Dad laughs. “This is a very famous book, Cora. And Gibran has a lot of wise things to say about life and love—” Dad pauses. He taps the bridge of his glasses. “And loss.”

“Oh,” I say quietly. I stare at the black-and-white photograph of the author. “Kahlil Gibran? Am I saying that right?”

“Kah-LEEL ji-BRAHN,” Dad helps to guide me.

I mimic his pronunciation.

“Perfect.”

I let out a whistle of pride and flip through a few pages of the book. “I guess I can check it out, but I don’t know how much I’ll understand. I don’t really get poetry.”

I hear Mabel’s voice in my head, You wouldn’t get it. You don’t get it. I frown.

Dad puts his hands up and turns out his palms. “No pressure. I just thought—” He looks at the book with longing. “Well, the other day you asked me about Lebanon. And this is a book I read when I was young. So I thought I would share it with you.”

My stomach feels mushy. Mabel used to call it the mashed potato feeling. We’d both get it whenever Dad got like this. I give him the biggest smile I can muster. “Thanks, Dad. Really. It’s great.”

His eyes light up. “Really?”

“Really. I promise I’ll read it.”

“You know, kiddo, poetry and science aren’t that different.”

I pucker my lips with doubt.

“They’re both trying to solve the mysteries of our universe,” Dad explains. He reaches across the table to tap the cover of the book. “Sometimes reading a poem can give you a different perspective on a scientific concept. It can make your brain work in a different way.”

I glance from the book to my notebook. I take a deep breath. This is my chance. I know I have to take it. “Hey, Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Does Gibran talk about time travel?”

Dad scratches the back of his neck. “Hm. I don’t think so. But—” Dad holds up a finger, telling me to wait while his brain processes. I give him a patient nod. “He does talk about time. Can I see that?”

I hand the book to him. He turns the pages.

“‘You would measure time the measureless and the immeasurable,’” Dad reads aloud.

I wrinkle my nose again. “And what does that mean?”

Dad laughs. “I’m not quite sure. I think it means that time is fluid. That it isn’t quantifiable. At least not in the way that we perceive it to be. We’ve given time a linear order because it suits us. But the order we’ve given it is actually an illusion. That’s not really how time operates.”

My heartbeat quickens. “And isn’t that the theory behind time travel?”

Dad’s forehead creases with thought. “Yes. The idea is that time isn’t linear in the way that we experience it. That it’s more of a circular thing. Well, that’s one of the theories anyway.” The creases on his forehead deepen. “Why are you so interested in time travel?”