Every part of her face twisted before she cried into her palms, greasy clumps of her unwashed hair falling in front of her face.
“Please, I’m sorry,” I begged, forcing her to let me hug her. “I love you, okay? There’s a really good reason why I couldn’t call.” Her arms finally accepted the embrace, and I relaxed a little. “There’s so much to explain. I know I haven’t been myself.”
She pulled away, dabbing her eyes with her soggy tissue. “Then it’s time to start because, God help me, I’ve hit the last straw. You need to tell me everything right now. All the someones and somethings.”
My stomach folded over itself. I should’ve rehearsed this conversation. There weren’t many ways you could explain the reality of time travel to someone. But Mom leaned back into a cushion and crossed her arms at me, ready for the truth.
I blew through my lips, my sweaty palms rubbing my jeans. “It all started when I found a ring. Actually, I bought it from that old hoarder, Jane Stuart.” I wiggled my thumb at her. “This one.”
She leaned closer. “I remember it. Very dazzling.”
It was hard to speak through my thick throat. “The first time I went missing for a day—when I was at Mia’s—I’d fallen asleep at her house wearing the ring. Then I…I woke up in a different time.”
Mom barely blinked.
“I was in the sixteenth century,” I spurted. “I’m not kidding. This ring is, like, magic.” As the words left my lips, I heard how side-splittingly ridiculous they sounded. “It makes people travel through time when they fall asleep wearing it…back to sixteenth-century England. Can you believe that? I’ve been hanging out with the freaking Tudors!” I barked a jittery laugh.
Mom’s brow furrowed, and she began rubbing her thumb and forefinger together like a nervous tick. When she finally spoke, her voice was hardly louder than a breath.
“Emmie, what’s going on? Are you on drugs?”
“Of course not. Ew.”
“What is wrong with you then?” she cried. She slid away from me. “Why would you tell such a stupid and weird story?”
“It’s not a story. I know it sounds crazy—believe me—but it’s the truth.” Mom looked like she might barf all over my new sweater. “I can prove it to you,” I pleaded, instantly regretting the idea. I couldn’t keep shipping people back and forth between worlds like time-traveling tourists. But Mom looked like she didn’t even register the offer…she was too busy trying to breathe, her hand clutching her stomach.
I grappled for something convincing to say when I remembered that I had another way to prove my bonkers story.
“Just wait here,” I said, before rushing back outside to the field behind our house.
Nick rested against the fence between the weathered roots of an elm tree, his athletic legs outstretched. The strong winds had brought the fishy smells of the river closer.
“Come with me,” I said, wrenching him up by his arm. “I told Mom the truth about the blue-diamond ring, and she’s freaking out. You need to help me prove it’s true.”
“What?” Nick exclaimed as he chased me through the back yard. “Christ, to what end? Do not trouble your mother with this; I beseech you!”
I halted at the steps leading to the porch, gasping with tension. “Look, my mom has no idea who I am right now, and she is my only family, okay? You have your people and your kingdom. I have my mom. She is my people. Apart from you, she’s all I have. I have to make her understand what’s going on.”
He pressed his lips together, squaring his shoulders. There was a shiver of movement at the screen door. Mom was gaping at Nick through the mesh.
“Mom, this is Nick,” I blurted. “He’s from the sixteenth century.” After grabbing his clammy palms, I walked us into the house where he towered over Mom’s petite frame. Her cheeks were colorless, but her eyes expanded with awe as she took in Nick’s features. I made a snap decision that the whole Nicholas the Ironheart thing would be a step too far. It would be like bringing home King Henry the Eighth or Queen Victoria.
I threw Nick a look, silently instructing him to listen carefully. “Nick and I met during my first visit back to the sixteenth century. He’s a courtier in the court of Queen Elizabeth the First. He can tell you anything you want to know about that time.” I reached for his hand, but our sweaty fingers struggled to lock. “He’s also the reason I’ve disappeared a few times—without a trace, Mom. I was with Nick, in Tudor England, where they don’t exactly have cell phones. And if you don’t believe us, well, you’ll have to come back and see it for yourself.”
How exactly will you do that, Emmie? Will the three of you fall asleep creepily holding each other’s hands? Or will you leave Nicholas the Ironheart alone in modern America while you take your mom for a little jaunt back in time? Moron!
Mom gawked up at him, her voice thin. “Go on then, prove to me that you’re a friend of Queen Elizabeth the First.” She spat a humorless laugh.
Nick rubbed his lips together and fidgeted with his sleeves. I couldn’t blame him for being lost for words. How do you prove your identity to an alien from the future? I had to jump in—to get Nick out of this position I’d put him in—but when he found his voice, it was clear that he didn’t need my help.
“Madam, it is my sincerest pleasure to be presented to you, the beloved mother of my dearest betrothed. May I humbly prostrate myself at your feet.”
He dropped to one knee and kissed Mom’s hand before returning to his imposing height. “Most precious lady, what Mistress Grace claims is indeed true. The moment I laid mine eyes upon her—within the Palace of Whitehall—my heart knew two truths. The first: that our lady, most adored, was not of my realm. Her speech, her manner, her inclination was most certainly of another time.” His eyes moved to mine. “The second was that Mistress Grace owned every piece of my heart, and I knew that I would love her until my dying breath.”
It was dizzying and dreamlike. In my dowdy living room, one of the most famous kings in history was speaking sweet nothings to me. Not to mention bowing to my commoner mom in her sweatpants.
Mom tilted her head at me, a trace of a smile on her lips. “Is this one of those prank TV shows?”
“Sometimes I wish it was,” I replied. Nick blinked at us, obviously lost.
She groaned and pressed a palm to her hip. “Whatever. I’m going to figure this out. But for now, my daughter is home, and you, young man, are nothing if not well-spoken.” She sidestepped us to enter the kitchen. “Is anyone hungry?” she called weakly.
“We had some toast, but I’m still pretty hungry,” I replied.
“Sorry, but I think it’s going to have to be sandwiches.” She was digging through the fridge. “There’s not much else.”
“That’s fine,” I sang out.
For the first time since Nick and I had arrived back in the present, I could exhale without effort.
Nick gobbled up Mom’s overcooked grilled-cheese sandwiches dipped in ketchup, and his hands had finally stopped shaking. However, any hope that Mom believed my story about time travel was dashed when she asked if Nick and I had been living in the forest. She’d moved on from the reality television show idea and now thought we’d joined one of those historical fan groups that camped out in medieval costumes.