by Amalie Jahn
When I’d suggested that my new position as councilman wasn’t going to leave me much time for a proper relationship, she refuted each of my justifications for why I couldn’t continue to see her with legitimate solutions. Unfortunately for me, instead of being the autonomous woman I had her pegged for, she morphed seamlessly into a clingy, insecure facsimile of her former self.
“Our schedules are just so different,” I was telling her over the phone three weeks after the election. “I just don’t want to disappoint you when I can’t see you as often as you’d like.”
“What about as often as you’d like?” she retorted, consternation in her voice. “I thought you liked spending time with me as well. When you want to see someone, you make the time, Phil.”
I sighed, annoyed by how difficult she was being. “This job is the first step in making my dreams come true. You know that. And it’s about keeping a promise to my mother. It’s a promise I’ll stop at nothing to keep, and I can’t be worried about hurting your feelings when keeping that promise takes precedence over spending time with you. I’m just realistic enough to know I can’t juggle two things right now.”
“So I’m disposable,” she spat.
I wasn’t getting anywhere and was making things worse instead of better. I decided to try a different approach. “I’ll be an awful boyfriend. You deserve so much better than me. There are lots of eligible bachelors here in Richmond who I know would be thrilled to date a woman as amazing as you are.”
There was a marked silence on the line, and I thought for a moment she’d hung up before I heard a small sob escape her lips.
“So that’s it then? You don’t care at all if I go off with someone else? If I show up to some fundraising event with another man on my arm? Is that how little our time together meant to you?”
I closed my eyes, willing the migraine I could feel pulsing behind my eyes to go away. “Our time together meant the world to me. Why don’t you understand, I’m doing this for you. You deserve someone better.”
“That sounds a lot like a cop out to me,” she said, and ended the call before I had a chance to reply.
As I was finishing my self-made dinner of microwaved macaroni and cheese, the message on my phone screen began to blink, alerting me to the fact that my voicemail was full.
After our break-up, I assumed I wouldn’t hear from her again. That her anger and her pride would keep her away. And although the truth was, I did miss her, when she began calling incessantly earlier that morning, I decided the best thing to do would be ignore her. So that’s what I did.
Little did I know that over the course of the day she’d leave me 19 messages.
I deleted them all without listening to a single one.
There was no use in listening because regardless of whatever plea she was making or appeal for my return, I could not be swayed. My mind had been resolved from the moment I’d entered the time travel chamber. There would be no lasting romance between us.
My heart belonged to Meena.
The calls continued for the remainder of the week and in the final days before my extraction back to the present, it was all I could do not to answer, just to hear what was so important that she continued to harass me with such determination. But I stayed the course, unwavering in my resolve.
About an hour before my extraction on the last day of my trip, I sat at my kitchen table going through my notes one final time just to be sure I had everything in order before returning to the present. In the days since my election, I’d quickly established myself as a dominant member of the council, garnering respect from my colleagues as well as my constituents. And although a very long road lay ahead of me, I was finally on my way to the Senate.
I straightened the handful of political science and economics books on my shelf under the window and allowed the pride of my accomplishment set in. I did what I came to do, and in a few minutes I’d be back in the present, reveling in the positive changes to my timeline. Would I be working in D.C.? Would Meena and I be living inside the beltway? Would I already be making headway in healthcare reform?
I sat back down at the table, running my fingers across its smooth surface. I allowed my thoughts to drift to my future, imagining the way the surface of the Senate Majority Leader’s desk might feel beneath my hands. And then there was a gentle knock at the door.
Through the peephole I saw an average looking guy, probably around my age, with a bike helmet in one hand and an envelope in the other. I opened the door.
“Mr. Johnson?”
“Yeah?” I replied.
Without crossing the threshold, he reached into the foyer and pressed the envelope into my hand. Then he pulled a tablet out of his messenger bag. “I need you to sign here for delivery. It’s certified.”
I glanced at the letter. There was no return address. It had to be something related to the council, but I couldn’t imagine what was so important that it couldn’t have just been sent electronically. I signed for the delivery and the guy shoved his helmet back onto his head. “Have a great afternoon,” he said.
“You too,” I murmured as I turned the envelope over in my hands and shut the door behind me.
It was so thin and light, as if there might not actually be anything inside. I slid my finger beneath the sealed edge and carefully tore at the corner. And then I slipped the contents onto the kitchen counter.
In an instant, I was back in high school, beside my mother in the doctor’s office, trying to decipher the random grey and black shading of the ultrasound image the technician assured us was clear.
But this ultrasound image was clearly not of a tumor or even the lack thereof.
This ultrasound image, labeled with the name Weddington in the top left-hand corner, was of a baby.
And then, before I fully realized what was happening, there was a blinding light and my trip to the past was officially over.
THE END
Curious to find out what becomes of Phil when he returns to the present? To discover if Meena is still waiting for him? To learn if he continues with his political aspirations?
And to uncover what becomes of the baby?
Pick up a copy of Tin Men, the second book in The Clay Lion Series, available online at Amazon and from Amalie Jahn’s website.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Masterful character development and story lines woven with the common threads of human experience make Amalie's novels relatable to both young and old alike. Her ideas are born from the passions of her own heart which she uses to share her vision of the world with her readers.
When she's not at the computer coaxing characters into submission, you can find Amalie swimming laps, cycling, or running on the treadmill, probably training for her next triathlon. She hates pairing socks and loves avocados. Amalie lives in the United States with her husband, two children, and three extremely overfed cats.
She is also very happy time travel does not yet exist. You can find her right here in the present day at these social media sites or sign up for her spam-free newsletter on her website to receive special offers and information on her latest releases:
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