Chapter Text
A chime sounded above the crickety old door when Bonnibel entered the coffee shop. It was the original door from when the shop was built nearly a century ago, repainted to match the original robin’s egg blue. Her aunt had refused to replace it for the sake of “keeping history alive.” Apparently, preserving history was more important than keeping the customers warm. That thing provided zero insulation.
“Hey, Bonnibel.”
Bonnibel offered a smile as she approached the counter where her cousin, Chicle, was sketching on the back of a crumpled receipt. He straightened up and reached for a mug to prepare her usual order: hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon.
“Actually, if you don’t mind, I think I’d like to try the marshmallow latte today. Same size, please.” She reached for her wallet, which triggered the same turn of events it always did. As if tuned in to a sixth sense, Aunt Lolli barreled in from the kitchen through the swinging doors behind the counter and stared at the exchange with fire in her eyes.
“Chicle, you better not be taking money from your cousin.”
Chicle rolled his eyes. “It’s all pomp, Ma. I wasn’t going to take it.”
Just like her cousin, Bonnibel knew better than to argue with Aunt Lolli, so she shoved her wallet deep into the pocket of her puffy pink coat. That’s when she remembered how obnoxiously oversized her coat was and made to unzip it. The second the winter cold tickled at the back of her neck, however, she decided she’d be better off leaving the garment on. It was anyone’s idea how Chicle worked in rolled-up sleeves with a draft like this.
As Chicle got to work on her latte, Bonnibel leaned against the baked goods display case and surveyed the familiar faces spread across the shop.
There was Starchy, the gravedigger, who was just now getting off his overnight shift and warming himself up with a cup of black coffee, no cream, no sugar. He always left coffee stains on his crossword puzzles because, despite the surplus of coasters littering the shop’s tables, he preferred keeping his coffee close.
Phoebe was another regular. She was scrolling through her phone alone at the counter right now, but soon she’d be joined by Neptar and the two would brainstorm lyrics together for their upcoming showcase. Neptar would probably be coming in right…now.
Like clockwork, the door swung open accompanied by the chime as a shivering Neptar hurried in to escape the cold. His face was mostly covered by a stack of scarves, but he shed them as he pulled out the seat beside Phoebe and greeted her. In the commotion, the two noticed Bonnibel and offered their pleasantries, which she returned in the form of a nod and smile.
On the other side of the shop beside the frost-laden window, Old Mr. Puff, who so aptly earned his title by smoking more cigars than any man should, was keeping his fingers busy with a box of matches. He never dared light a cigar in the shop—Aunt Lolli would have his head—but he liked playing with his matchbox in one hand and his apple turnover in the other as he read the morning paper.
“Your latte,” Chicle said, pulling Bonnibel from her thoughts. She turned to find him pushing the saucer to the edge of the counter, the liquid so hot that it built a wall of steam between them. “Definitely let it cool first,” he added with a sheepish smile.
“Thanks, Chicle.”
She took the cup and saucer and made her way to the corner window booth that may as well have had “Bonnibel” stitched into the cushion. It was the same seat she’d sat in as a kid alongside her parents, and it had the best view of the street. Here, Bonnibel could watch as the citizens of Oldbrook (lovingly dubbed Ooo by its citizens) meandered through their daily lives, so blissfully unaware of any bigger picture.
For example, just as Bonnibel adjusted the handle on her mug to rest perpendicular to the window, a group of women would jog by and laugh at whatever joke the person in the rear of the huddle cracked, followed by a father walking his son to what she could only assume was school, based on the kid’s uniform.
Just then, a group of women in sportswear jogged alongside the window. The woman in the back, wearing the heaviest jacket, moved her mouth to say something, and the other women bursted out laughing. Then, not twenty seconds later, a father and son walked by, the older man leaning heavily to hold his son’s hand. The boy’s face was animated as he spoke to his father, likely about whatever cartoon he tuned into this morning or whatever his science class would have in store today. Bonnibel smiled. She remembered how fun science class had been as a kid.
And then, if she was timing it correctly, Chicle would come out from the back with his “surprise” chocolate chip muffin, which Bonnibel had claimed to be her favorite baked good when they were thirteen. She didn’t care for muffins as much as she used to, but she’d eat a million of them if it meant she got to see her cousin’s proud look when she declared it, “The best muffin she’d ever had.” He and Lolli baked them fresh each morning, so it really was delicious. But it was just…more of the same.
“And a surprise for my favorite cousin,” Chicle singsonged as he delicately placed the chocolate chip muffin in front of her.
“Oh, what?” she answered, laying it on perhaps a bit too thick. It was getting harder to feign shock as the invisible weeks marched by, but it was enough for Chicle. He eagerly stared at the muffin, waiting for her feedback. She grabbed the silver fork he’d set beside it, ripped off a piece from the top, and rehearsed her reaction as the muffin made its way to her mouth.
She widened her eyes, lifted a hand to her mouth, and shook her head in disbelief. “You’ve outdone yourself this time. New ingredient?”
He grinned. “Nutmeg.”
“This is your best recipe yet.”
That seemed to satiate him because it was no sooner than the words left Bonnibel’s lips that Chicle was already back behind the counter doodling away on his receipt. It was nice getting to see her cousin regularly. Really, he was more of a brother. Bonnibel’s parents had passed away when she was young, and Aunt Lolli and Chicle were quick to take her in then. Aunt Lolli even offered to put Bonnibel through college, but her academic record spoke for itself and she was able to graduate with virtually no debt.
She was eternally grateful for their support, anyway, so she stopped by the coffee shop every day to say hi and grab a coffee.
And while that felt like well over a year to Bonnibel, it was nothing more than a blink of an eye to everyone around her.
Bonnibel sighed and pulled the library book from her bag. It was a publication on neuroscience that she’d been meaning to read through. It wasn’t her field—she worked in food science—but she’d read nearly every nutritional book the library offered. She needed to branch out or she’d surely die of boredom.
The most annoying part of living in whatever Groundhog Day situation she ended up in was that she could never mark the pages of her books. Every day the world reset, and Bonnibel would have to go back to the library, find the book she’d been reading, check it out, and find her spot again if she hadn’t forced herself to remember the page number. At least today she was starting a new book, meaning she didn’t have to waste her time finding wherever she left off.
Well, maybe there were worse parts to living in a time loop…
For starters, she didn’t know how long it would last. Bonnibel was a scientist and had a penchant for experimentation. Naturally, she had spent the early days in the loop trying to think her way out of it. But, forced to face how bland her life had become over and over and over, Bonnibel gave up quicker than she would have imagined. She’d tried all the obvious ideas: staying awake past 12 a.m. (she’d just be shot into the next morning once the clock struck midnight anyway), driving into a different time zone (again, shot back to morning), and even studied her cells in a desperate attempt to find out if her aging process had slowed or stopped (but then remembered no one else knew February 2nd was repeating).
In the end, she was just thankful time started repeating for her on a day she had off from work. So long as she could stomach a daily chocolate chip muffin, she had the rest of the day at her disposal.
“Can I steal a napkin?”
“Sure,” Bonnibel said without looking up from the first page of her book. She knew it was Mrs. Strawby, the nice woman who single-handedly ran the boutique down the street. She liked sitting at the table closest to the bathroom that was perpetually out of napkins and coffee creamer, which meant every day she asked Bonnibel for one.
It wasn’t the worst thing, living in utter predictability. She had free will, at least. Some days she bothered Finn and Jake at their apartment, other days she went to the community garden to chat with Hunter as she planted tomatoes. But even when she mixed up her daily schedule, the people she spoke with were doing the same thing again and again. Finn and Jake were always playing video games when she went to their place, Hunter was always working on the tomatoes, Chicle always whipped up a surprise chocolate chip muffin, LSP was always taking a nap or terrorizing the public (depending on the time of day), and Mrs. Trunks was always baking an apple pie.
They were all so blissfully unaware that they’d done these things hundreds of times before.
Bonnibel sighed before shoving her fork into the heart of her muffin, prepared to take another bite.
The door chimed.
“Hey, Bonnibel.”
“Hey, Chicle. Could I get a marshmallow latte, medium?”
Chicle shot her a concerned look. “No hot chocolate?”
As she approached the counter, she peeked at his receipt doodle. It was the same thing it always was: a rough sketch of Mr. Puff sitting by the window playing with his matches. It was easy to wonder what else he was capable of drawing.
“Not today, if you don’t mind. I think I need the caffeine.”
As a barista, he spoke that language. She didn’t offer money this time, but Aunt Lolli popped her head out from the swinging doors anyway to greet Bonnibel before returning to her baking prep in the back. Chicle got to work on her latte, Bonnibel said hello to Phoebe, then, after Neptar walked in, to him as well.
“Your latte,” Chicle said, placing the saucer and cup down. “Let it cool first.”
“It smells awesome. Thanks, Chicle.”
She grabbed a few spare napkins on the way to her usual booth, stopping by Mrs. Strawby’s table to drop them off. The older woman looked up, surprise lighting her face.
“Oh, thank you, Bonnie.”
Bonnibel shook her head. “No problem. I saw your table was out of them.”
She felt guilty posing it as an act of kindness instead of preemptive planning, but she had to work with the world around her.
Bonnibel sat at her booth and watched as the usual characters passed by the window: the jogging women, the dad and son, an old couple with a bouquet of roses. She turned away from the window when she heard Chicle’s footsteps.
“And a surprise for my favorite cousin,” he said as he placed the chocolate chip muffin in front of her.
“Really? That’s so nice.” She pulled the warm plate beside her latte and posed her fork to pluck a piece from the muffin top. When it entered her mouth, she let it melt on her tongue, wondering if that would somehow alter the flavor she’d long since become accustomed to. It did not.
“New recipe? This is amazing.”
“Nutmeg,” he said, to which Bonnibel snapped her fingers, as if just making the connection with her taste buds.
“This is your best bake yet.”
As he walked away grinning, Bonnibel pulled out the neuroscience book she’d started yesterday—or yesterday’s today, whatever it counted as. She remembered she’d gotten to page seventy before deciding to wander around the local mall. She obviously left without any purchases but it was nice to walk around and look at things. It had been so long since she’d ventured into that building that it almost felt like something new; all the stores had shirts she couldn’t remember, shoes that seemed foreign, and even the aroma of the food court was exciting to her nose.
Today, however, she was out of ideas. Maybe she could go to a museum and stare at paintings for hours as each old, immortalized face started to look closer to her own than the faces of Ooo.
She took another sip from her latte and started reading, trying to ignore the people walking past the coffee shop’s window in her peripheral vision. By this time, it was a college student running frantically while rifling through a stack of papers, followed by Susan on her way to teach a class at the gym a few buildings down, and then a cluster of teenagers swaddled up in heavy winter coats, seeming to have no purposeful direction at all. They looked happy to be around each other, at least.
Bonnibel was turning to the next page of her book when something abnormal caught her eye; a flash of black a few steps behind the teenagers moved toward the coffee shop’s door. Bonnibel frowned and tried to peer through the glass to see what the anomaly was, but her sight was blocked by the big plant that sat beside the shop’s entrance.
No one was supposed to enter the coffee shop until LSP dropped by in thirty minutes to use the bathroom and demand “a blueberry muffin with the blueberries removed, for the sake of maintaining the blueberry essence.” It hadn’t been thirty minutes already, had it?
Bonnibel lifted her sleeve to double-check her watch, but whatever had been at the door was already walking in, the echo of the bell bouncing off the walls and alarming absolutely none of the patrons besides Bonnibel.
When Bonnibel got a good look, her eyes shot down to the table and she shrank into the booth. If only she could hide below the table at 24 years old with her dignity intact.
Marceline.
At that moment, Bonnibel shoved all thoughts of the time loop aside. Marceline had gone on an extended trip to visit Simon about two months before Bonnibel’s day started repeating. It wasn’t like they had seen each other before that—not since their less-than-amicable breakup—but 90% of the reason Bonnibel had grown accustomed to reliving the same day over and over was because she was certain that her ex wouldn’t pop up. Finn had assured her just the day before the loop started that Marceline was still miles away. Bonnibel was supposed to be safe.
And yet, in the flesh, Marceline made her way to the counter with her bass case strapped to her back and hands shoved into the pockets of her leather jacket. Amidst the annoying thought that Marceline looked good, Bonnibel considered her escape plan.
She could try to slip out the door before Marceline noticed her, though that would sound the door chime and probably elicit a “wHeRe DiD bOnNiE gO?” from Chicle, and there weren’t many Bonnies in Ooo. Then Marceline would know that not only had Bonnibel been there, but she’d run away.
A small part of her regretted not introducing Marceline to her family back in college. She had been so unsure of how Aunt Lolli and Chicle would respond to the whole “liking girls” thing that she kept her social life and family life as separated as possible, which had been a key point of contention between the two women. Sure, the pinkish hue of Chicle’s hair was a dead giveaway, but Bonnibel never mentioned that her aunt and cousin ran a coffee shop on this street, just that they lived in the city and she occasionally saw them (both of which weren’t lies, but were prime examples of how close to a lie you can get by withholding the whole truth).
“Can I have a black coffee to go please?”
Bonnibel was also not equipped to handle hearing her voice for the first time in two physical years and at least an additional mental year after that. It was still too stupidly melodic.
As Chicle poured the coffee, Marceline studied the display case, allotting Bonnibel enough time to pull her hood over her head. Sure, the coat was bright pink, but there were plenty of other women in this city who recognized pink as their signature color. She stared at the first word on the page below her nose, probably burning a hole into the ink, and listened aptly as Marceline paid for and received her coffee. If her face had been any further against this book, snot would have surely lined the pages.
She heard the squeak of the other woman’s beat-up sneakers get closer and closer to the door until they disappeared from the shop. Perfect. She was in the clear.
It was only as Bonnibel lifted her head to resume business as usual that she realized she’d never heard the door’s chime or the telltale scratch of wood against floorboards.
Crud.
Marceline stood with comically wide eyes and her hand frozen on the doorknob. There wasn’t an escape plan now; Bonnibel had been caught.
“Bonnibel?” Marceline sounded nonplussed, as if the idea of Bonnibel having a morning muffin at a shop located ten minutes from her apartment was outrageous, even more outrageous than Marceline breaking a time loop with nothing more than a small black coffee.
Bonnibel opened her mouth to say something, but she hadn’t thought of a response yet. She had been too elated thinking she was in the clear to have wondered what she’d even say to the other woman if spotted. Her mouth clamped shut and Marceline tilted her head forward, waiting for Bonnibel to say something, anything.
When it became clear that wasn’t happening, Marceline rolled her eyes, scoffed, and made her way out the door and into the cold, walking in the opposite direction. Only as the bass slung to her back faded into the distance did Bonnibel notice the book in her hands was shaking.
Confused, she turned to the counter, expecting to see Chicle doodling away. Instead, he was staring back. Great. He saw. And now that they’ve made eye contact this would surely snowball into a talk she’d remember and he’d forget before the sun rose again tomorrow.
She’d come out to Lolli and Chicle a few times, enough to know they were cool about it. She wished she’d told them sooner, before her day started repeating itself, because now it would never stick. It felt like nothing more than a practice simulation.
Chicle was already making his way over, ignoring his post at the register to slide into the booth across from Bonnibel. As soon as he was situated, he shot her a look about two degrees too paternal for her taste.
“Who was that?” he asked, clearly having overheard not just the exchange, but the unspoken tension that fueled it.
Bonnibel stuck a fork into her muffin. “Someone I knew in college.” She really was an expert at withholding the full truth.
“Someone?” he asked. “She seemed peeved.”
She shrugged. “She’s not exactly happy with me.” Chicle stared back wordlessly, and for a brief moment, Bonnibel understood Marceline’s frustration with silently being stared at. It was annoying. For the sake of filling said silence, Bonnibel continued. “We were friends in high school before I transferred and then we ended up going to the same college.” A pause. “We got into a fight the night we graduated.”
It was an ugly fight, too. Despite being glued at the hip, they weren’t averse to the occasional bickering and banter. However, during the last few weeks of school when Bonnibel was deciding where to apply for work, something ugly emerged between them. Marceline thought Bonnibel was setting herself up to overwork for the rest of her life, and Bonnibel thought that it was none of Marceline’s business. Mix that in with Bonnibel’s (maintained) opinion that no one was owed every detail of her life, including her girlfriend, and their relationship was over. Just like that.
“So old friends with a dramatic backstory,” Chicle said with a confident nod. He watched too many movies, but if that helped him make sense of this, then sure…they were old friends with a dramatic backstory.
Chicle could have handled the truth: Bonnibel had thought for years Marceline was the one. She just wasn’t in the mood right now to hear his onslaught of “love is love” and “we accept you no matter what.” She’d been through that before. Now, she wanted genuine advice about what to do next because her chest ached in a way she hadn’t been prepared for when she woke up this morning. Because how on earth was she supposed to emotionally recover from seeing someone she’d already accepted never seeing again.
She hadn’t even considered why there was a shift in her surroundings today. Did that mean the loop was breaking?
This time, Bonnibel offered a detail freely. “I thought she’d been away, but I guess she’s back.”
Chicle offered a ‘hm’ before saying, “Maybe you can talk it out, right? No time like the present.”
She hummed in agreement, but Chicle was more right than he knew. There would never be any time but the present, and it was likely that today was a fluke and she’d never see Marceline again. So maybe she wasted the only opportunity, or maybe she saved herself some heartbreak. If she stayed in this time loop long enough, maybe she’d forget this occurrence altogether.
She took a sip from her latte, almost believing that.
Bonnibel’s fingers clutched the paper to-go bag that housed her muffin so tightly that holes were forming where her polished nails dug into the material. She knew it was stupid to snoop around like Nancy Drew when, most likely, Marceline’s appearance today was a fluke on a never-ending cold winter day.
She raised her hand to knock, hearing Finn and Jake’s voices (loudly) exchanging commentary on their video game as the sound of fictional explosions seeped through the crack below the door. Her fist hung lifelessly in the air for only a moment before she knocked.
“Come in!” Finn said without asking who it was.
Bonnibel turned the already-unlocked knob and pushed her way in. Finn and Jake were sandwiched on the loveseat with a bowl of popcorn between them. She stopped finding their choice of breakfast appalling a while ago but still cringed as Jake tossed a few barely popped kernels in his mouth at the ripe hour of nine a.m.
“Hey boys,” she said, taking off her coat and draping it on the recliner that faced them. She took a seat and waited for them to finish their round, or level, or whatever gamers called it.
There was nothing but the sound of raining bullets and the occasional “Ooh, I got you so bad!” from Finn for a few minutes, until the round or level or whatever ended. The screen faded to black and Finn paused it, both he and his brother turning to Bonnibel to offer their full attention.
“What’s up?” Finn asked. “Here to challenge me? I’ll have you know I’m on a crazy good winning streak right now.”
Jake shoved his brother as Bonnibel pursed her lips. She knew being direct was probably her best bet, but a part of her was afraid to ask what had been on her mind since this morning. Her usual catch-all had been that, no matter what she did or said, it’d be wiped clean come the next day. Now, she was the slightest bit unsure.
“Did you know Marceline was back?”
Finn and Jake stopped their playful shoves and froze. That already answered Bonnibel’s question, but she wasn’t quite done.
“Uh-” Jake started.
“You told me she wasn’t coming back for a while,” Bonnibel said with her eyes glued to the shaggy carpet beneath her shiny black shoes. If she stared hard enough at the abandoned kernels matted into the carpet, then maybe they wouldn’t see the hurt in her eyes.
Jake, for his part, pulled the bowl of popcorn into his lap and shoved a generous fistful into his mouth, rendering himself unable to speak. Finn thought for a moment then sighed.
“Look, dude, I know I should have said something last week,” he started. Last week? Last week? That meant the entire time Bonnibel had been in this godforsaken time loop, her ex-girlfriend had been right in the city with her. She felt sick to her stomach, like the few bites of muffin were begging to come back up. She inhaled. Deeply.
“Why did you lie to me? I asked you about it yesterday.” She was thankful that, despite all the little things she’d forgotten about the time before February 2nd, she remembered clearly that on February 1st Finn had assured her Marceline was far away visiting Simon.
Finn scratched the back of his neck. “I know. I’m sorry. You just seemed so upset when you asked that I felt worse telling you the truth, y’know?” He cleared his throat. “It’s good news, though! Simon was approved for a clinical study in the city. He’ll be staying at the hospital and soon he’ll be able to live on his own again.”
That was good news. She was still peeved at Marceline, but she also wanted the best for her. Simon’s health had been declining since their junior year of college, and the only shot he had at getting help was through the city’s largest medical program. It was hard to get approval, and she hadn’t known Marceline kept trying to enroll him after the first two rejections.
That also explained what her ex-girlfriend was doing back in the city. With Simon here, there was no reason for her not to be back.
“I understand,” Bonnibel said, because there was no point in harboring frustration at two of the few people in this city she had a good relationship with. “I was just surprised to see her.”
“You thaw her?” Jake asked through his mouthful of popcorn. His eyes lit up when she nodded, which annoyed her. Finn respected their breakup, never pushing the matter when it was made official. He had been very good at maintaining his friendship with the both of them, separately, and never spoke ill of either of them. Jake, on the other hand, was bad at hiding his affinity for “shipping” the two. After meeting Lady, he’d become a big believer in soulmates and was convinced Bonnibel and Marceline were meant to be together.
He’d dropped the topic after the first few months post-breakup, but now, as she sat across from them with undeniable panic strewn across her face, Jake’s hope was making itself apparent again.
“At the coffee shop. You didn’t tell her that my family works there, did you?”
Both boys shook their heads immediately.
“Okay. It was…awkward.”
“What did you say?” Finn asked as he curled his legs beneath him. His eyes were starry, too, making her wonder if he didn’t foster the same ill-placed hope his brother did but had just been better at hiding it.
Bonnibel slumped back in the recliner and willed herself to sound as neutral as possible.
“I ignored her,” she said, quickly adding, “but not on purpose. I just couldn’t think of what to say when she spotted me. And-” She stopped abruptly. Breathed in. Breathed out. She refused to look like a nervous kid in front of the two boys. “Do you guys know what time loops are?”
Finn nodded. “Shoot yeah. Jake and I watched a movie about one, like, a week ago.”
“Great. Well, what if I told you I was in a time loop and every day has been the same for, like, over a year, and today was the first day something off-script happened and that was Marceline coming into the coffee shop. What do you think that means?”
Finn and Jake’s eyes slowly moved from Bonnibel to each other and back to Bonnibel.
“Is this a prank?” Jake asked in a knowing voice, giving her a little “tsk tsk” wag of his finger. She sighed and let her eyes slip shut.
“Yup. Just a prank.”
Jake let out what could only be described as a giggle.
“But you did see Marceline?”
Bonnibel shrugged because she suddenly didn’t want to talk about it anymore. In fact, she decided that she really did wish she hadn’t seen Marceline at all. She wasn’t holding out for tomorrow to be a new day, but now she had to consider adding “avoid Marceline” into her time loop considerations. And that was troublesome.
The digital clock on her antique nightstand’s red digits flashed “11:59.” Bonnibel sat on the edge of her bed and anxiously drummed at her kneecaps. If Marceline’s appearance today really was a sign that the loop had broken, then she’d have no problem staying awake until—
Steam from Bonnibel’s latte rose to tickle her chin but she refused to take a sip else she’d miss the view of pedestrians walking outside the window. She had her latte, and her muffin, and had already given Mrs. Strawby the entire napkin dispenser from her table.
If she wasn’t programmed to have a perpetual full night’s rest, then surely her eyes would have had bags beneath them. Emotionally, she was exhausted. Despite her exceptionally awkward run-in with Marceline and subsequent confrontation with Finn and Jake, Bonnibel had at least hoped the strange occurrence meant February 2nd was coming to an end. It did not.
Bonnibel told herself it was for the sake of science that she looked intermittently out the window at the passing bodies. Sure, her day was still repeating, but maybe the circumstances of that day had shifted.
If today was like any other day, then no one would pass by after the group of coat-clad teenagers. If today was like yesterday, then a familiar leather jacket would be walking by any second.
The teenagers passed, laughing, laughing, laughing…and nothing. No one else. No Marceline. Then the last day really had been a fluke.
Bonnibel nodded in acceptance, opened her book to the page she’d left off at, and told herself the knot in her stomach was somehow a product of relief.