Page 9 of Something Like Fate

“Reptiles make me deeply uncomfortable.”

“Fair. What about a goldfish?”

“What’s the point of a goldfish? They just swim around in a little bowl. You can’t hug them or play with them. They give nothing back.”

“Excuse you. My childhood goldfish, Scrambled and Egg, were very affectionate,” I informed him. I held back a snicker at the image of Teller hugging an animal. I wasn’t certain he was capable of being affectionate with anything.

“You had fish named Scrambled and Egg?” he asked, leaning against the stall doorframe.

“Yes,” I said, slightly out of breath from plunging. “And they were basically puppies with fins and no fur. Every time I put my face to the glass, their gills would expand and they’d swim up to the side of the bowl. I swear they’d lick the glass.”

“Lo, they probably just wanted to be fed,” he said, deadpan.

“I like to think it’s because they knew I was their mom.” He cut me a weird look, which made me feel like a huge loser. So I changed the subject. “When’s your birthday?”

He eyed me for a beat longer than normal, like he couldn’t quite figure me out. “Why do you want to know my birthday?” My aunts asked everyone their birthdays to determine their zodiac compatibility, so I assumed it was a perfectly normal question.

“So I can steal your identity,” I said seriously, coming dangerously close to his leg with the dripping plunger. This toilet was impossible. “I’ll take your full name and social security number, too, while I’m at it. Also, I might faint. Can you try again?”

He took over. “Oh, right. Well, just try not to murder anyone. Or do anything too embarrassing to bring shame to my family name.”

“It’ll just be a little light fraud. No big deal. Might even swing by PetSmart and get a fish or two in your name.” I say, watching the rise and fall of the water with each plunge.

“If you get me any animal, I’d like a pony.”

I blinked, unsure I’d heard him correctly. Either that, or he was being sarcastic, despite an all-too-serious expression. “A pony?”

And he was. “Ponies are my favorite animal, if you insist I have one.”

Who was this guy? “Why ponies of all things? Aren’t you allergic to them too?”

“A hundred percent. But I like them in theory. They’re adorable and mini.”

“Wow,” I said. It was the first moment I felt like there was hope that we could actually have some common ground. “Teller Owens, lover of ponies.”

He covered his mouth over his mask in a quiet chuckle, stare going rigid again when the plunger splashed water onto his shoe. We spent the rest of the evening taking turns trying to unclog the toilet (unsuccessfully) before deeming it a lost cause and calling our manager to geta plumber. It was revolting, but the smile never left my face all night. Because that day I’d accomplished something huge: I’d made Teller Owens laugh for the first time.

I smile at the memory as we pass a particularly bright streetlight that illuminates Teller’s face in dusky gold. I steal a peek at him. His profile is different. His nose is longer, more mature. Even his lips are fuller. It strikes me that he’s a full-on adult now, probably with a ceramic plate set. Certainly not a cupboard full of red Solo cups like Bianca and her roommates. He probably even does his own taxes. And while all these changes on their own are slight, taken together, they’re a stark reminder of the year that’s passed.

“You aren’t boring, Tel. But I’m sorry either way,” I finally say as we pull into my neighborhood. “Any chance she’ll change her mind?”

“I mean, I begged her. Like ... full-on begged. It’s embarrassing to even think about. But she had her mind made up and asked me to move out. So now I’ll need to find a place for next year.” He left most of his furniture in their apartment, and he isn’t sure where he’ll live next year since all his friends have their living situations figured out. I feel terrible for him. He was so excited to have his own place that he could organize just the way he likes. And now he’s losing it.

“That seems abrupt. Do you think she might have been unhappy for a while?”

He frowns, like he hadn’t thought of that before. “Maybe. It’s definitely possible. I’ve tried asking her. You know, for closure. But she isn’t really answering me.”

“How often are you texting her?”

He sighs and looks down at his phone in the cupholder. “I tried a couple of times. As much as I could without making her feel uncomfortable. I understand she needs some space, but I feel like I deserve an explanation, you know? After everything.”

Upon inspection, his conversation with Sophie is entirely one-sided. He’s sent her a couple multiparagraph texts, which are, frankly, sad.

I’m always here if you want to talk. I love you and miss you and always will.She’s texted him only once in the past week to arrange for sending back his keys.

“If it’s any consolation, I’m glad you’re back for the summer. I was beginning to think you’d never come home,” I admit. It still feels strange, him being here next to me. He wasn’t planning on coming home for the summer, and I’d resigned myself to the idea that Teller would probably never be back in town for longer than a few days.

He gifts me with the tiniest smile and it feels like a reward, given how down he is.

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