Dear Oona,
I’m still figuring out the best way to navigate these leaps, how much to tell you, and the best advice to give. Finding happiness in this chronological maze shouldn’t be so complicated. Maybe it doesn’t have to be.
Last year, I met and married a lovely man. He makes me happy. He can make you happy.
You might be thinking, after the fiasco with Crosby, there’s no way you can sustain an actual marriage. This will be different. Edward knows you experience time/memory lapses and that he’ll be a stranger to you. He’s willing to work with that.
I did put a different spin on the time travel specifically (you know how it goes when you try to tell the full truth). I told him I fell off a balcony at eighteen, which caused a condition where my brain resets itself every year, leaving big memory gaps. And the so-called accident happened on New Year’s Eve, so that’s when the amnesia kicks in. Crazy story, but not time travel crazy. Edward bought it and vowed to accept me the way I am, broken brain and all. How could you not adore a guy like that?
So what should you know about Edward? This time, I’m skipping the cheat sheet. The fun will be getting to know (and love) him on your own. Edward will tell you everything apart from some of last year’s specifics, like how you met and got engaged, when you got married, etc. (say it with me now: no spoilers). He promised to be patient as you adjust to your time lapse—that’s how much he loves you.
Peeking over the top of the letter, she caught Edward watching her from the lower steps, his shoulders curved forward and eyebrows pinched together.
“Good letter?” he asked.
“Still reading. Riveting stuff so far.”
“Well, if there’s anything…”
“Actually…” A kernel of suspicion popped in her head. “You’re a British citizen, right?”
“I am. Though my grandmother was American, so I have dual citizenship. In case you thought we wed for my green card.”
“Oh.” She hid her flushed cheeks behind the letter.
“No need to be embarrassed. I’d wonder the same thing in your position.” There was an arch lilt in his voice.
She turned back to the page.
You might think the marriage is doomed to fail, because of these extreme circumstances and because you were unmarried in 2015. Here’s the thing. I still don’t understand whether our fate is fixed or fluid. There’s no telling whether our future will play out a certain way because of our actions or in spite of them. So I can’t help but wonder if there’s a way you could still be married to Edward in 2015 and beyond. Sure, you had a blast in 1991 with all the clubbing and drugs—and you deserved some wild fun—but don’t you want more substance now? This is your chance to build on something meaningful, even if this version of you is starting from scratch.
And how do you do that? I’m hardly a marriage expert, but I can tell you there’s effort involved. You have to make the relationship a priority, know when to set your needs aside to do what’s best for the marriage. Be flexible and look for ways to enjoy your time together, especially when you have less of it. Be open with him. Talk to him. Let yourself fall in love with him.
A word of warning: I’m not sure Edward ever really won over Mom. She was supportive about the wedding in a whatever-makes-my-daughter-happy way, but something always seemed off. The year may start off shaky with her, but have some compassion. You’re not a teenager anymore, internally or externally.
As for Kenzie, he still is a teenager, so you’ll still work with Chestnut on the finances. As you’ll see in the binder, apart from Google’s IPO, you’ll hold steady with the portfolio, since the post–9/11 markets have been volatile to flat. But don’t let that stop you from continuing the donations and investing in passion projects, even if they don’t pay off. Financial security is one of the few things you can count on, so allow others to benefit from your generosity. Don’t shy away from risky ventures. Gamble on the unknown (hint hint: Edward).
Love,
Me
P.S. Ask him to make you toad-in-the-hole—it’s your favorite!
Oona folded the letter and glanced at Edward. An expectant silence hung between them, interrupted by a melodic jangle as she took out her house keys.
“Hey, why was I on the subway?” she asked. “When I—at midnight.”
“Is that where you were?” Edward rubbed the bridge of his nose. “How peculiar. We were at a party and around eleven-thirty I noticed you were gone. I asked if anyone had seen you leave, but”—a helpless shrug—“nobody had. I didn’t know what to think. I’m just glad you came home and that you’re all right.”
“Relatively speaking.” I don’t know what to think, either.
“Would you perhaps be more comfortable if I spent the night somewhere else?”
I’d be more comfortable if I wasn’t married to a man I never met.
Could a husband magically add substance to her life? Surely her existence would always feel transient and random as long as chronology eluded her.
Then again, maybe 2003 Oona was onto something. Maybe marriage would suit her.
“That wouldn’t be fair,” she said. “You live here. You can stay here. But … um…”
“I’m happy to sleep in one of the guest rooms.” Edward sprung to his feet.
“Okay.” There was some small relief in the way he anticipated her needs.
As she unlocked the door, something still nagged at her. That woman on the subway. Something about a pen and two names.
“Hey, do you know anyone named Peter?” Oona asked.
Edward thought for a second and shook his head. “I don’t. Why do you ask?”
“It’s not important.”
But was it?
14
Oona went over to the foyer mirror before taking off her coat, inspecting her forty-year-old self.
“I guess it could be worse,” she mumbled. Not as heavy as she’d be at fifty-one, but her thighs, upper arms, and midsection were thicker than last year. Her face held better news: smile lines and a faint crinkling around her eyes, but not immensely older-looking than her 1991 self. The hair, lightened to a caramel shade streaked with gold, gave her a more youthful appearance.
Cute.
“What are you on about? You’re a stunner.” Edward appeared in the reflection behind her.
This time she couldn’t hide her blush as they made eye contact in the mirror. She turned around.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Yes.” Her stomach made a quick dip. “I’m told I should ask for … frog-in-a-hole?”
“Toad-in-the-hole.” A wide smile and he held up his palms as if for a stickup. “You give yourself good advice. I could make it right now.”
At least he seems easy to like. “I don’t know. It doesn’t involve any actual toads, does it?”
Head thrown back, he laughed deep and hearty. “No, I promise no amphibians will be harmed in the making of this dish. Let me hang up our coats first.”
“Wait.” She fished out the silver watch from her pocket. “I must’ve taken it off when the battery died. I’ll need to get it replaced.” Better yet, she’d frame the timepiece.