Page 111 of Something Like Fate

“Merry Christmas,” I call after him. “Wait, um, is Teller here?”

“No clue!” he says with a shrug, heading down the driveway. I take that as a positive sign. If Teller weren’t in town at all, surely Kurt would know?

I poke my head inside. The house isn’t as messy as it once was, probably because the boys have all moved out. But it’s still chaos in the entryway, with boots everywhere, coats, mittens, and hats strewn all over the bench. Nick comes barreling past, unfazed by my presence.

Nick also has no idea if Teller is home or not. How does no one know if their brother is home on Christmas Eve? After I call a shrill “Hello” from the entryway, Doris comes zigzagging down the hall, little stub of a tail wagging a mile a minute. I can’t bend down to pick her up, so I lean over and let her lick my fingers until Mrs. Owens hears me.

“Lo! I haven’t seen you in ages!” She looks the same as last summer, although her sandy hair is a little grayer at the roots. She’s small as ever, a little too thin from running herself ragged at the coffee shop. Her face (and voice) is obscured by a stack of Christmas gifts, topped with crocheted stockings she’s balancing in her arms. She keeps talking (yelling) to me from the kitchen, even though I’m out of sight. “I hear you’re quite the adventurer these days.”

I stand there petting Doris, and we have a whole conversation through the wall about Italy and my knee before she finally says, “By the way, Teller is at Roasters. You might be able to catch him before they close up early for the holiday.”

I thank her and hightail it (more like slow limp) to Mei’s car. “He’s at Roasters.”

The scent hits hard. Fresh-ground coffee beans with sweet hints of espresso and warm pastries.

A gangly-looking teen girl in a Roasters apron eyes Mei and me up from behind the counter, where she’s fighting with the blender. I assumed Mei would leave once she saw me safely inside, but instead she peruses the chalk menu and display of muffins and various Christmas cookies. “Oh, they have those jam cookies Layla likes. I’ll take five.”

“Um, I’m looking for Teller,” I say to the girl, scanning around for him.

She takes far too long before jerking a lazy acrylic finger over her shoulder. “He’s cleaning the bathroom. A customer ran in there not long ago and said they used the toiletaggressively. Whatever that means.”

I’m about to find out.

I hobble down the hall past theBathroomssign, my crutches clicking as I go. Roasters has unisex single bathrooms. I knock on the first two with my crutch—empty. Then Teller emerges from the third, back to me in his smock, mopping the floor, headphones on.

I tap my crutch on the floor next to him, and he looks over his shoulder, eyes wide. “Lo?”

“Hi,” I say, taking him in. All the hard angles of his face, every dip, shadow, and line. Even the way his hair falls, all mussed, refusing to lie flat. Every detail I’ve cataloged in my mind and wasn’t sure I’d ever see again. He’s all there. And it’s perfect. He’s perfect. So perfect, I don’t know what to do with myself other than gawk.

He leans his weight into the mop and removes his headphones. He doesn’t say anything, although I think that has more to do with shock than anything. He hasn’t blinked once.

“Coldplay?” I ask, hearing the familiar voice of Chris Martin filtering through his speakers.

“It’s ‘Christmas Lights’” he says, voice hoarse as he eyes my crutches. “What happened?”

“I twisted my leg on a hike. Hurt my knee. I’m totally fine, though,” I assure him.

“Why are you home?”

“Because things weren’t right. And it took me a while to realize that. To realize a lot of things. But deep down, I think I always knew—” I pause, letting my heart lead the way. “I always knew I made a mistake.”

His jaw stiffens and his eyes narrow suspiciously. “I ... Are you saying this because things didn’t work out with Caleb?” Harsh, but fair.

“No. I know that’s how it probably sounds. But I swear, you are not second choice. You never were.” I lower my head, tightening my hold on my crutches, limbs suddenly feeling heavy. “Caleb and I weren’t right for each other, and I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner. I mean, I did in my gut, but I didn’t let myself recognize it. I was scared because I thought I was beholden to this vision. That I couldn’t deviate from it, or I’d be giving up this chance at true love, giving up a chance to finally prove to my family that I’m not a huge failure. I wanted to be like my mom, my family, so badly. And as it turns out, I’m more like my mom than I thought.”

“What do you mean?”

I repeat the whole story, exactly as Dad explained it to me.

Teller is unreadable. He seems to be contemplating.

“But what about the vision? Fate? Eternal loneliness?”

“The curse thing isn’t real,” I explain. “And yes, fate is important. But we still have free will. We still have the ability to alter the course of our destiny. And I choose you, regardless of the vision. I should have chosen you years ago, Teller. I love you. The truth is, I think I always have? Even if I didn’t see it from the beginning. I convinced myself that we were too different. But I realized all the things that make us so different are exactly what I love most about you. I love that you keep me on schedule. And you know I need someone to make sure I don’t walk around barefoot or let random animals lick my face.

“After Tuscany, I was in denial about my feelings for you. When I finally realized it in Amalfi, it scared me, so I avoided my emotions completely. Avoided thinking of you for months. And it worked temporarily, but in the end all it did was show me that I never want to be without you. I can’t be.”

He watches me for a few seconds, stunned. Too stunned to speak, move. He doesn’t even seem to breathe.

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