Page 80 of Something Like Fate

He’s quiet for a couple moments. “It certainly threw me for a loop. But it didn’t scare me off.”

I sigh, resting my weight on a stone bench outside the amphitheater. “Ugh. I can’t believe I messed up my one and only shot at love.”

“You didn’t, Lo. Don’t get too hung up on what you think you saw.”

This takes me by surprise. Sure, Dad is logical like Teller. But he’s never outwardly expressed disbelief in the family gifts. “What I think I saw? Do you not believe I had a vision?”

He winces. “No. That’s not necessarily what I meant.”

“Then why are you skeptical?”

A weak smile flits across his face that I can’t help but interpret as pity. “I’m your father. It’s my job to be skeptical about every man you date, isn’t it?”

“For everyone else, yes. But not when he’s The One. Mom had this same vision about you. And you two were the epitome of soulmates.”

“You don’t understand everything, Lo.”

I clench my jaw. Here he goes again, treating me like a child, insinuating that I’m not mature enough to comprehend things, especially about my mother. About my family. I narrow my gaze. “You’re right. I don’t understand everything. Because you refuse to tell me anything about Mom.”

“That’s not true at all.”

Is he for real? A surge of annoyance shoots through me, and I think back to my talk with Teller on the train to Florence—about being more honest with Dad. “Come on. Every time I bring her up, you get all weird. I know it’s been hard for you, but it’s hard for me too. I’ve tried to be good about not asking too many details, but given the situation with Caleb, the least you can do is throw me a few breadcrumbs.”

He shakes his head and turns away, like he’s searching for a quick exit. “Honey, trust me. If there was anything important for you to know, I would tell you.”

“I’ll settle for anything, important or not.”

“Lo, just drop it. Please.” This isn’t his casual avoidance. There’s agitation in his eyes, and I don’t know if it’s him being protective or simply the fact that he hates talking about Mom.

I don’t want to make him uncomfortable or ruin Pompeii for us, so I just drop it. And we’re back to the same place, lingering in the silence of Mom’s absence.

28

Positano, Amalfi Coast

Lucky for Dad, I’m easily distracted. When you’re in a place as beautiful as the Amalfi Coast, the last thing you want is to rehash a fight you’re never going to win. So I leave it alone ... for now.

Not that I have much of a choice. Dad is treating us to an adorable little Airbnb. It’s orange with green shutters, nestled into the cliffs of Positano. The inside is cozy, decorated in soothing shades of blue and white. There are only two bedrooms—one for Mei and me, one for Dad. Teller seems perfectly happy to take the pullout couch in the living room, probably because it’s a million times better than the hostels we’ve grown accustomed to. But the real crown jewel is the lull of the waves crashing over the pebbly beach below. They’re audible from everywhere in the house.

After we unpack, Dad takes a work call and Teller takes a nap. Keen to explore, Mei and I set out on foot, meandering through the narrow, winding streets and alleyways dappled in sunlight.

There’s something about Positano that feels simple, timeless. Sure, it’s crowded like the other cities we’ve visited, but the people here are relaxed. No one is elbowing each other on the sidewalks or speeding ahead of slower walkers. Everyone meanders in bathing suits and knit wraps, padding around the worn cobblestone in flip-flops. Unhurried. These are my people. This is my vibe.

It seems it’s Mei’s vibe, too, considering she’s already stopped at two art galleries, one pottery shop, and four local artisan stands along the way. She’s purchased a whole new “Amalfi aesthetic” wardrobe, including a linen dress embroidered with lemons, funky sea-themed jewelry, and a straw fedora with a blue-striped ribbon (all on sale, of course).

“You and Mom didn’t come to Amalfi, right?” I ask Mei. We’ve stopped at a cute little café overlooking the glimmering water.

She pauses for a moment to sip her cappuccino. “We both wanted to come here, but it was way too expensive. Too bougie, even back then. She would have loved it here, though. Her butt would have been glued to those loungers at the beach the entire week. The ocean was her happy place. She wanted to travel everywhere, but especially places near water.” There’s a hint of sadness in her voice.

Yet another thing I didn’t know about my mom. “Really?” I ask through a mouthful of cannoli.

“Except she had this fear of whales.”

I crinkle my brow. “Whales? Do you mean sharks?”

“Nope. Whales. Like,Free Willy,” she says, eyes partially obscured by the brim of her new hat.

“Why?”

---