If I Could Turn Back Time (10 page)

“I will, I will,” Mike agreed. He looked thoughtful. “Thanks for the advice, Ramie.”

Our waiter came over with our entr
é
es and set them down in front of us, and we were, mercifully, allowed to stop talking for a bit while the sweet scents of coconut and chicken and grilled pineapple filled the air between us.

Still, this whole experience was just too weird. People were looking at me in a way that I’d never even noticed, and therefore that I’d never noticed had stopped. I felt as self-conscious as if I were wearing a rubber Reagan mask. How could anyone be fooled into thinking I was really eighteen when it seemed so obvious, to me, that I was a fraud?

The answer was obvious, of course. How could they believe anything but?
That
was the part that sounded so patently unbelievable.

I was still having trouble believing it myself.

We made it through dinner with small talk, and I tried to let everyone else lead so I could just follow lightly and not say too much or have my behavior stand out as odd. Every word I said sounded self-conscious to my ear, but listening to these voices I’d once thought I knew by heart was like a whole new experience for me.

It was really nice. That’s the part I haven’t really pointed out yet. We were in a great restaurant with great atmosphere, and everyone around us was dressed like they were auditioning for a bit part in
Magnum, P.I.
The only worry I had, apart from the small matter of what had happened to the whole rest of my life, was whether or not I’d get home in time for my curfew. I had two days of school left, which would probably be pretty cool to revisit, and then, if I was still here, I was going to be a jobless, responsibility-free teenager in summer.

This wasn’t really that bad.

We plowed our way through dinner, and then, because it was my birthday tomorrow, Suzanne had asked the waiter to do something special, so he brought over a sliced pineapple and a bowl of dipping caramel, and presented it to me while he and the rest of the servers sang “Happy Birthday.” I always hated that, by the way. Still hate it. Hate being the center of attention like that. It’s so embarrassing.

However, it’s a little less embarrassing when you’re getting your eighteenth birthday celebration. Particularly when you’re thirty-eight and getting your second eighteenth birthday celebration. Basically I got to sit there and know I looked
super-
young for my age.

So it ended up being pretty fun, and I was growing more and more at ease with my youthful self-identity until the check came. That’s when years of reflex took over.

“I’ll get that,” I said, putting my hand over the little book with the gilded palm trees on the outside.

Mike had reached for it at the same time, and withdrew his hand when it touched mine, as if he’d touched a snake.

“What are you
doing
?” Brendan whispered urgently. “
Stop
it. Come on.” It looked like I was making a joke of their generosity, I guess. As soon as I realized my mistake, I took my hand off the check and put it, shamefully, in my lap.

“Sorry,” I said. “It was just such a wonderful dinner, I didn’t want you to have to…” I searched for an explanation, but nothing came to me. “I didn’t want you to have to pay for my portion.”

“Ramie, we asked you to come and celebrate your birthday and graduation!” Suzanne said, and it was clear that she didn’t think anything more of my gesture than that. The self-conscious action of a girl. It was obnoxious of me, but at least it wasn’t revealing of anything. “We are
delighted
to be able to treat you. I can’t imagine why you’d think we expected you to pay.”

I’d really insulted them. I’d taken an ordinary situation that would have been—and once was—completely forgotten, and made it into something hideously awkward for all of us.

Further explanations were only going to go badly so I gave up. “I just really, really appreciate all you do for me,” I said honestly.

“We are happy to have you!” Suzanne cried.

“This celebration was for you,” Mike added. “You and Brendan. What a milestone, getting out of high school.”

That returned the point where it needed to go. This happened to be my birthday, but soon Brendan and I would graduate, and that
was
a big deal at this time.

Finally the conversation drifted back into the mundane—our favorite classes over the years, our best memories, our worst teachers, and so on—and the bill was settled, so we got up to go back out to our cars.

As permanent as my state of suspended teenage-hood felt, I knew that I probably wouldn’t be here for long, so when we walked outside onto the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, I gave Suzanne a big hug. “Thank you so much for everything,” I said, close to her ear. She had always been good to me, even after Brendan and I had broken up. She was one of those adults you could count on to always be normal, and pretty sane, if not super-wise and all-knowing. “You’ll never know how grateful I am for you.”

“We love having you around,” she said, giving me a squeeze. “Thank
you
for celebrating your birthday with us.”

We drew back, and I turned to Brendan’s dad. “Thank you,” I said to him. “It was a lovely dinner. I’m totally stuffed.”

“The sign of a good meal. Glad you enjoyed it!”

“I did! Almost as much as I enjoyed the company. And remember”—I lowered my voice but hardened it meaningfully—“Microsoft. It’s on NASDAQ.” The shares were probably under three dollars right now. “Trust me.”

He gave a hearty laugh. He didn’t trust me at all. Who could blame him? “I’ll look into it.”

I wondered if he’d remember this moment in the future and look back on it with regret, or maybe wonder at my “psychic abilities.” If I’d pushed the Google or Apple points, he could have made a fortune, but I knew those stories would only make me seem fanciful or, in the case of a name like “Google,” maybe like I was making stuff up entirely. Plus, he wasn’t going to hear that name for another few years and trust his memory enough to overinvest.

I kissed him good-bye on the cheek and we waved them up Old Georgetown Road until they turned into the garage where their car was parked.

Only then did Brendan and I head back to his car and talk to each other, alone, for the first time in what suddenly felt like ages.

“So now you’re a real financier,” he commented, hooking his arm lazily over my shoulder. “A financial whiz kid.”

“Actually, yes. And a very good one.”

He laughed. “I think Dad got a real kick out of that.”

“He also got some really good advice.”

“Okay.” He turned the corners of his mouth down and shrugged. “We’ll see.”

I stopped on the sidewalk. “Excuse me, are you saying you don’t have faith in my opinion?”

He was unfazed. “I’m saying you were completely not yourself tonight, so I don’t know
what
to believe.”

That was reasonable. He was right, I
wasn’t
myself. Or at least I wasn’t the self he’d expected to see. Why on earth should I be giving him grief for not taking my teenage professional advice seriously?

I needed to get a grip. I know it sounds crazy, but it was as if my teen hormones were mingling with my adult sense of pride, and the result was a real mess.

I tried to find a way to soften this and make it more reasonable. Or less hysterical-seeming. “Well, Dad and I were going over some new long-range options yesterday, so I happened to be thinking about that stuff anyway.”

Brendan nodded. “What’s this about going to London?” he asked. “Last I heard, you were going to Flagler in
Florida
to study art. What happened to that?”

It was true, I did my first year at Flagler, thinking I’d study art, but the more fun I had, the more I worried that I was pursuing a major that would be too challenging to make into a career. If there was one thing Dad had taught me, and taught me well, it was to eliminate risk, particularly when it came to finances. So I’d gone to Wake Forest for my undergrad work, then taken a year at the London School of Economics and finished my master’s back at the University of Maryland. Sincerely, to this day, one of my favorite reads is the
Financial Times
. I may be a geek, but it’s to a good end.

Brendan and I got into his old station wagon, and he started the engine. My Marti Jones mix tape started blasting out over the speakers.
It was the chance of a lifetime
 … Yes, it was. Whatever it was, this was the chance of a lifetime. I sang along with abandon. What a weird feeling: with no job to go to in the morning, nothing I did mattered right now, at least not in a losing-your-job sense.

Brendan turned the dial to lower the volume.

Then he leaned across the seat and kissed me.

This was routine for us, I realized. My body remembered it, even while my mind lagged a little behind, asking questions I didn’t want to ask, and giving warnings I didn’t want to heed.
I shouldn’t! I’m so much older! This hormonally driven eighteen-year-old body could get pregnant so easily!
All of that warred with,
This feels incredible
.

Try and guess which impulse was stronger.

The kiss was delicious. There is something about making out as a teenager that absolutely beats every other experience. Nothing feels better. Sex isn’t far behind, of course, if the kissing compels it, but I’d still have to say that the best part of it all is the kissing.

This was where I’d learned that.

This was bliss.

Chalk it up to those teenage hormones my body was feeling. I sank into it, willfully feeling every bit of the experience. It had never occurred to me how much I missed this, but I did. I had. I
loved
this. I could do it all night.

And that was the best part, I
could
do it all night.

Why had I been so determined to grow up when I was a kid? I just couldn’t wait to be twenty-one, to be legal, to be finishing school, to be moving out into
the real world
and starting my life properly. Why hadn’t I enjoyed these halcyon days of carefree, jobless, stress-free heaven a lot more?

This was what people dreamed of when they looked back at their lost youth. All that possibility ahead, everything seeming like a good idea, every road well paved and open. There was so little fear of the unknown back then because I, at least, had absolute confidence that no matter what I did, I’d succeed wildly.

And I had, I guess, but I’d learned pretty quickly that it took a lot of work and a lot of worry and a lot, a lot, a
lot
of setbacks and knockouts and getting back up again, to finally make it.

Right this moment I was reliving the time right before I had to find out all those hard lessons for myself.

On top of everything else, I got to enjoy free, unbridled passion. I had never known how really good I’d had it.

We drew together, ever closer even though that didn’t even seem possible. And soon we were peeling our clothes off, first my shirt, after which he spent a long time and a lot of attention on my breasts. No one did that anymore. Not like this.

He moved down, pushing my pants out of his way and moving his mouth down where everything inside of me wanted him to be. I closed my eyes and just let it all happen, felt it all, enjoyed it all, every second, until finally he moved on top of me and entered me.

We both moaned with the relief of it.

I arched against him, meeting him move for move. God, this was awesome. I hadn’t even remembered just how good this was. When Brendan and I had broken up, I’d moved on so determinedly that I don’t think I allowed myself to think about him until I’d all but forgotten the details. Certainly I had taken my time before I got involved with anyone else, and then romance was all mixed up with overloaded college schedules, early morning exams, part-time jobs, and all the things that were the first steps toward the unforgiving schedule I was setting myself up to have for my career.

If I could have had this all those years, would that have been enough? Would I have forgone some of that intense career determination?

For so long I’d been proud of the fact that I’d never
needed
a man to take care of me, I’d never needed a man’s income, I’d never needed anything from a man. Or, to be less specific, I’d never really needed anything from another human being at all as far as personal relationships went.

Now I wondered if I’d totally missed the most important mark.

Now
I wondered if all those years I’d needed the one thing I had so casually pushed away: love.

CHAPTER TEN

When I got in, around midnight, my father was up, as usual, watching TV from the sofa in the living room. His left arm was in a sling and his posture suggested his back was not quite up to par either. Just as I’d recalled.

“Hi, Daddy.”

He pushed the mute button on the old Zenith remote and struggled to sit up straighter and turn to see me. “Hey, princess, how did your night go?” His voice was thick with pain, from the car accident and maybe a little bit of bourbon for pain control.

I sat down on the end of the sofa by his feet. “Weird. It was really weird.”

He picked up the remote again and committed to
off
, then turned back to me. “Weird? How so?”

I sighed dramatically. “You wouldn’t understand. I can’t even understand. It’s crazy.”

“I understand a lot more than you think,” he said, and when I looked at him, he went on: “There isn’t that much that separates us, you know. A few years seems like everything when you’re young, but when time moves on and you see what it really is, it’s meaningless. I was a kid just like you not too long ago.” He hesitated, then shook his head and added, “Not too long ago, and way too long ago.”

I knew what he meant, though he couldn’t have realized it. This throwback was all too familiar, all too easy and tempting to dive into, but at the same time, it felt like so long ago that it might have been someone else’s life.

“Daddy,” I began, then paused. How could I ask him all the things I wanted to without freaking him out about either my sanity or his own death? Could I possibly just be subtle and get answers without indicating my fear/dread/certainty about the future?