Chapter Four

Sheldon wasn't there.

He wasn't there at 9:50 a.m., when Amy arrived early. She thought maybe ten minutes had been overkill. Maybe it made her look too eager. And yet she was disappointed he wasn't that eager, too. By 10:00 a.m., she was worried. Punctually was one of Sheldon's life pillars. But by 10:10, she was angry.

Here she was, being Sheldon's doormat once again! Here she was, paying with her time and her convenience - and, yes, her emotions - for his childish refusal to drive. Even after she taught him and offered to help him study for his test! Yes, he would come rushing in and half-way apologize by blaming it all on the bus being late. But it wouldn't be a real apology, would it? It would just be another thing that he would claim wasn't his fault. Then he would act surprised that Amy was angry. Because it was never his fault.

Brushing a tear from her eye, cursing herself, Amy turned to leave. There was her answer after all: it was the end. Except it came much faster than she had anticipated. She had been hoping for a deep conversation, some genuine apologies from both of them, a promise to try and move forward. But all she got was a reminder of what was wrong with her relationship. Her ex-relationship. Getting back into her car, slamming the door behind her, she looked over at the card she had left setting on the passenger's seat.

"Tepid water." She almost slapped her forehead, like some stereotypical fool. Not just a memory. An instruction.

She practically ran back inside and couldn't help but tap her foot impatiently as she waited while the person in line before her placed the longest coffee order known to mankind. Finally it was her turn. Her words came out in a tumble, "My name is Amy Farrah Fowler, and I need to order some tepid water right now, please."

The barista smiled and said, "Let me get that for you."

To Amy's dismay, she started to actually pour warm water in a cup. Amy's shoulders sagged. No, she was wrong. It wasn't a clue, after all. Then she noticed the barista opened and lowered two tea bags into the mug before handing it over. "Green tea and Lemon Zinger. Someone told me it's your favorite. And this is for you, too."

In her other hand was a cream envelope. Then the girl with the pink hair and eyebrow ring leaned across the counter and whispered, "I'm not supposed to say this, but this is so romantic!"

"Um, yes. Thank you," Amy said, barely able to breathe as she took the envelope. So romantic? Sheldon? She wanted to open it right there, but she felt the eyes of the barista on her, amused and curious. She walked over to the furthest table instead, which was fortunately empty. Her hands were trembling as she opened it.

Phi phenomenon
The wrong color of shirt
Pitfall avoidance

"Phi phenomenon. That's easy," Amy said mumbled to herself. "Perceiving continuous motion between separate objects viewed rapidly in succession . . . a movie or video game. So maybe something about a movie? But the wrong color of shirt?"

She tried to think of any time Sheldon had talked about shirt colors. Wait! What was that thing about Star Trek? Sheldon said he'd never get a Star Trek costume in red because it meant he would die a painful death before his time. "Red!"

The man at the next table turned around to look at her. She tried to smile disarmingly, to reassure him she wasn't crazy, and she turned her body slightly away from him. Amy scrunched up her face in confusion. Pitfall avoidance? Obviously she knew what the words meant, their actual definition, but she didn't understand them in this context. This clue was more difficult than the previous.

Sighing, she took out her phone. The first hit on her search for "pitfall" was a Wikipedia article about an old Atari video game. That had to be it; maybe the very one the phi phenomenon was referencing. Her eyes hungrily read the article. "Along the way, he must negotiate numerous hazards, including pits, quicksand, rolling logs, fire, rattlesnakes, scorpions, and crocodiles. Harry may jump over or otherwise avoid these obstacles by climbing, running, or swinging on vines."

Vines! Red vines! It was a movie, not a video game. The next location was a movie theater! But which one? There were several on Colorado Boulevard alone, and they had gone together to all of them at some point. There had to be another meaning in this clue; had there been some other pitfall they had avoided? That had to do with a movie theater?

Suddenly, Amy threw her head back and laughed, not noticing or caring about the newest strange look she received. Sheldon was waiting at the movie theater where he asked her to be his girlfriend.

The theater was crowded as most of the first matinées of the day were about to start. One couldn't get in without a ticket. And there were too many people and free-standing posters and displays to makes out the concession stand from the front door. Amy waited in line and walked up to the counter when it was her turn.

"Ma'am?" the cashier asked.

Amy jumped. "Uh . . . whatever starts next, I guess." There were no movie titles that fit with the clue. But she had to get into the theater.

"Do you have a Regency Rewards card?"

"Huh? Oh, yes." Amy dug around in her wallet, feeling like she was wasting precious time. She knew Sheldon was right there, just a few yards away, waiting for her at the concession stand.

"Here you go. Theater eight on your right."

She took the paper ticket, mumbled "Thanks," and almost ran to the concession stand.

He wasn't there.

Looking down at the card, in her hand, Amy reread it. So she needed to order something again it seemed. She waited in line. "My name is Amy Farrah Fowler, and I need Red Vines!"

"Okaay," the cashier said, her tone implying Amy was a crazy woman.

"Wait, did you say Amy Fowler?" a teenage boy behind the cashier asked.

"Yes, yes!" she yelled.

"Here you go, Junior Mints," he said cheerfully, handing her the package of her favorite movie candy and another cream envelope.

"But she ordered Red Vines! And never paid . . ." the first cashier protested as Amy walked away. She didn't hear the rest of the exchange, the only sound left was the blood rushing through her ears as she ran out to her car. She didn't want strangers staring at her again. Once inside, she opened the envelope.

A fertile valley
Monohydrogen oxide
Sugar conversion

Amy let out a deep breath. This was the most complex clue yet. She bit her lip.

"Okay," she said, talking to herself, "think it through, one step at a time. A fertile valley could be . . . anywhere. I'll come back to it. Monohydrogen oxide?" She shook her head. Monohydrogen oxide was a misnomer, she knew. Non-scientific persons were always getting it confused with dihydrogen monoxide, which was basic water. Sheldon knew that too. So what was he telling her? She decided to break it down into its simplest form. The chemical formula for monohydrogen oxide would be HO. "Something about Christmas? The picture of him on Santa's lap?"

Wary of what she would find, she typed HO into her search engine. After the pictures of chocolate cream swirl cakes, scantily dressed woman, and, yes, Santa Claus, she decided to go to Wikipedia's list of acronyms. The very first one made her smile. "HO or H0 is the most popular scale of model railway in the world."

"So, it's a train or railroad. Sugar conversion . . . well, there's how our bodies convert sugar into glucose . . . or something simpler? like how how many tablespoons in a cup?" Amy shook her head. No, Sheldon wouldn't reference cooking. She thought briefly about maple syrup and his favorite breakfast food, French toast. But that wasn't really a conversation, as maple sap was already a form of sugar. There was alcohol, that was a conversion of sugar, but Sheldon didn't drink. He hated wine, he always made fun of Penny for drinking it, he complained it burned, no, not wine -

"The wine train!" Amy screamed in her car. That had to be it! And it was Napa Valley! While it wasn't technically their first kiss, these were Sheldon's memories, not hers. It was Sheldon's first kiss. The first he had initiated, the first he had enjoyed, the first he had lengthened and lingered over. The Napa Valley wine train was the next location.

Amy twisted her lips, the new clue in her hands. Surely he didn't expect her to go all the way to Napa Valley again. She would, she knew. Maybe that was it, maybe this was some sort of test? Yet, somehow, she didn't think it was. Sheldon knew, didn't he?, how much she loved him? He didn't need her to drive or fly all over California to prove that to him, did he? She frowned. If he did, then she had been even more hurtful than she thought. Based on the way her chest hurt every night, when she tried to sleep, like someone was sitting on it, she couldn't imagine a worse pain.

Oh model railway scales! That was it! It wasn't the actual wine train, it was a smaller version, a model! Yes!

"Oh, crap, " she groaned. Why didn't she listen more closely when Sheldon talked about trains? Why did the very mention of them always make her eyes glaze over? She didn't know anything about the actual train that night, she had been so angry at him for spouting all those facts with his weird little friend, and then suddenly he kissed her and all the facts and weird little friends in the world flew out of her mind. She searched her memory for any and everything Sheldon had ever said about model trains. Struck by a cast off sentence she vaguely recalled, she looked back at her phone and searched for model train stores. Where was that one . . . .? She studied each red dot on the map in turn. Then she took a deep, determined breath, set her phone and the clue on the seat beside her, and drove to what she thought just might be the most promising location.

The bell chimed as she entered. Good, it wasn't that crowded. This time, she wasn't expecting Sheldon. She aimlessly walked up one aisle and down another, but Amy was completely unsure for what she should be looking. Obviously there wasn't just a Napa Valley wine train set. She walked up the counter.

"Excuse me?"

"Yes?" the clerk asked.

"Um, I think this might be unusual, but I'm looking for something related to the Napa Valley wine train." Amy felt her cheeks glowing red. What if she was in the wrong store or had the clue completely wrong? This person would think she was a lunatic.

"Could you be more specific?" the gentleman asked. He was middle-aged, rather doughy around the middle, and his eyes were kind. At least he wasn't a teenager, like the last two employees had been, making Amy feel old and awkward with their youth and coolness.

"There's a wine train in Napa Valley and it's a really old train and -" she paused and took a deep breath - "I don't suppose the name Amy Farrah Fowler means something to you?"

The clerk smiled. He reached under the counter and passed over a tiny train car and another cream envelope. Amy felt like she could have thrown her arms around him if the counter hadn't been in the way. "An HO gauge Silverado Trail Dining Car. It is one of the 1915 Pullmans that came from the Denver Rio Grande, originally built for the Northern Pacific Railway. Now used in the Napa Valley wine train. Not the locomotive, oddly."

"No," Amy breathed out softly, taking the little toy in her hand. "The dining car is perfect. Thank you. Do I owe you anything for it?"

He shook his head. "No, it's already been paid for."

"Thank you." Amy turned to leave.

"Miss?"

"Yes?"

"Dr. Cooper is a regular customer here. He's never bought a train car for anyone else. Take care of it."

Tears prickled at Amy's eyes. She just nodded and left, returning to her car, hoping the kind man wasn't watching her as she started to cry. The whole thing was so overwhelming. Sheldon had never bought a train car for anyone else. Sheldon had never, she felt confident, put together a scavenger hunt of memories for anyone else. Sheldon had never . . . loved anyone else as he loved her. She tore at this envelope, no longer caring about keeping them pristine.

It makes you happy
Mammals you love - I'll be there
awaiting the same

This haiku was different, this haiku was the closest Sheldon would ever get to a love poem. And it was love; he would be there waiting, at the zoo, for her love. For happiness.

A sob came out. An ugly, choking sob. What a fool she had been! There was something worse than her pain; there was Sheldon's. All because of her stupid plan, and then her stupid pride! What she wouldn't give to go back in time and change those twenty-four hours.

"Irony's not really my strong suit," Sheldon said. "but I have been getting better with sarcasm, if you want to give that a try."

Amy felt herself growing hot. She just could not believe the gall of this man! She threw her arms up in disbelief. "Oh, sure I'd love to."

Sheldon paused and then waved at her. "Whenever you're ready."

First her eyebrows went down, and then she shook her head slightly. "You know what, never mind. I cannot spend the next five years of my life explaining this to you. In fact, I don't even want to spend the next five minutes explaining this to you."

"Was that sarcasm? Because I don't get it," Sheldon asked, his face clearly innocent.

"Obviously you don't get it. You never get it. You've never gotten it, and now I'm worried you never will." Amy stomped away from him and grabbed her purse.

"Wait, Amy. Are you leaving?" Sheldon called out as she opened the apartment door. "I get it. Our five years have gone by in a flash, not The Flash. I get it now!"

She ran down the stairs, yelling behind her as she heard his own footfalls. "Don't follow me, Sheldon. Leave me alone. Just go and watch your stupid TV show."

Amy didn't remember that Sheldon had respected her wishes. That his steps stopped abruptly on the stairs. That he hadn't attempted to follow her. Or disagree further with her. That he had left her alone. Exactly for what she asked.

She didn't even remember the drive home or slamming the door of her own apartment or ignoring the text from Sheldon. All she was aware of by the time she got home was the aching tugging of her lower abdomen and her need to urinate. She pulled down her underwear and sat on the toilet.

There is was, the stain she knew was coming. Despite that, she couldn't help but stare at it. A blush of red on her underwear, the irrefutable proof that she was a woman. A woman that was not pregnant. A woman that would probably never be pregnant. A woman that had foolishly made a five-year plan, complete with picket fences and blue-eyed children. A woman that was in love with a mere boy, not a man.

And all Sheldon could think about was his stupid television viewing habits! Who was she kidding? He was never, ever going to father her child. He was never, ever going to marry her. It was probably unlikely he would ever find his way to second base. Five years today. Five years of her life gone. Her five year plan down the drain, flushed away just as her body was flushing away this useless part it would never need. And now it was too late to find someone else, she didn't have five more years to give.

She put her elbows down on her thighs and sobbed. The worst part was she didn't want someone else. Her uterus, and her life, were high-rent spaces, and she knew that only Sheldon had the correct currency.

She wanted Sheldon to want her.

That night, Amy hadn't slept well. Her mind couldn't find peace after the argument, and her body couldn't find peace as it struggled with this necessary biological function. She woke up late, after finally falling asleep, her legs pulled up around the cramping, and, curses!, her nightgown stained.

Maybe she should call him to apologize. Apparently all his concerns about cranky, moody uterus stuff had a basis in fact. But how like him to even phrase it that way, to reduce her brilliance down to some sort of sexist hormonally-induced temporary insanity! It was insulting. As Amy stripped the bed, she osculated widely between wanting to make it right with Sheldon and fear that it would never be right with Sheldon.

She brooded. She took pain relievers and heated up her hot water bottle and sat on the sofa in a clean nightgown, eating ice cream directly out of the pint, and she brooded. She watched some horrible Nicholas Sparks movie on television. Kissing in the rain! That was so unreal, such a cliché! As if that would ever happen to anyone, let alone her! It was over-the-top, fluffy, flowery romance, a ridiculous scene out of a ridiculous movie based on a ridiculous romance novel. The more she thought and watched and ate and felt ill, physically and emotionally, the more it became Sheldon's fault. She seethed without really knowing why, and her fear and anger tumbled and snowballed until they became larger than her reason.

By the time she told him she needed a break, she believed it. But each day for eight and half weeks, she had believed it less. And, yet, each day for eight and half weeks, she didn't know how to tell him she was wrong.

Amy almost ran to the koala enclosure, her chunky loafers thudding against the pavement as she weaved around families. This clue was final; it said, without a doubt, that he would be there. It had been almost four hours now. Four hours and eight and half weeks. Without Sheldon. But not anymore. He would be there, he would be waiting. Probably not with open arms, because he was Sheldon, but Amy didn't care. She would run toward him and wrap her arms around his skinny waist, and burrow her face into his chest, almost kissing his heart if she could. She would tell him how much she loved him. She would tell him how wrong she was.

She could barely breathe as she opened the door. "Excusemeexcusemeexcuseme" came out in a constant, single word as she ducked and dodged her way through. He would be there. Not here at the beginning, but in the very center, surrounded by koalas. So not in the center, but near the one large male he especially loved. No, not there; it was probably too crowded. He would be at the end, where there were less people as they got tired of koalas and were eager to move on to their next destination. He would be there.

Amy's feet ground to a halt, and her eyes darted around the almost empty space. She swung in circles wildly, extending her arms, her breath heaving.

Sheldon wasn't there.

To be continued . . .

As always, thank you in advance for your reviews!

A special thank you to YlvaBorealis and her story, A Turn of Events, that fully opened my eyes to possibility that Amy's biological clock could perhaps be the reasoning for her break with Sheldon. As I am almost exclusively a writer and not a reader, I am not aware of the titles of other stories that use this idea but it is my understanding there are several others out there. So, thank you to those writers, whoever you may be, for the same thought.