Peter didn’t mention the receipt to Janice.
He thought about it—twice, maybe three times—but in the end, it sounded stupid in his head. Hey, weird thing. I found a receipt yesterday with a future timestamp. I then fulfilled the purchase at the exact time the receipt said, and I didn't even get a receipt from the cashier, because I already had it. Isn’t that wild?
No. It sounded like nothing. Like the kind of story you tell at a party when there’s a lull in conversation and no one really wants to hear about it.
So he let it sit.
The receipt itself ended up on the table by the front door, folded in half like a warning he hadn’t opened yet.
The next one showed up a few days later.
This time, it was under his phone again. Neatly placed. The weight of the phone had flattened it completely.
Peter stared at it.
7-Eleven
Store No. 24018
Albuquerque, NM
Date/Time: 04/21/2029 18:38
Three items this time:
Coconut Water (1)
Salted Pistachios (1)
Dove shampoo – Repair & Protect (1)
Total: $6.58
He rubbed his eyes. No memory of buying those things yesterday. Especially not the shampoo. That wasn’t his kind of purchase. Janice handled all that stuff—shampoo, conditioner, face wash, whatever else showed up in the shower.
Still, he stared at the list. Familiar. Familiar. And then that third thing. Like a foreign object slipped into a photograph.
By 6:30 PM, Peter was back inside the 7-Eleven.
He didn’t know why exactly—curiosity, mostly. Maybe to prove it wasn’t strange. Maybe to break the pattern.
He grabbed the coconut water. Found the pistachios in the snack aisle. But the shampoo wasn’t there.
He looked twice. Checked by the travel bottles, then over by the personal care shelf.
Nothing.
He almost left. He should’ve. The receipt had three items, not two, and that should’ve been the end of it. But instead, he took the two items he could find to the counter.
Different girl this time. Short brown hair, green nails, chewing gum like she didn’t know she was doing it.
She scanned his stuff, and just as she was reaching for the bag, she said:
“We’ve got a sale on toiletries today, by the way. shampoo’s 50% off—little basket by the door.”
She said it like it was nothing. But then she looked up at him—just for a second—and her eyes had this something. Like expectation. Like she was waiting for a reply he hadn’t given yet.
“Right,” he said, clearing his throat. “Yeah, I’ll grab that.”
He walked to the door, and sure enough, there was a red basket filled with off-brand soaps and travel-size shampoos—and a couple bottles of Dove shampoo – Repair & Protect.
He picked one out and brought it back.
She rang it up.
No receipt.
Again.
The time: 18:38.
That night, Janice came home late, bag over one shoulder, phone in hand. Peter was on the couch with the TV on but the volume low. Just waiting.
She walked past, stopped at the kitchen counter, and spotted the bottle.
“Oh,” she said, “you got this?”
Peter glanced over. “Yeah.”
“Nice. I was going to pick some up. This is the one I wanted to try.” She unscrewed the cap, sniffed. “Perfect. Thanks.”
She didn’t look at him when she said it—just the bottle. Then she set it down and went to the bedroom.
Peter stayed on the couch, listening to the shower turn on ten minutes later.
The receipt was still in his pocket.