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“Oh, Zach. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Alba loves you.” Clare pats my hand. “Tell me something cheerful. I found out today that our house needs a new sump pump. Distract me.”

“Shall we go talk to Caralora and David?”

“No, they’re talking about home repairs. Caralora’s been house hunting, and everything she’s looking at has tide marks in the basement. It’s crazy how much rain we’ve been having.”

“Nell’s holding court,” I offer.

“Good idea.”

The evening wears on. If it weren’t for Alba and Lucinda’s absence, this would be a very pleasant party. We are all glad to see each other; some people have come far to be here. I find myself thinking about people I would have invited, if I could have: Gomez, Nadia and Nick, Nadia’s brother, Colin, who passed away last year, Alba’s dad. I saw Oliver a few days ago and asked him to come, and to bring his wife, but he said they’d be out of town. He’s never met Alba, so I’m glad he couldn’t make it; it would have been awkward trying to gloss over her absence at her own birthday party.

Clare asks me if we should sing and have cake, even though Alba isn’t here to blow out candles. Sure, why not? Beck made carrot cake, Alba’s favorite. We skip the candles, but we sing happy birthday to Alba. I have a panicky feeling that Alba is dead, even though I know for a fact that she isn’t. It takes a few minutes to subside.

At seven thirty, Celia and Rosa take me aside to tell me that they are going to the Rogers Park police station to report Lucinda missing. I offer to go with them, but they turn me down. “If Alba reappears, could you ask her if Lucinda’s okay?” Celia requests as they leave.

Around ten, everyone agrees that Alba has missed her party. They all offer to stay and help clean up, but I insist that I can take care of it and manage to convince almost everyone to go home. Clare and Beck help me put the food away and bag up the recycling, then they, too, depart. I have a headache, and once I’ve said all the goodbyes, I take some ibuprofen, turn out most of the lights and put myself to bed, feeling lonely and apprehensive.

Alba: I return to the place I left, the bathtub. I dread what’s coming—my older self has warned me. I stay still, crouched in the tub, my heart pounding. I wish I could avoid the next few hours. Just pack a suitcase and take a cab to the Yellow House. But that isn’t what happened.

Our house is quiet. The sun is coming up. I have to get out of the tub; it would be better to put some clothes on. In our bedroom, Zach sleeps on his stomach, one arm thrown across my empty side of the bed. I have my clothes folded in a neat pile on my chair. I take them, and my shoes, and dress in the living room.

The remains of the surprise party clutter all the tables. When Zach and I throw a party, we always stay up and wash all the dishes. Last night, they collected the empties and stacked the plates by the kitchen sink, but there are glasses, balled-up napkins and a sprinkling of toothpicks everywhere. A plate with a half-eaten piece of carrot cake is tucked neatly under a chair. I’m hungry, so I eat it. Happy birthday to me.

Would I have done things differently if I had been able to live this morning before I made my choices?

I hear Zach stirring. When he walks through the living room to the kitchen, he almost doesn’t notice me sitting in the uncomfortable hard chair by the fireplace. “Hey, you’re home,” Zach says. He comes to me and kisses me. His breath smells of beer, but he doesn’t seem hungover. “Do you want some breakfast?”

“Sure,” I say. I follow him to the kitchen.

“Lucinda was supposed to be at the party, but she never showed up. Do you know where she is?” Zach asks.

“I don’t know where she is at the moment, but she’ll turn up eventually. Tell everyone not to worry.”

“That’s it? ‘Don’t worry’?” Zach takes out bread, eggs, sausages. A feast. I’m so hungry.

“I don’t know where Lucinda is,” I repeat. “When she came back, she didn’t tell us where she’d been. I’m not sure she remembered.”

“That isn’t reassuring, Alba.”

I make coffee while Zach fries eggs. “There’s cava in the fridge, do you want a mimosa?” he asks.

“Maybe later,” I reply. “How was the party? I’m sorry I missed it.”

“Did you know about it beforehand?” Zach asks. I admit that I did. “Oh, well,” he says, “I tried.”

“It was sweet of you,” I tell him. Zach has always been sweet to me. He looks exhausted. The contrast between Oliver’s blissful, first-kiss-stunned face and Zach’s unhappy, tired face is too painful. We sit at the kitchen table and eat our breakfast.

“Alba,” Zach says, “you know how your father time traveled to your mother’s childhood, over and over? Why is it that you’re always traveling away from me, never to me?”

“I don’t know,” I reply.

“Alba, where do you go? Who do you go to? There’s someone that you’re traveling to, isn’t there?”

Even now, I can’t tell him. He stares at me. I stare back.

“Did you already know him when you met me? Or did you meet him later?”

“Later,” I admit. “You’re the one I chose. He’s part of a causal loop. With him, there was no beginning. Or if there was, I haven’t found it yet.”