice cream?” said Nick, and I howled so loudly that I couldn’t breathe.
I knew I was acting insane—losing composure over something that wasn’t even that funny—but the months of unbelievable fear and stress had finally caught up with me. The sincerity of Nick’s dimpled smirk as we strolled back to my house reminded me of how I’d felt the last time he was here. I’d have given anything for him to feel this unburdened in his own time.
It turned out that ice cream was already a thing in early Renaissance Europe, except it wasn’t called that yet. The spotlight shifted as Nick shared more stories about his world, including the impressive names of people he’d crossed paths with like Nostradamus and Catherine de’ Medici. It wasn’t until we reached my gate that I understood we were engaged in some sort of competition over whose time was more impressive. Surely it was a no-brainer who took the title on that one. How could Nick root for a world that was outdated by more than four hundred years?
He was halfway through a story about Sir Francis Drake’s voyage around the world when I grabbed his arm. Our back gate was open, but I was sure I’d shut it. As we watched, Mom’s back appeared through the gap, a phone pressed to her ear.
My instinct was to push my Tudor boyfriend out of sight and into the elm trees flanking the fence.
“Can I just talk to her first?” I said with a breathless pounding in my chest. “Please. But you have to stay here. Don’t you dare leave without me.” We’d been in this situation once before: when I left Nick alone in the field, and he dumped me for Tudor England without a word.
He took my hands. “Of course, you must. I will wait here. Besides, you have the ring, Emmie.” He gave me a nod of encouragement. I’d broken out in a cold sweat.
My sneakers crunched the grass as I pushed through the back gate. Mom spun to look at me, blood leaving her face. She said something into the phone and hung up before shakily sliding the handset into her pocket without moving her eyes from mine.
The next few moments happened in slow motion: Mom pressing her forehead with both palms, turning away and then back to me, before crumbling to her feet and hitting the grass. I dashed over and helped her up while she mumbled that she was okay through pallid lips. Ruby was running in circles nearby, snapping the air with frantic barks.
“Mom, it’s okay…I’m here,” I repeatedly said as I guided her through the screen door and onto the couch. Ruby was now licking my ankles like they were carved from peanut butter.
Mom squeezed my forearm so tightly that I winced. “Emmie, you’re okay.” She stared at me with a face I hardly recognized. Had she aged that much over the weeks I’d been away—had I stressed her out that much? Or had I already forgotten the spidery lines sprouting from her eyes, the crooked front tooth that people found so attractive, or the fact that she’d given up using makeup? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.
She was muttering again. “I saw you were here already, but I was—I was taking Ruby to the vet and, I…well, I always knew if you came back, it would be when I wasn’t here; it’s just my luck, you know? I was saying that to Kevin…Kevin what’s-his-name the other day.”
“Is Ruby okay?” I asked, sitting beside Mom.
“She’s fine. Just her shots for the year.”
Guilt grabbed my chest and shook it hard. I usually took care of Ruby’s medicine.
The mumbling had stopped, and Mom was now gaping at me. Man, she looks tired.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, the words inexcusably deficient. “I know you must’ve been so worried.”
Her eyes flared wide like they could shoot lasers. “Worried? I called the police! There’s a case file…they searched for you for days. Mostly at the river.” Her voice broke, unlocking a trickle of tears.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, this apology no more forgivable than the first. “Should we call them?”
“Of course I will,” she snapped like I’d overstepped on something. “As it turns out, missing adults who have taken off before are not considered a critical emergency.” She brushed both eyes with her knuckles. “So, where on God’s green earth have you been? I truly can’t believe this.”
The question wrapped a taut rope around my neck and squeezed.
I was in Tudor England, with Nicholas the Ironheart. He’s actually a good guy, by the way, and we’re getting married. I’m going to be a Tudor queen. Surprise!
When I didn’t answer—not sure how to—Mom shrugged. “I know you never caught the plane to London…never arrived at college. Your bag is still here. What were you planning?” She was starting to hyperventilate.
“Nothing. I was going to go to London, and college, and to do everything we talked about. But something happened with someone, and I had to go somewhere else for a while. I wish I could explain it all to you, but it’s…it’s a lot.”
Mom’s face distorted with disgust. “Something…someone…somewhere. You sound like your dad when he left.”
My jaw fell open. My first memories of my dad were of laughter and adventure when the three of us drove through England for his history doctorate. But after we moved back to America when I was ten, he traded Mom—and me—for his coworker within five months. Since then, I’d barely seen him. I wasn’t even sure I could call him Dad anymore.
“Please don’t compare me to him,” I said gently, but inside that shot had hit home, like she knew it would.
“Don’t?” Mom threw a cushion at me. “You’re doing just what he did, except worse—giving up all your dreams to chase some selfish person who is clearly more important to you than your own family! Don’t treat me like an idiot, Emmie. The second you walked through that gate, I knew you’d been off with that boy from the summer. I can’t believe you would be so stupid!”
I slunk away from her. “I’m not treating you like an idiot. I came back here for you!”
“You’ve been gone without a trace for weeks and weeks! Have you not heard of a damn phone!” Her shoulders shook with tears, a wet tissue balled up in her fist.
“I’m so sorry, Mom,” I said through a sob as I reached out to her, but she shoved my hands away. “Believe me, I would’ve called you if I could have, but there was no phone.”