Best Before: Aug 28 1994
“Umm.” I look over at Dylan, my eyebrows lowered, holding the can to show him. “I think you should check your dates when you’re buying cans, mister.” I frown and point out thevery oldbest-before date.
His mouth opens the slightest bit before answering me. “What are you talking about? It says 1994.”
“Yes, exactly.” I place one hand on my hip, not grasping how he’s not more grossed out by this.
“That’s a year away?—”
“What are you talking about?” My eyes widen as concern sets in. Did he hit his head this morning, or is he just messing with me? “It’s 2025. That’s like thirty-one years ago.”
“2025?” Now he’s looking at me likeI’mthe crazy one.
I place the can on the counter and pace back and forth in the kitchen for a minute. “Dylan, do you not know what year it is?” He has to have hit his head. Did he say whether he went out at all today? Do I need to take him to a hospital? Do I even know where the nearest hospital is? This feels like a sign of a concussion or amnesia or something.
“Lucy,” he starts, a slight hint of a smirk visible. Okay, he thinks this is a joke. “It’s August 23, 1993.”
1993? What is he talking about?
Chapter Thirteen
“Dylan, you’re scaring me,” I tell him as I back away from him and go over to the couch to grab my cardigan, a sudden chill in the air causing my skin to prickle.
He looks at me, face filled with immediate concern at what I just said. “I don’t want to scare you. Can I sit?” He motions toward the free spot beside me, and I nod. I curl my legs up underneath me and wrap the cardigan around my chest, trying to warm up.
“Okay, so you think that it’s 1993 right now?” I ask plainly, trying not to let panic in my voice show.
“I don’tthinkit’s 1993. Iknowit’s 1993.”
“It’s 2025,” is all I can muster back.
“Ithinkyou’re playing a joke on me,” he says, even though my facial expression doesn’t make it look like I’m joking, my lips pressed together in a tight line.
“Did you hit your head today?” I finally ask, worry setting in. “Did you fall or something? I think we need to go to the hospital.”
“What are you talking about? Lucy, it’s 1993.”
“I wasn’t even alive back then, so clearly, it’s not.”
We both say nothing for a moment as we stare at each other on the couch. As if we’re waiting for the other to yell “psych!” or finally admit to the joke.
But neither of us does.
“Here, let me pull out my phone and show you the date,” I say. I reach over and grab my purse off the floor, pulling out my iPhone. Tapping the button on the side, I try to unlock it, but the screen stays black. “Why is this not working? I charged it last night!” I cry out, getting more and more frustrated by the second.
“What is that?” Dylan leans over to examine the phone in my hands, eyebrows raised slightly.
“What do you mean? It’s my phone.”
“I’ve never seen a phone like that before.” He motions for me to pass it over to him. “And so light, wow.” He looks at me as he turns it over in his hands. “Where did you get this?”
“At the Apple Store,” I say matter-of-factly.
“Apple Store?”
“Ugh, never mind.” I take my phone back and put it away in my purse. “I need something with a date on it.”
“Oh, I have a heating bill. Hold on.” He gets up from the couch and walks over to his desk, pulling open a drawer and grabbing a piece of crinkled paper. He walks over to me and hands it over, pointing out the date in the top right corner.
