Page 16 of Something Like Fate

“All right, but you must have had a meet-cute.”

He swallows nervously. “I don’t know if you could call it a meet-cute, per se. We met during a briefing when remains of a suspected missing person were found. Not exactly the most romantic setting, huh?”

I shrug. “The human-remains aspect kind of dampens the mood. But anyway, you must have talked? Clicked during that meeting?”

“I don’t remember much about it, to be honest.”

I blink. His terse response strikes me as odd. Dad has a wicked memory. He remembers all sorts of things, like all 118 chemicalelements, or what outfit I wore on my second birthday. And yet, he doesn’t remember the details of his first interaction with his soulmate?

“That’s it?” I prod.

“That pretty much sums it up.” He averts eye contact. This feels like more than just his typical avoidance, so I let it go. “How’s the planning going?”

“I still want to follow Mom’s itinerary, but we’re allowing for some flexibility. And we both want to do Amalfi at the end,” I explain. Mom and Mei never went to the Amalfi Coast.

He squeezes the small spiral notebook in his hands before setting it gently on the floor next to me. “Speaking of, I wanted to give you this. I thought it might help.”

I flip it open and my heart patters. It’s Mom and Mei’s original itinerary, written in Mom’s loopy handwriting.

“I know Mei told you all about their trip, but just in case she forgot anything, it should all be here,” he says, tapping the notebook.

“Thanks, Dad,” I say gently, trying not to burst this bubble as I flip through the pages. She listed everything by day. Just having this with me feels special, like she’s guiding me along, showing me where to go.

Day 1, land in Venice—see Doge’s Palace and ride gondola, check into Casa Canale Hostel

Day 2—tour Saint Mark’s Square and Saint Mark’s Basilica

I realize I’m muttering out loud when Dad warns, “Be careful of pickpockets in crowded areas like that. And don’t talk to or go off with strangers.”

“We’ll be safe, I promise. No need to worry.”

“I can’t help it. It’s my job to worry.” He also has a bit of a warped perspective of the world, given his line of work and all the true crime he watches.

“Well, I appreciate you being okay with me going. This trip means a lot.”

He nods quietly. “I know.” He may not want to talk about her, but giving me her notebook shows how much he cares. And that means everything.

Before I can thank him, my phone starts vibrating. A dimly lit photo of Bianca sticking her tongue out while devouring spicy BBQ wings at Wing Night flashes across my screen.

At the sight of her name, my throat tightens. Bianca doesn’t like using the phone. And when she does, she’ll text me first to tell me she’s calling.

“You’re going to hate me,” Bianca croaks, confirming my gut feeling.

“This can’t be good.” I grit my teeth and squeeze the slobbery sock tight like a stress ball, bracing myself. Different possibilities flit through my mind. Is our flight canceled? Delayed? Is she gearing up to ask if Chris can come?

“I can’t go to Italy.”

There’s a long pause and my insides all but unhinge, stomach nosediving. I toss the sock on the floor next to my open suitcase. Wow. I did not expect that.

“What? Why?” All the images of us wandering around Rome, arms linked as we take in the beauty of the Colosseum, flicker through my mind.

“I shattered my foot,” she explains, voice quivering. She goes on to detail the drama of her trip to Costco, of all places, and long story short, she had a freak accident involving a bulk tub of coconut oil dropping on her foot, shattering the bone to smithereens. She spent hours in the ER and now has a cast. The doctor says she might even require surgerydepending on how it heals. Coming from the girl who danced through a torn ACL and multiple broken toes this year, I know she’s in bad shape.

I starfish on the floor and Brandon circles me, taunting me with his latest stolen goods: a pair of slobbery panties. It takes me a while to digest, to realize I’m not dreaming this up. Talk about unlucky. Of all the injuries a day before a Euro backpacking trip. We could have probably made do with a broken arm, or literally anything but a foot or leg. “Oh god. I’m sorry, Bianca. That’s beyond unlucky.”

“I’m the one who’s sorry. I know how important this trip is, with your mom and the whole soulmate thing.” I’d called her immediately after Mei left, and she screamed in my ear and demanded to be a bridesmaid (preferably maid of honor, but she understood if I appointed Teller as my man of honor). “But you’ll still go, right? Our plane tickets are nonrefundable.”

I massage my temple, mind racing.What am I going to do about the trip?

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