Page 85 of Something Like Fate

“You can really taste the depth of flavors here. Loving the subtle undertones of ... um—”

“Desperation. You can really taste it throughout.”

I lob my head back, laughing, only to bang it into the cupboard.

Teller chokes on his bite of food. “Are you okay?”

I nod through a fit of laughter. I can’t seem to stop.

To wash down the terrible excuse for a dinner, we attempt to make mug cakes in the microwave. They turn out deflated and burned, seeing as we don’t have nearly enough of the ingredients. Still, we eat them (praising the shit out of them for good measure) while splayed on the couch, searching through the wide array of old DVDs under the TV.

“No way. I can’t believe they have this,” Teller says, brandishing a sun-faded copy ofIndiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark.The Cinema did a whole Indiana Jones marathon a few weeks after I started working there. Teller and I watched every single one, completely out of order.

We slip the disc into the dusty DVD player and smile through the cheesy dialogue and overly serious expressions.

“Not gonna lie, Harrison Ford was pretty sexy,” I say, feet resting in Teller’s lap. “The satchel is really working for me.”

He swings me a look. “Okay, it may look cool, but it’s a prime target for thieves. The strap could snag on a branch in the jungle. He’d have been better off carrying his valuables in a sensible money bag.”

I snort and give him a soft kick. “He can’t fit his notebook and ammo in a money bag. And in an emergency, he certainly isn’t going to lift his whole shirt to dig it out like a dweeb.”

There’s nothing quite like witnessing Teller laugh. The crinkle of his eyes. The way he shoots his head back in a roar. It’s joy personified.

“This is fun,” he says, and I couldn’t agree more. For the first time since Tuscany, it feels like us again. The old us.

It reminds me of being back at The Cinema. Just the two of us, best friends, driving home with grape Slurpees, rehashing bizarre customer encounters, quoting iconic movie lines. It gives me hope that if we can get through these next few days, any lingering weirdness willbe but a distant memory. A strange blip in the timeline of our lifelong friendship.

“I never told you about the day I applied to The Cinema,” I say, tracing my finger over my tattoo. I’d avoided telling him that first summer, mostly so he wouldn’t think I was sappier than he already did. Until now, there wasn’t a time that seemed right.

He eyes me with curiosity. “No, you haven’t.”

I take a deep breath, picturing my fifteen-year-old self. “I was feeling really lost. I’d just moved away from the house I grew up in to a whole new neighborhood. I was disappointing my aunts and just ... overall upset that I didn’t have this connection to my mom that I wanted so badly. My dad was working all the time, and I figured since I didn’t have any friends, maybe I should get a job. So I printed off a bunch of résumés one morning and walked around the neighborhood, handing them out at random fast-food places. I’m pretty sure I actually dropped one off at your mom’s coffee shop. Anyway, I saw that The Cinema was advertisingThe Wedding Singer.”

“That movie with Adam Sandler?”

“Yup. That was my mom’s favorite movie. I only know because my aunts told me. She used to watch it over and over because she had a massive crush on Adam Sandler.”

Teller crinkles his eyes. “Wow. That’s a choice.”

“Right? But if you look at my dad, it makes sense. She liked them a little dorky.”

He tips his head. “Okay, good point. Before you keep going, I feel like I should tell you: I actually remember putting those letters on the board. Halfway throughWedding, it started hailing. Hard. Like, golf-ball size. I had to stop and wait for it to finish.”

That revelation hits me in the chest. “Okay, so this was the morning after. I remember some of the cars nearby were damaged from the hail. Anyway, I looked in the window to check the showtimes. But then I saw theHelp Wantedsign, so I left a résumé with Cindy.”

“So you literally saw a sign.”

Literally. One that Teller had put up himself. “I know it sounds dumb, but I guess I’ve always thought it was my mom who led me to you. Like she knew I needed a friend. A good friend.”

“No. It doesn’t sound dumb at all,” he says, eyes a little glossy. I can tell he’s genuinely touched. “The only thing that gets me is that your mom would choose me, of all people? Why not someone way cooler?”

“I didn’t need cool. I needed ...” I pause, voice faltering. “I needed you. You made me realize how much I loved talking to people. That letting people in was worthwhile.”

“Honestly, same, Lo. Most people just think of me as another Owens brother. The one no one remembers the name of.”

“Like I said, you will always be the superior Owens brother to me.” Our eyes snag and hold for a beat. Teller doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. I see the gratitude in his soft gaze. I know that means a lot to him.

“Well, I need to brush my teeth. I can still taste the capers,” he says, gently shifting my legs off him.

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