Page 68 of The Soulmate Theory

My heart fluttered and I wondered if I’d ever get used to it.

Somehow, I didn’t think so.

“Well, that was disgustingly adorable,” Macie muttered.

I leveled her with a stare. “That sounded pretty bitter coming from someone who is supposed to be in love herself.” She rolled her eyes at me. “You want to finally tell me what the hell is going on with you and Jeremy?”

She’d been dancing around the topic every time I’d tried to bring it up. She’d tell me that they had a fight, they were working things out, and everything was fine. But I hadn’t seen them together once since we came back from Malibu. Macie arrived at school each day alone and left each day the same way. They weren’t having lunch together either. She’d been glued to her classroom, ignoring me too.

She sighed. “It was just a lot of little things that built up over time. He never wanted me to be myself. He was always telling me I’m too loud or too obnoxious. That I cause a scene. I get too excited about things. That I’m too stubborn, too high maintenance.”

“Mace–” I started, but realized I didn’t know what to say.

She nodded. “And that’s fine. I’m fine with that. Iamlike that. And I had twenty-six years to accept that about myself. Ilikewho I am—my personality—no matter how big it may seem to some people. That’s what I told myself. That I had twenty-six years to accept who I am, and Jeremy has only known me for three. So, I gave him time.” I nodded. “But it all kind of came to a head in Malibu, and I tried telling him how I felt, but he wouldn’t even acknowledge it. He wouldn’t entertain for one second that what I was saying could be true. I just realized he’s never going to change.” She shrugged. “I also realized that maybe I want someone who is a little more like me anyway. But I love Jeremy enough to not ask him to change who he is for me. He wasn’t willing to do the same. So, I ended things.”

“I’m so sorry, Macie,” I said. She gave me a closed mouth smile that wasn’t quite genuine but was at least grateful. “What was your breaking point?” I found myself asking.

She scratched her neck, her face looking more solemn than I’d ever seen it. “Carter.” I tilted my head, willing her to say more. “The way he looks at you. He said something to you before you went to the conference. He saw that you were anxious, and it was making you irritable. But he didn’t try to make you different. He adjusted what he was saying, how he was handling things, to accommodate what you needed at that moment. He told you how smart you were. He knew exactly how to speak to you, how to touch you, how to comfort you to make you feel better.” She smiled a little. “Jeremy never did that with me. He’s never looked at me the way Carter looks at you.”

I stared at my hands and noticed them tremble. She was correct. Maybe it was the way he studied me for so many years that made him accustomed to who I was. I don’t know. But she was exactly right. I knew she was right about the way Carter looked at me too. Another beating reminder in the back of my mind that I didn’t deserve him. I never would.

I also knew she was right about Jeremy. I’d noticed it before, the way he’d cringe at things she said or the way she acted. He never shared her excitement for anything. I’d never said anything because I figured Macie saw it too, and I always knew if she wanted to do something about it, she would. Macie was the last person on earth who needed someone else to step in and save her, but I wondered if I should’ve said something sooner. I wondered how much weight I may have held.

I now wondered if she’d stay here in Brighton without him. She didn’t have family here. She had friends, but none she liked as much as she liked me. She had her job, but teachers were in short supply. She could work anywhere. I wondered if she’d consider moving to Los Angeles with me. I wanted her to live somewhere she could glitter. I feel like she couldn’t do that with Jeremy, and she couldn’t do that here alone either.

“He dulled your brightness,” I said. “He didn’t want you to shine brighter than he does.”

She nodded. “I know. That’s why I know I’ll be fine.” She shook her head and it radiated down through her shoulders as if she was removing the weight of the conversation from her body. I could tell she was ready to change the subject. I knew she’d turn the focus back on me now.

“Do you think it’s wrong of me not to tell Carter the truth about James?” I found myself changing the subject for her.

Her face scrunched. “That’s hard for me to say, Penny. You’ve never told me the truth about James. Not really.”

I glanced at my phone. We had just over an hour until school started. I glanced around the coffee shop though I wasn’t sure why. Nobody here knew me, nobody cared about my past. Yet, I looked around as if someone may be eavesdropping. I’d told Macie some of the truth. The same way I did with my parents, and Carter, and the disciplinary committee at Oxford. Everyone got bits and pieces.

I wasn’t sure myself if I was really ready to share the story in its entirety. It wasn’t something I’d ever told anyone before. But for the first time, the truth wasn’t something that just affected me. It would affect Carter too. The burden of whether or not to tell him when to tell him was something I was struggling to come to terms with on my own. Macie was the only person in the world I trusted to help me make the decision.

With a heavy sigh, I dumped it all out on her. I told her everything. Every gross detail.

How I had been a nineteen-year-old virgin (not that the virgin part matteredthatmuch) when I arrived at Oxford. That my only identity was my major. What I wanted to do in life. How I thought, before I left, that new identity would give me some kind of power. I’d no longer be the adopted girl, or the girl whose mom overdosed, or Dr. Mason’s daughter, or Easton’s sister, or the weird girl who turned down being Valedictorian. I was just Penelope, just me. And somehow, that didn’t make people more drawn to me or less drawn to me. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. I spent the first six months at Oxford floating around in my own head. Homesick. Heartbroken.

The only connection I made during that time was the professor for my ancient technology course that first semester. Dr. James Martin. He was a renowned archaeologist, credited with multiple discoveries. There were several Oxford professors I wanted to learn from that had inspired me to attend there, including him. His was the only class I was able to enroll in that first semester, though. I ate up every word he said and I attended every lecture. I began going to his open office hours to try and learn more. I was mostly looking for a mentor, but at that point I’d met nobody. I made no friends. I hardly spoke to my roommate. I think I was really, maybe, just looking for a connection– a companion.

James was interesting and intriguing. He had so much knowledge and advice. More than that, he seemed to believe in me. Believed I had what it took to succeed in the industry. He began to offer me tutoring sessions and extra credit opportunities. I believed he was taking an interest in me because he saw my potential. I started to see the signs that maybe his interest in me extended farther than just the academic level, but I ignored those advances. Too afraid that I was either misreading them, or that if I backed away from them, I’d lose my mentor– my friend, too.

Then, one day I decided to take the train to London at the insistence of my parents. I hadn’t been since I moved there. I traveled across the world by myself, and I think that had wiped all of the courage out of me because I wasn’t able to explore London on my own. The culture shock was more intense than I had prepared myself for, and I became overwhelmed. I somehow ended up in a small pub outside the Liverpool Station. After sitting there for over two hours, and twice as many cocktails, I stumbled out of the bar, ready to go back to Oxford. In my state of mind at the time, I ended up getting off at the wrong station. Somewhere between London and Oxford, though I didn’t know where. I realized then that the only phone number I’d managed to get in my first six months there was James’. So, I called him, just to get directions on how to get back to Oxford. I was horribly embarrassed, drunk, and crying. I was homesick and struggling more with classes than I had expected to be. I wanted to move home, but I also didn’t.

And I missed Carter. I remember missing Carter that night.

The night I found that soulmate theory written on the bathroom wall.

James figured out where I was and drove to pick me up. He said he couldn’t take me back to my dorm and risk being seen by another student and having someoneget the wrong idea. So, he took me back to his apartment near campus. He was kind, supportive, and even a little funny. He didn’t make me feel stupid, or young, or naive. Or out of place. When he brought me back to his apartment that night, I let one thing lead to another. I never told him I was a virgin, and if he figured it out afterwards, he never said anything.

After that, for almost two years, that’s what our relationship consisted of. He gave me guidance, advice, proof-read my essays and helped me with homework, and got me into special conferences that under-grads normally couldn’t attend. He promised to help me make connections, he promised to help me get into grad school, to support me through my PhD. In return, I had sex with him. And it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. We both gave each other the only thing we wanted, the only thing we could handle. I had no desire to fall in love, and he wouldn’t want that from me anyway. So it was fine. It worked.

Until I learned he was married. That he had two kids– twin boys. I found out after he snuck me into the grand opening of a new exhibition at Ashmolean. He introduced me as his intern to everyone we met. Until a colleague of his asked where his wife was. He mentioned she was at home, and then that colleague asked how his boys were.

I’d been devastated. Not because I loved him or because I saw a future with him. Not even because I was jealous. But just because he was a cheater, and he’d conned me into being a homewrecker. He first told me their relationship was open, and I said he was a liar. Then he told me how unhappy he was with his life, and for some reason, I sympathized. But not enough to continue the affair.

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