Page 104 of Something Like Fate

“I don’t need that in my life,” I repeat, mostly to appease her.

There’s a knot in my gut when we hang up. A knot that I’d uncoiled when he left. And now it’s back. It lingers the next day, and the day after that, as Caleb goes out and adventures while I hang back and rest my knee. Every day he returns eager to tell me about the people he met, the sights he saw, the food he ate, how he can’t wait until I’m healed and ready to go again.

Thrilled as I am for him, I have two realizations: 1) That I don’t care if I ever go on another hike again. Don’t get me wrong, the odd hike is fun, but I don’t see this becoming my identity like Caleb’s or some of the hard-core people we’ve met with ice picks and spikes on their boots. 2) That I feel a little resentful about being left alone for days on end. Because now that Teller is back on my mind, I’m desperate to busy myself again.

After about a week, Caleb can tell I’m testy, so he suggests we go out for dinner, a luxury since he’s not big on spending money at restaurants. The place boasts a gorgeous panoramic view of the sky, a blend of vibrant oranges and deep purples over the mountaintops.

Just as Caleb helps me into my chair, someone shouts, “Caleb!” from behind. I assume it’s someone from the hostel, but when I turn around, I realize it’s Ernest and Posie, the older couple from Venice. Two tables away from us.

“Oh my goodness! And Lola,” Posie says, jumping up to greet us. I don’t bother to remind her my name is just Lo.

They invite us to sit with them near the huge stone fireplace, and we fill each other in on the last many months of travel. After Venice, they also went to Tuscany for a few weeks before heading home. But now they’re back for a little winter excursion to try snowboarding (of all things) before Christmas.

“I knew there was something between you two,” Posie says when Caleb excuses himself to the bathroom. “You really seem to like each other.” She’s not wrong. I can picture my life with him, or some version of it. We’d always be on some wild adventure, exploring parts of the world we’ve only ever dreamed of visiting. Working odd jobs to make sure we had enough money to cover our expenses. We wouldn’t have much, but I would be happy.

“Thank you. And you and Ernest are adorable.”

She smiles at Ernest, who’s examining the cocktail menu over his wire-framed glasses. “We’ve had a lot of adventures together, I’ll tell you.”

“What are your favorites? You guys must have traveled a lot.”

She nods. “We’ve been to some absolutely magnificent places. But my favorite memories with him are at home, in our squat little flat.”

“At home?” It strikes me as odd, considering how much they’ve prioritized travel in their lives.

“It’s easy to have fun with someone on all these elaborate adventures. But the real challenge is finding someone to enjoy the mundane.Someone who makes you look forward to the blurry gray of everyday life. That takes someone special. That’s what’s real.”

I think about Caleb and these past few months. All these grand escapades, moments straight from the movies—all he has to do is hold his hand out and we’ll be off into the glittery night on some beautiful adventure. When I’m not injured, that is. And yet, my best memories are with Teller when everything was entirely ordinary, or at their worst. Laughing our asses off in the creaky, broken beds at the Shady Pines Inn. Starved and eating deli pizza on the side of the road in Florence. Watching movie marathons and cleaning toilets at The Cinema. It feels like ages ago.

“What do you want to do tomorrow?” Caleb asks as he piggybacks me back to the hostel. He’s in a particularly good mood after dinner. Social Caleb loved seeing Posie and Ernest, who he’s invited to our place later tonight to play cards.

I inhale, bracing myself. “I think I need to go home.” It comes out before I’ve fully registered it.

I think I need space.

It’s scary, the prospect of leaving. Of not knowing what that means for Caleb and me. But I can’t ignore that, for the first time, going home feels more right than staying.

“Home? For the holidays?” Originally, I’d been intent on going home to spend the holidays with Dad. But given the flight costs and our jobs, we decided we wouldn’t go home for Christmas. Instead, we’d head home for the summer. Dad had planned a Caribbean cruise with Scheana, anyway, so it made more sense to stay.

I nod toward my knee. “My knee makes it pretty difficult to do anything. And if I’m going to be stuck in a room, I’d rather not be paying for it. I may as well be home for Christmas, at least.”

“Isn’t your dad going on some cruise?”

“Yeah. But he’s not leaving until Christmas Eve. And my aunts will be home. I’ll spend it with them.”

“Understandable. I wouldn’t want to be in Italy with a knee injury either.” He doesn’t argue or try to convince me to stay. In fact, I think it’s a relief. I can see it in his face.

Our gazes hold for a beat, and I think we’re both finding some clarity. It’s not just about my knee. My injury represents something a lot bigger. We both know it. I’ve always wanted epic love. But I’m starting to think I’ve had it all wrong. Maybe epic love isn’t dashing off to faraway places and passionately kissing amid postcard-worthy views. How could it be, when you’re living a life that isn’t your own? I think about what Posie said, how it’s easy to be in love on vacation. You’re pretending, in a way.

But what about when you’re at home, on any given Tuesday? When you’re in matching sweats, rock-paper-scissoring who unloads the dishwasher for the fifth time that week. When you’re both so exhausted that you barely have the energy to throw chicken nuggets in the oven, but you make each other smile anyway.

Maybe epic love is when there’s no one else in the world you’d rather have a million mundane Tuesdays with.

41

Dad can tell when he picks me up at the airport that something is wrong.

“Why couldn’t the psychic stop crying?” he asks when we finally gets me into his car. Maneuvering in the snow with crutches is not an easy feat.

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