Page 23 of Time Loops & Meet Cutes
I try to picture a woman in my mind, but I can’t. I just have the general impression of someone who’s a little quieter than me, whose default expression is a little more serious—but she looks absolutely luminous if you make her smile.
I really don’t know what I’m looking for, but I hope I find it nonetheless.
“Cam!” shouts a high voice behind me.
I turn and see the flower girl.
“Mama’s tired,” she announces. “Will you dance with me again?”
10Noelle
June 20, Version 45-ish
Bright and early—which is now ten in the morning for me—I head downtown, armed with a notebook and pen just to prove that I’m taking this research business seriously.
I meet Avery at Magic Dumplings. The interior of the restaurant looks like it has seen better days—well, no. It probably always looked like this, but I find it reassuring. It’s the sort of place that my grandparents might have frequented.
I hold up two fingers to indicate that we want a table for two, and an older woman in a faded apron takes us to a table by the window. We peruse the extensive menu, written in both English and Chinese, each item labeled with a number, and I select the pan-fried pork-and-chive dumplings. Using the pencil left on the chipped table, I write down the number on a slip of paper. Avery chooses something as well. The lady takes our order and sets down two small teacups and a teapot. Aside from a few older women near the back of the restaurant, we’re the only customers.
As I sip my tea, I look out the window. The air conditioner makes a loud rattling sound, but I can’t complain. It’s cooler than it is outside.
The server returns with two plates containing twelve dumplings each, and my mouth starts to water from the smell. I pick up a dumpling with my chopsticks, then remind myself that I’ll probably burn myself if I eat it now, so I reach for the vinegar and wait a couple of minutes.
Finally, I lift the first dumpling to my lips and inhale deeply before taking a bite. It’s just as delicious as the aroma suggests, and it doesn’t take us long to polish everything off.
When the server comes to clear the table, I take a deep breath and ask, “Why is this place called Magic Dumplings?”
“Wah, don’t ask me,” she says. “I didn’t name it.”
“Have you ever heard of dumplings with magical properties?”
She frowns.
“Like, dumplings that could make you fly.”Yeah, great example, Noelle.“Or, random thought here, make you repeat the same day over and over.”
“Why do I need magic for that? I go to work. My son doesn’t call. Same every day.”
“No, I meanexactlythe same. Like, say, the air conditioner breaks at noon. Then when you come to work the next day, it’s working again… but it breaks at noon. And the date on your phone never changes.”
After a moment of thought, she says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Maybe you should see a doctor, get head checked.” She taps her temple.
“I tried that.” I manage a chuckle. “Could we get the bill?”
I don’t come down to Chinatown very often. I live in North York, and there’s no shortage of Chinese food there. On the walk to Tasty 8 Dumplings, I stop a couple of times, examining businesses that have changed since my last visit.
The second dumpling place is newer. Sparkling floors. Black tables and chairs. The server is younger than I am.
Our shrimp-and-vegetable dumplings arrive in a bamboo steamer. They’re not quite as good as the dumplings at the first place but still quite tasty, as their name would suggest.
“Excuse me,” Avery says to the server when he returns to clear our dishes, “have you heard of dumplings that make people travel in time? Maybe repeat the same day over and over?”
“Uh, no.” He seems to brace himself, as if expecting some unpredictable behavior on our part, or at least a second weird question.
“Just wondering,” Avery says with a smile. “Can we have the bill?”
By the time we get to the third restaurant, I’m rather full, but I remind myself that my future might depend on consuming the right dumpling, and so I persevere and order some soup dumplings.
After the meal, I don’t bother asking my server if she knows anything about magical dumplings. Neither does Avery. We’re too embarrassed to do it again. All I can do is hope that one of these dumplings did the trick, even if none of them tasted quite like the ones at the night market.
