Page 52 of Something Like Fate

Everyone else decides to have a nightcap at another restaurant nearby, but I opt to hightail it back to the hostel. I need to call Aunt Mei. She picks up immediately.

I describe everything in detail, from the field to the images of Teller at the end. She asks clarifying questions, like whether I was in my body or watching as a third party, because apparently these things matter.

“Do you think it was actually a vision?” I ask, holding my breath. After so many years wishing for this ability, I now find myself wishing the opposite. Could it have just been a silly figment of my imagination?

“You said it was clear, vivid, right? That it randomly struck you and pulled you out of the moment?”

“Yeah.”

“Then it sounds like a vision, based on what you’ve described,” she responds.

I take a shaky breath. “What does it mean?”

“It could mean a few different things, but the most obvious interpretation would be that there might be distance between you and Teller in the future.”

“Distance,” I repeat. “I felt like a total bystander in his life. Like I wasn’t part of it at all. Like we didn’t even know each other.”

“That would make sense. You haven’t seen him much since he moved away, right?” Mei confirms.

“Technically, no. We’ve texted ... here and there.” Well, I’ve texted. I’ve always wondered whether Teller and I would still be friends had it not been for me constantly reaching out. In those rare times he actually did text me back, it’s usually because I texted first. I’m convinced we wouldn’t have talked all year if I hadn’t initiated. Same with when we first met. If I hadn’t forced him to talk to me, would we have just been casual coworkers? Would we have just gone our separate ways at school? Will things go back to the way they were when he returns to college and gets back together with Sophie? Likely.

I’d intended for this trip to bring us back to the way things used to be. But maybe it’s really marking the end of an era. Though maybe that era is already long gone.

“Does this mean I’m losing him?” I finally ask.

There’s a long pause. “Friends come in and out of our lives for a reason.”

I can’t help but laugh, because if I don’t, I might cry. “That sounds like one of those motivational quotes. About footprints in sand and shit.”

“I’m sorry. I know it’s not what you want to hear,” she says quietly.

“But it can change, right? I can change it?” I ask hopefully.

“It’s possible. Things aren’t set in stone. But it’s also important to let things take their natural course.”

“But it’s not natural. Me and Teller not being friends,” I argue.

“It’s one of those crappy parts of life. Not everyone we love is meant to stay. You and I both know that.”

16

It never occurred to me that maybe Teller and I weren’t meant to be best friends forever. The possibility of an expiration date on our friendship makes me want to crawl into a corner and cry. He was the first person to really listen to me, understand me, make me feel worthy. I can’t live in a reality where he’s not in my life.

That’s why, for our second-to-last day in Florence, I attach myself to his hip. It’s the better alternative to moping around and going over every possible scenario that could lead to our demise. Besides, as Aunt Mei said, premonitions and visions aren’t necessarily locked in stone. I can change the course of our friendship. And I will.

Based on Teller’s probing looks, he can tell something is off with me. But I don’t tell him about my vision, and I don’t plan to. Because Teller is Teller. He’s the type of person who tenses up for the entirety of a scary movie because he knows the jumps are coming. If I tell him there’s a possibility our friendship might end, he won’t be able to think about anything else.

Instead, I choose to live in the now, soaking up every moment with him. We spend all afternoon weaving through a sea of colorful vendors selling fresh produce, intricate jewelry, ceramics, and textiles. I’m pressured by a particularly aggressive vendor into trying an array of soft-cheese samples that taste like feet. Teller finds a nice belt and attempts to haggle. The vendor is uncharacteristically stubborn about the price, and Teller caves and purchases it. The sucker.

Riley and Caleb join to wander around the Basilica of Santa Croce. On the way, the four of us stop to listen to a musician playing “What a Wonderful World” on the piano. I watch, admiring how his fingers dance over the weathered keys like it’s second nature.

“Dance with me,” Caleb says, eyes twinkling.

His hand gently tugs mine, and the crowd seems to part as he spins me effortlessly. I feel like Olivia Newton-John inGrease, gracefully twirling, dress catching the breeze, billowing up with a perfectly timed gust of wind blowing through the market. In all reality, I probably look like an injured ostrich, but nothing could spoil this moment. Not even Teller watching me from the sidelines with an expression I can’t quite figure out. Then again, everything is a blur of colors. I can’t stop laughing as Caleb twirls me faster and faster until—

A jolt, followed by a clatter, stops us. When I look down, I see that the clasp of my purse has come undone after snagging on Caleb’s belt.

“Crap,” I mutter. When I go to yank my strap free, the bag tips and its entire contents spill out. Caleb and I watch, frozen, as my belongings scatter across the pavement, rolling every which way.

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