Page 28 of Something Like Fate

I think about how Mom must have felt after having her vision. Did she look for The One around every corner like I am? Was she just as excited? Eager? Anxious? Did sheknowthe moment her and Dad laid eyes on each other?

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought of every possible movie-worthy scenario for the meet-cute. Maybe he’ll whiz by on his red Vespa, silky windswept hair flowing from his helmet, and do a double take. Perhaps he’ll be a charming waiter with rolled-up white sleeves (showcasing rippling forearms) who doles out extra meatballs to children and senior citizens. Or maybe I’ll pull a Cinderella, lose a shoe to the cobblestone, and he’ll dutifully pursue me, risking life and limb in a treacherously busy intersection to return it.

I may or may not have gone so far as researching luxury wedding venues in Tuscany where we’ll inevitably return for our future nuptials. Despite sharing in my excitement, Bianca is concerned I’m getting “way too ahead of myself.” Maybe she’s right. But when it comes to love, it’s just what I do. I can’t help it.

“How do you still look good and rested after a nine-hour flight?” Teller asks as we make our way to a stone pier to catch a water taxi. I’m taken aback for a moment. Did he say I looked good, unshowered and in this hideous tracksuit?

“I had a good nap,” I say, taking a long, purposeful inhale of the salty air, mesmerized by the dark water lapping against the side of the worn wooden mooring poles. I have half a mind to twirl around, arms outstretched, but I refrain.

As we motor toward the heart of Venice, it becomes clear the city is more than just the main canal you see on TV. It’s made up entirely of channels, both wide and narrow, all connected by stone bridges, some more ornate than others. The buildings are tall, ancient, and enchantingly decayed. All appear to be slanted or uneven, which only adds to the charm. There’s something about Venice that’s magical, like I’m walking into my own dream.

The hostel Teller preapproved is located across from a tiny cathedral. It’s a small three-story building painted clementine orange with green shutters adorning high arched windows. Under each sits a rectangular flower box with assorted wildflowers.

“See? Nice for a hostel, isn’t it?” I ask. Next to the building appears to be a small restaurant with a patio. Bright-blue umbrellas fan out over each table, adding a pop of color. At one sits a posh-looking couple enjoying a romantic seafood dinner. The other side is a postcard-perfect gelato shop with a canary-striped awning. Teller and I pause in awe of the gelato. It has artful swirls and is sprinkled with cookies, nuts, berries, and even Parisian macarons.

I can tell he’s impressed, though he won’t admit it.

“I forgot how ... small a single mattress is,” Teller says. He scratches his head and turns it sideways, as though calculating how we’ll both fit on there tonight.

We didn’t book a reservation in advance, so I suppose this is our fault.

Admittedly, it looks quite dire. Scientifically speaking, it’s barely wide enough to fit a kid comfortably. There’s no way we won’t be on top of each other. My nerves whir and hum from head to toe just thinking about it.

To add insult to injury, we’re sharing a room with four strangers, which Teller is not keen on (because they could do weird shit at night, like watch us sleep, or steal our stuff). But I’m not letting this hiccup ruin the day. Besides, as I remind Teller, we have no belongings to steal.

It takes some serious trial and error to fall asleep, positioning ourselves in the least intrusive way. We settle turned butt to butt. It’s strange, sleeping with my backside pressed into his, being lulled to sleep by the warmth of his body, the rise and fall of his breath. Unfortunately, it’s near impossible to stay asleep over the creak of mattresses, the soundof zippers opening and closing, and the jingle of keys, which is why I’m lying here texting Bianca.

Bianca: OMG those Venice pics. So sad I’m not there. Ugh.

Lo: wish you were here too!! if it makes you feel better, at least you’re not sharing aSinglebed with a very tall adult male.

Bianca: ????

I snap a quick picture, though my flash is on and it disturbs Teller. I hold my breath, worried I’ve woken him up as he flips over, facing me. He’s still asleep, breath steady, sending goose bumps skating across the back of my neck.

Lo: there were no available doubles.

Bianca: So you and Teller are sharing a single bed??? That’s weird.

Lo: it’s not. would me and u sharing a bed be weird? No.

Bianca: That’s different.

Lo: how?

Bianca: Because. It just is.

Lo: it really isn’t, i swear!!

Should it be weird? It really isn’t. In fact, it’s peaceful, until the hard tune of Cardi B rings through the air. I squint through the darkness, trying to find the source. Finally, Veronica, the friendly hippie girl in the opposite bunk, sits up, the screen of her phone lighting up the room. “Hey, Mills!” she squeals into the phone. At Veronica’s shrill, Teller startles, nearly rolling right off the top bunk when he realizes he’s spooning me.

“Shit. Sorry, I—I thought you were—” He doesn’t have to finish the sentence for me to know he was going to say Sophie’s name.

“It’s fine,” I whisper. “I’m just glad you got some sleep.”

“Barely. Maybe twenty minutes?”

We listen to Veronica’s conversation for a couple more minutes before Teller lets out a loud sigh.

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