Page 64 of Something Like Fate

“A bit of raisin. Right in the front.”

Yup, we were officially best friends.

He looks at me now like he knows I’m thinking about the past.

“Why are you always so surprised when I say you’re my best friend?” he asks.

I shrug. “Maybe because we’re so different? I don’t know. And you said on our double date that Imadeyou be my friend.”

“I mean, you kind of did. It’s not an insult. It’s just how I am. The friends I have are the ones that have made the effort. I don’t mean it like my friendship is so exclusive or anything. I guess I just assume no one is that interested in me, so I don’t really go out of my way to try.”

“People are interested in you,” I assure him. “Why would you think otherwise?”

“Because I’m going to be a data analyst,” he says straight up. I remember when he told me he wanted to major in data science. I gave him a hard time at first. Who wakes up one day and decides their dream job is crunching numbers? But the more I thought about it, the more I realized it was the perfect job for him. Numbers and statistics are predictable, logical.

“Caleb didn’t mean that offensively,” I say, realizing I’ve uttered the name we weren’t going to mention tonight. A fresh wave of sadness washes over me. In all our running around, I’ve managed to avoid thinking about him most of the night. I will myself to stay in this moment with Teller. But I need to make my point. “He was just trying to say it wasn’t something he could picture himself doing.”

He shakes his head. “That’s exactly it. Numbers and data are boring to most people, especially Mr. I’m Not Like a Regular Tourist I’m a Traveler—shit. Sorry. I know we aren’t talking about him.”

I can’t help the giggle that escapes me. “I’m not a tourist, I’m a traveler,” I say in my best deep Caleb voice. I don’t make a habit of talking badly about people I care about, but a little shit talking feels justified. “You hated him, didn’t you?”

“Not at all. We’re just different people.” I observe Teller for a few beats. “Okay, every time he said, ‘Let’s do something authentic,’ I almost expired. Like, what does that even mean? Let me do this touristy Colosseum tour without you reminding us how you’ve already seen it five times.”

We devolve into laughter and vow to do the most quintessentially touristy stuff for the rest of the trip.

Roasting Caleb feels kind of good, strangely cathartic. “Remember the time he talked about volunteering with starving orphans in Chad? We get it, you’re virtuous.”

Teller snorts. “Or when he stared into the eyes of a lion in Kenya ... which, to be fair, is pretty freakin’ cool. No wonder he thinks I’m a boring number cruncher.”

“That’s exactly why you’re not boring, though. Most people like to travel. But you find excitement in things not a lot of people do, even though you hate most things,” I add with a little sauce.

“I do not hate most things.”

I swing him a look. “You hated me when we first met.”

“I did not! I admired you.”

I do a double take. “Admired me?” I certainly never got that impression.

“You were ... fearless. About the world, about everything.”

“That’s completely untrue,” I argue, righting myself on the stool, knee brushing against his.

His eyes catch mine. “I know now that you aren’t completely fearless, but I thought you were. You let your dogs lick your mouth.”

I nearly topple off the stool laughing. “Touché,” I say.

“By the way, I like that you like so many things,” he says before taking a sip of his drink. “The world excites you.”

“That’s kind of my problem, though. I like everything, but I don’t love anything enough to stick with it.”

“Have you tried tackling it the opposite way? Thinking about what you dislike instead?”

I consider that, dragging my fingers through the condensation under my glass.

“There isn’t much I dislike.”

“Oh, come on. Even an irrational hatred?”

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