I’ve had a long history with The Time Traveler’s Wife. I first saw it for a ridiculously cheap price in a used book store at the peak of it’s popularity, but didn’t pick it up and I regretted it. Shortly thereafter, my mother-in-law let me have the copy she was going to donate. After sitting on my shelf for a few months, someone asked to borrow it, and it was never seen again. Following that, a good friend told me it was one of her favorite books of all time, and that I had to read it, peaking my interest again. I started perusing used bookstores for it again and added it to my amazon wishlist. At this point, I refused to buy it, believing that if karma brought it to me on this many occasions, it was bound to cycle back. And I was determined to read it not so much out of actual interest, but because it was so elusive to me.

And karma pulled through. I was thrilled when my future sister-in-law, Katie, lent me her copy. I started reading it as soon as I got it since I didn’t know when I would get the chance to again. Then one day, the book went missing again. Unbeknownst to me, Katie had contacted Greg and told him that she had forgotten there was a scene in the book that I might be sensitive to during my pregnancy. Instead of warning me, Greg took the book and hid it. Little did he know, this actually caused me more distress. I was almost positive of where I had left it last, and when it wasn’t there, I was frustrated with my forgetfulness. On my way to work one day, I asked Greg if he would mind going back to grab it from where I was convinced I left it. He grabbed a different book and said, “You must mean this one. The Time Traveler’s Wife wasn’t there.” A few days later, I said to Greg, “I just don’t understand, the last time I had it, I was going to read it in the bathtub. Did I take it to the doctor’s office with me after that? Maybe I’ll call them next week and see if they found it.” He merely said, “Well, I don’t know, hon.” Yet another time I brought it up in passing, Greg said, “Oh, but were you actually reading that though?” There were even a few instances when the movie preview came on TV, and Greg said, “Didn’t you want to see that?”

On Friday, I had spent a sleepless night thinking about all sorts of things and unable to get comfortable. When Greg found me on the couch the next morning, I brought the book up as one of the silly things I thought about when I couldn’t sleep. He said, “Oh yeah. It’s in the basement,” as if I should have known it had been there the whole time. After a little more questioning, the rest of the story was revealed, and Greg felt worse that instead of shielding me from sensitive subject matter, he had turned me into a crazy lady for about a week.