Page 4 of Something Like Fate

She continues, “Like, if a guy doesn’t give you immediate butterflies, you’re over him.”

“But why waste my time if he’s not my soulmate?” I counter. I naively expected college to be a mecca of emotionally mature men with steel-cut bods in search of long-term relationships, maybe an engagement on the horizon. Even my parents paired off young. They met at work, fresh from college, where they bonded over a shared theory about a blood-splatter pattern in a murder investigation. Pure romance, right? On their first date, they watched an episode ofCSIfor shits and laughed at how inaccurate it was. Of course, I only know this from what my aunts tell me. Mom passed away from a sudden brain aneurysm when I was just four.

Instead, I found a thousand Mark B.’s whose definition of romance is sharing a bong hit—and apparently sending dick pics.

“All I’m saying is it doesn’t always have to be a universe-bending moment, you know. Sometimes sex is just pointless sex. And that’s okay,” Bianca points out.

“You’re right. But I still can’t hook up with Mark B. anymore.” I flex my fingers, stressed at the prospect of having to break it to him—not that he’ll really care.

“Fair,” Bianca says, dark eyes gleaming. “Oh my god. Maybe you’ll meet someone new in Italy?”

I tilt my head in consideration. “Italy would be romantic.” Excitement bubbles in my gut. Not just at the prospect of an Italian romance, but of spending a whole month backpacking through the country with Bianca. This trip couldn’t be coming at a better time. Maybe it’ll even give me some perspective, or inspiration to get my life together. Maybe I’ll come back with a fresh outlook and a renewed love for my program.

We’ve been planning this trip since she saw the background photo on my iPad—of my mom and Aunt Mei on a sisters’ trip to Italy the summer Mom graduated high school thirty years ago.

Mom and Mei look so full of life. They’re linked, arm in arm, on the cobblestoned streets of Florence, gelato in hand. You’d never know they’d battled a nasty bout of food poisoning the night before. Or that they stayed in an endless string of budget, bug-ridden hostels for an entire month. Or that they required months of acupuncture to heal their backs from the weight of their rucksacks. Still, according to Mei, my mom couldn’t wait to go on another trip once she had enough money.

I’ve always known I wanted to follow in Mom’s footsteps (literally) and go to Italy. It just always felt out of reach. Not to mention, Italy isn’t cheap, especially on a student budget. But Bianca convinced me it was realistic, so long as we embrace the backpacker life: staying in hostels, cooking our own meals, joining free group tours, and taking public transportation. Besides, she’s half-Italian and has always wanted to explore her roots.

My phone pings again, and my stomach does a barrel roll. “Oh god. It’s another dick pic, isn’t it? I feel like this one is going to be worse.”

Bianca takes one for the team and checks on my behalf. “It’s ... a picture of a poodle missing a leg.”

“Doris?” I snatch my phone. As I suspected, the photo is definitely not from Mark B.

It’s from Teller.

A rush of adrenaline floods me.

“Yup. Yourbest friend,” she hums with an eye roll. I know it bugs her that she has to share that title with someone else. As close as Bianca and I have gotten this year, she knows she can’t compete with years of history.

I examine the photo of Doris, the tripod poodle I’d convinced him to rescue from the local shelter, in a chunky-knit argyle sweater. Despite a strong aversion to dogs (because allergies), he begrudgingly fostered her “temporarily,” until he could find her a good home. A shock to everyone, including me, his family fell in love with her and adopted her.

Lo: OMGDoris

Teller: I’ll give her a hug from you.

I stare at Doris’s button eyes and tight, old-lady curls, and it finally clicks. If he’s with Doris, he’s home.

Lo:Wait What?

Lo:Are You Home For The Summer????

Teller: Damn, I missed being screamed at via text.

Lo:Are You Home Or Not

Lo: ??

Teller: Yes, I’m home. Got in yesterday. What are you up to?

Lo: just at a frat party. kind of wanting to leave.When Can I See Doris??

Lo: and you, too.But Mostly Doris.

Admittedly, I have zero chill. We haven’t seen each other since he left town last August to go to Northwestern, four whole hours away. Despite promises to reunite during Christmas break, the timing never worked out.

Teller: I’ll come pick you up. What’s the address?

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