Chapter 3

**Chapters 1 and 2 out**

I spent the afternoon looking into prohibition and the expectations of women at that time. I knew that women had just gotten the right to vote in August of 1920, so their role was different. As for what I was wearing, the flapper dress was evidence of the progressive change for women, breaking societal norms and showing the world who we were. I was worried I might overdo my femininity and draw attention to myself if I went back. However, as a flapper, that was precisely what I was entitled to do. I wasn’t sure if I would go back or if it would be like Groundhog Day. Would I repeat the same moments, or has time passed just as it is now?

As the day drew close, I went to find grandmother again, only to discover that she left me a note, “will be home late, after book club, be careful, love grandmother.”

I decided it was better now than never and went to the wooden box; I put the photo of me as a flapper with Thiago in his blue collared shirt and grey striped vest, a newsboy hat the color of the vest. His skin was a caramel brown and looked bronzed against his clothes. I couldn’t help but look at this smile; it was big and spread to his eyes. He felt so familiar, even through a photo. I could only hope he was still there or returned to that time. Perhaps, we were connected, and whatever trinket he had would beckon him to me at that time.

I put the photo in the box and watched the color and themes disappear from the paper. I lay in bed, the bracelet heating up again after the cold day. I almost thought to cross my fingers for luck, but that seemed silly with a magic bracelet. I drifted to sleep eventually.

I could feel the environment being different, and when I opened my eyes, I was back on the couch with Thiago. He looked at me suspiciously. But quickly regained his composure.

“I am delighted you returned; I wondered when you would.” He said, holding a drink in his left hand. He sat back, relaxed on the couch. He had removed his newsboy hat, and his blue buttoned shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He was very handsome, and I could sense I was staring. I quickly looked around the room for a clock.

“What time is it? How long have I been gone?” I asked.

“It is 8ish at night, love. You have only been gone the day. Time here passes the same as in the present. So the last time you were here was last night or early this morning. As for time zones and whatnot, please don’t ask; I barely understand time travel myself.” He said without any irony and with a slight chuckle. He offered his drink to me. I took it graciously and sipped it slowly.

“Well, how did you know I would come back?” I asked him incredulously.

“Oh darling, you don't know this, but we are madly in love. We met in ancient Greece; you've been obsessed with me since. So you know, after our hundreds of years together, you’d think I would know you a little bit.” He joked, leaning in, his eyes sparkling. I gulped the drink a little more. Just his jawline alone, I could imagine why I was obsessed or why he assumed I was obsessed.

“So we have met before; why don’t I remember?” I asked while toying with the bracelet on my wrist, “what is it you have that helps you travel?” He grabbed the drink back from me and pointed to his gold watch with what looked like pearl inlay.

“You see here, this is gold, and this white here is black cat bone. I got this from my uncle, Dave. Who also knew what this watch was capable of. He gave it to me when I turned twenty, with a message saying I should be ready.” He shrugged. “My first time traveling, I came here, and I loved this period, so I enjoyed it for a long time. I couldn’t come home for months because I had no idea how to return. Luckily, I ran into another traveler who released me and sent me home. I could see how new you were last night; I didn’t want that to happen to you. So I sent you home as soon as I could. However, by giving you that photo, I felt you’d think to come back.” He took a sip and leaned back on the couch, head back and eyes closed.

“Another traveler?? How many of us are there?” I inquired. I was perched on the edge of the couch, unsure how to be comfortable in this body. He seemed completely comfortable, and the muscles of his face relaxed.

“Yeah, she was much older, I never caught her name, but she had a bracelet like you.” He shrugged, eyes still closed. He was very nonchalant when talking of magic and time travel.

“That’s interesting,” I responded calmly. I didn’t know how much to trust him. Do I tell him I got this bracelet from my grandmother after her sister went missing? Was that bracelet this bracelet, on Ruth? I had so many more questions which made no sense.

“What you thinkin' about, dear?” He had sat up and looked at me quizzically.

“Well, you say you know me very well. However, I don’t know you. How could we have met in ancient Greece? There aren't photos from that time, so we can’t get sent there?” I attempted to look more relaxed on the couch; I leaned back and crossed my legs.

“You’ll see, sometimes you don’t need photos. You just need control. Which I think will take you some time. You look like you have a rod up your ass.” He laughed and finished the drink. I shot daggers at him with my eyes. He stood up and reached out his hand.

“Let’s go enjoy this time we have.” I hesitated but reached for his hand, and we left the stage room to the main room. Isn’t this was Zelda Fitzgerald said a flapper would do, dance for the sake of dancing with a handsome man? I had luckily read her “Eulogy on the Flapper,” written in 1922, to prepare for returning to this time; it felt right to embody those attitudes. This time there was another woman as the entertainment. She was singing “April Showers” by Al Jolson, a song I had read about being popular in New York on the radio. Life is not a highway strewn with flowers; the singer vocalized she was right about that. The room was, as I remembered, smokey and filled with people. Thiago walked up to the bar and ordered us sidecars, something I hadn’t heard of. As he handed me the drink, he touched my lower back and leaned to whisper in my ear. His breath was hot on my earlobe, and his voice tickled me.

“This sidecar, invented this year, is like a margarita, but advertised as a manly drink. If you google this in our time, they say that this drink started in Paris or London, but I believe it started here.” His hand was still on the small of my back, and he arced his other hand with its drink around the room as if to say, everything we see is ours to take. I took a sip of the sidecar; it was reminiscent of whiskey with lemon tartness. I liked it, and I wanted his hand on me. The bracelet slid down on my arm, and I took a moment to be grateful for finding this item. Thiago cheered my drink, and we both swallowed the liquid quickly. My throat was on fire, and he put the glasses on the bar. His hand had left my body then, and I longed for his touch again. I didn’t have to wait long when he grabbed my hand and started dancing with me.

We danced for what felt like hours, having drinks and taking shots. He was good at mingling with people and navigating the women who tried to flirt with him. He referred to me as his wife and would keep a hand on me for most of the night. Though I had never had a long-term or short-term relationship, this was like taking the fast track. I loved every minute and hearing him say, “My wife.” I loved saying, “My husband.” Eventually, we were face-to-face in a slow dance. His hand slowly went around my waist, and he placed my left hand on his shoulder and held out his hand for my hand. He pulled me close so my face was merely centimeters from his, I could smell the cognac on his breath.

“This is nice, isn’t it, wife?” He asked playfully. I blushed when he called me his wife and giggled to hide it. He laughed, a roaring laugh, and held me tighter. Yeah, I thought, this really is nice.