Page 100 of Something Like Fate

“I’m sorry, Dad. I’ve really tried.”

He nods. “It’s okay. You tried, and that’s all I can ask for. I’d rather you be happy, doing something you love, than see you miserable. And if it’s going to take a while to figure out what’s going to make you happy, so be it. It’s just ... Ever since your mother—” He stops himself, swallowing hard.

“Ever since Mom what?”

“Nothing.”

He can see I’m upset, so he continues reluctantly, “I was just going to say, ever since your mom died, I’ve been terrified to lose you.”

It’s a big confession, probably the most vulnerable he’s been with me. I’ve always known this was part of why he was so protective. My aunts always told me so. But this is the first time he’s vocalized it instead of logic-ing all the reasons why things aren’t safe or smart.

I squeeze his hand. “You won’t lose me, Dad. I do plan on coming home. It’ll just be a few weeks. Maybe another month.”

“Okay. But you’re welcome to come back earlier. If you need to.”

“So you’re saying you won’t turn my room into a Marvel shrine?”

He laughs. “I may clear some shelf space.”

“So, tell me about Scheana.”

We sit for a solid two hours as he tells me all about his girlfriend. She’s a fellow scientist and a massive nerd for anything comic-book related. In her spare time, she writes romance novels and loves to knit. She’ll be good for Dad, I think.

And if my uptight-scientist dad is starting a whole new chapter, maybe I need to stop being so scared to start my own.

38

For the past four years, I’ve had one constant in my life: Teller Owens is my best friend. We may not have talked regularly last year, but I was comforted knowing that if I really needed him, he would be there.

Now something has shifted between us. Despite our attempts to act like everything is normal as they rush around packing up the Airbnb, I can tell by the look in his eyes, in that prolonged hug. I can tell by the way he folds me in tight, like it’s the last time things will ever be like this. How can they be? Maybe the vision was correct. How can we go back to just being friends after confessing we’re in love with each other? After acknowledging that we can’t be together?

“Hey, before I go, I want to give you a parting gift,” he says, releasing his grip around me, fully aware Dad and Mei are watching from the car.

I suck in one last breath of that fresh-cut-grass scent and finally let go. “Yeah?”

He whips out his money belt from behind his back, and a laugh rockets out of me. “For your travels. And look, there’s even a secret pocket inside. Look.”

I follow his lead, cracking the tiny, hidden pocket open. My finger brushes up against something. It’s card stock.

Gently, I tug it out, knees nearly buckling at the sight of it. It’s notthephoto. It’s one I haven’t seen before. It looks to have been taken at Nai Nai’s, based on the mustard-colored wall. Mom is holding me onthe couch, smiling down at me with a love so intense, I feel it through the photo. I’m swaddled tight in a pale-pink blanket like a burrito, no older than a month. Dad is sitting next to her, mouth open like he’s talking, one arm wrapped protectively around Mom’s shoulder. They both look intensely sleep deprived, hair a mess, eyes dark and heavy, shirts untucked. It’s everything I love about the original photo: it’s not posed. It’s entirely candid, a snapshot of a mere second. And in that moment, we’re so incredibly happy.

“I know it’s notthephoto,” Teller says. “But when your aunt Ellen sent a copy of the original, she sent a bunch of others too. And I saw this one and I just ... thought you might like it.”

My heart threatens to burst. It’s absolutely perfect. Why does he have to be so thoughtful? “Thank you, Tel. This means everything,” I say, rocking the money belt and photo close to my chest. Before we left for this trip, I’d have burned it at the stake if I could. And now, it’s my most prized possession.

Our eyes catch and a long beat passes. It feels like we’re in the center of a snow globe, just waiting for someone to shake it. Neither of us are ready to say goodbye. Instead, I burrow my head into his neck and wrap my arms around his torso, holding on for dear life. Because he’s truly the best friend I’ve ever had.

“I would have liked doing laundry and taxes together,” I whisper.

“Me too,” he says, adding, “And yes, I know that was fromEverything Everywhere All at Once.”

I can only laugh. Otherwise, I might cry. “I’m sorry.”

He pulls back to look me dead in the eye. “Don’t be. I want you to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” he says, pressing a kiss to the side of my head. Then he turns away and heads toward the car.

I wrap my arms around myself, watching them reverse out of the driveway. Dad gives me an embarrassingly aggressive wave through the window, like he used to when he left for work in the mornings. I barely hold it together as I wave back. As their car gets smaller and smaller, I letthe tears flow. I’m still crying when I meet up with Caleb. He takes my rucksack and sets it on the ground beside us, pulling me into his arms.

“You miss your fam,” he says, drawing a sympathetic circle on my lower back.

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