10
N ot to sound cocky, but I don’t get nervous around guys.
I’m comfortable making the first move, striking up conversation, or smiling at a cute stranger. But there’s something about Caleb that makes me blush like a schoolgirl. He isn’t just a random person. He’s my soulmate, a guy who came out of nowhere and literally saved my life, which is why walking up to him and making small talk is frankly terrifying. It feels bigger. High stakes. Like my entire future rests on it. The Soulmate Effect.
When he smiles at me in the hostel courtyard, my first instinct is to hide my face in Teller’s hoodie. And when I spot him alone at breakfast the next morning, I’m rendered mute. My heart patters when he spots me with my Greek yogurt. I’m also alone. Teller likes to sleep in. Unlike me, Caleb is wholly at ease, munching on a decadent chocolate croissant, long legs outstretched under the table, one ropey arm slung over the back of the chair beside him. He’s a Disney prince in the flesh, even gently dropping crumbs for a tiny bird hopping around his table. When he flashes me a megawatt smile, I nearly topple out of my chair.
Maybe it’s the sun, but my entire body spikes with heat. I force myself to maintain eye contact like a functioning human, finally mumbling something along the lines of “Hihowareyou?” at 2x speed. The moment the words come out of my mouth, two tiny birds start squawking, fighting over a crumb between our tables.
Caleb’s lips curve up as he snickers, theatrically placing a hand around the shell of his ear. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that?”
“I said—” Before I can complete the sentence, the birds go at it again. “Sorry, the birds are—”
Squawk, squawk.
It’s as though nature is trying to spare me the embarrassment. I can’t help but laugh at myself, but mostly because Caleb is laughing, too, beautiful smile flashing.
He starts to pull his chair closer, and then abruptly stops. I wonder what I’ve done wrong until the overwhelming scent of coconut sunscreen floods my nostrils. Teller’s arm reaches over my shoulder and swipes my yogurt. “Lo, you’re lactose intolerant. You don’t want to be sick or gassy on our first day of the tour,” Teller warns, plunking down into the open seat across from me.
RIP me.
Of course, the pesky little birds choose now to be silent.
“ Tel, ” I say through a wince, flashing him a silent please stop talking look.
My warning tone doesn’t register. He continues on, oblivious, “I know you hate when I bring it up, but remember when you threw up in my car—” And this is yet another reason we are just friends . Only platonic friends talk about each other’s bodily functions so freely.
“I have Lactaid,” I say through clenched teeth, nearly crushing a full water bottle with my fist. I fix my stare at the water dripping on the table, unable to muster the strength to look at Caleb. Teller busts out his map of Venice and highlights our route for today’s walking tour. I nod along, pretending to listen. Inside, I’m praying for another runaway trolley to finish me off once and for all.
“I found him,” I croak, hiding under the blankets on the bunk bed. We’re heading out for our walking tour soon, but I needed a quick pep talk from my aunts. It’s only four in the morning back home, so naturally, Mei didn’t pick up. Thankfully, Ellen did. Maisey has been waking up at “cruel hours” the past few days.
“Already? You’ve only been there for—” Ellen shouts over a high-pitched shriek in the background. “Maisey! What did I tell you about eating the remote? You’re gonna break your teeth,” she screeches.
I hold in a laugh when Maisey lets out a howl, presumably devastated that Ellen has taken the remote away.
“Sorry! That child needs an exorcism. She doesn’t get it from me,” Ellen whispers. “Anyway, tell me about him!”
I tell her all about Caleb, describing his muscles in vivid detail, followed by the story of how he saved my life with the trolley. It all sounds very cinematic when I say it out loud. “It’s kind of wild how ridiculously good looking he is. Like, he is so far out of my league, it’s hilarious.”
“Why are you so shocked? Did you think your soulmate was gonna be a troll?”
“I mean, no. But I didn’t expect someone who looks like an A-list movie star.”
“How old is he?”
“My age ... I think. I don’t know. I haven’t had much of a chance to chat with him yet, to be honest. After it all happened, I was too shocked to even tell him my name. And then this morning I tried talking to him, but these birds kept interrupting. And then Teller came out and started lecturing me about eating yogurt because I’m lactose intolerant. Kill me now.”
A witchy cackle erupts. “That’s embarrassing. But you can’t let that get in the way of destiny. Besides, if he’s your future person, he better get used to bodily functions. Farting and all.”
She keeps laughing while I will myself to sink into the mattress and disappear. “Do you think the universe is trying to tell me this isn’t going to work out?”
“Sometimes the universe likes to mess with us. It can’t just give us exactly what we want, when we want it.”
“Why not?” I whine.
“Because what’s the fun in that? Life would be pretty boring if we got whatever we wanted, when we wanted it, right?”
“I can’t say I agree. Serve it to me on a platter. I’m exhausted already.”
“You’re exhausted already? Good luck adulting, hon.” Ellen laughs. “But honestly, kid? Don’t sweat it. It’s not like you’ll end up like Cousin Lin or anything—” She slaps her hand over her mouth.
I can’t help but laugh. I was planning to broach the subject strategically, but her big mouth has a mind of its own. “Okay, so what’s the deal with Cousin Lin? Why was Mei so weird about her the other morning?”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” she says robotically. Ellen is a terrible liar.
“Oh, come on. You can’t keep me in the dark. Was Lin like, cursed or something?”
“Basically,” she says, caving immediately.
My stomach free-falls. “Wait, what? She was actually cursed?”
“No, no! Cursed isn’t really the right word. It’s more of a ... consequence.” That doesn’t sound any less forbidding or terrifying.
I straighten my spine. “A consequence? Of what?”
“Well, any Zhao woman who doesn’t end up with their soulmate ends up alone, miserable, and subject to a lifetime of bad luck,” she informs me, far too casually.
A cough spews out of me. “Alone and miserable? Why am I only finding out about this now?”
“Because it’s so rare. And Mei didn’t want to scare you—which is ridiculous, in my opinion. Because you won’t end up like that. Forever alone and whatnot.” Her tone is still way too relaxed for my liking.
Goose bumps erupt on my arms. “So wait, what happened to Lin?”
“She despised the man she was supposed to be with, Glen. He was a real loser. Not a nice guy, according to your grandmother. So she broke things off, decided she’d rather be alone than be with him. And that’s when the bad luck began.”
“What kind of bad luck are we talking about? Getting pooped on by a bird? Getting caught in the rain? A drawn-out, painful death?”
“Well, the day after she broke things off, she got hit by a bus while riding her bike.”
I gasp. “A bus?! Was she okay?”
“She broke a bunch of bones, but she survived. Then, a couple years later, her house flooded and she lost everything. A few years after that, she tried to start a restaurant, but it failed and she was left in financial ruin. Had to move in with us, actually, for a few years. I remember her sleeping in the guest room when I was around eight before she could afford her own place. To top it all off, she never found love again. We invited her for dinner all the time, but she’d refuse. Your grandmother always said she was too proud.”
I cringe. A series of images flashes through my mind. Eating dinner alone. Watching movies alone. Traveling to foreign countries all by my lonesome. Just like Dad, when I’m not around. “That’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard.”
She nods. “But don’t worry, you won’t end up like them.”
“Who’s them? I thought we were just talking about Cousin Lin? Did this happen to someone else?”
“Apparently, your First Great-Aunt Shu. The details are fuzzy. She lived across the country, so no one was all that close with her.”
“What happened?”
“Similar story. Died alone, broke and eternally lonely. But don’t worry, Lo,” she adds, her tone turning optimistic a little too quickly. “It’s only happened twice in our whole family history.”
“Is that supposed to reassure me?” Up until a few days ago, I was the only woman in the family who hadn’t inherited the gift. I’m no stranger to being the exception.
“Things will pick up with Caleb; you’ll see. What’s the plan for today?” she asks, promptly ignoring my question.
“Um, we’re doing a walking tour around Venice,” I explain. “Then we’re going on those gondola rides through the canal tonight.”
She cradles her right cheek. “Sounds like the perfect opportunity for romance.”
I’m still weary from Teller’s comments for the majority of the morning and, frankly, a little shook by my conversation with Ellen. How did I not know about the consequences of not ending up with my soulmate? I can’t help but feel a little offended that my aunts would keep something like this from me. That up until a few days ago, they thought I’d be another cautionary tale.
Despite Ellen’s optimism, I’m not out of the woods yet. I actually need to talk to Caleb to seal the deal. By the time we’ve completed our glassblowing demonstration and the tour of Saint Mark’s Basilica, most of the humiliation and shock has faded.
Maybe it’s a by-product of doing embarrassing things on the regular. It’s also easy to forget your problems when you’re in one of the most beautiful cities in the world on a tour with all your newest hostel friends—including your soulmate (Posie invited him)—exactly where your mom was thirty years before. And when you’re looking at Venetian Gothic architecture dating back to the 1400s.
Our tour guide, Gia, is a tiny, spiky-haired woman. She’s a force to be reckoned with, navigating crowds like a total boss.
“If I were a flavor, I’d be espresso cream because I like to keep things high energy,” she told our group. She’s not lying. She practically vibrates as she speaks, moving her hands in all manner of directions. It’s proving infectious; we’re all bright-eyed and hanging on every word about how her great-grandfather, a former opera singer, started their tour company out of pure passion for sharing their culture with the world.
We take a quick break in the shady square, mostly for Ernest’s and Posie’s sakes. They’re understandably exhausted and spritzing each other with water bottles. According to Jenny’s Fitbit, we’ve walked fifteen thousand steps today.
As Gia goes on about Venice’s 300 bridges that connect all 116 islands, I spy Caleb leaning against an ornate column, smiling and tapping his foot to a street performer playing the accordion.
Now’s your chance to talk to him. You can do this, Lo. The only thing standing in the way is my own insecurity.
“Lo,” I say, surprised that my legs have carried my body this far.
He tears his eyes from Accordion Guy and looks at me. I can’t help but stare at the dusting of freckles clustered over the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, what?”
“Lo. It’s my name. Short for Loren,” I tell him, mentally patting myself on the back for uttering a sentence to him in my normal voice. Must stay cool and avoid saying something terribly inappropriate.
His lips curve into a smirk, which instantly puts me at ease. “Look at that, girl with no name does have a name. Nice to officially meet you, Lo. I’m Caleb.”
“Oh, I know.” I cringe. That sounded super creepy. “Because you told me yesterday. When you saved my life,” I add.
He waves his hand like he’s pushing my words away. “Ah, it was nothing.”
“You say that like you go around saving people from being flattened regularly.”
His eyes skim the gaggle of tourists weaving around us. “That was a first. Though, wait. I did actually save a woman from falling off a ski lift in Mont-Tremblant. Caught her by the collar.”
The image of him saving someone with his brute strength makes me weak in the knees. I shake one sandaled foot out to get the blood circulating. “See? You’ve saved two lives. You’re basically a superhero.”
“Eh, not quite. I kind of threw my back out a little with the trolley,” he admits, doing a stiff stretch side to side.
“Oh shit. I’m so sorry—”
“Hey, it’s okay. You were too beautiful not to save.” He flashes me a megawatt smile. “Damn. That was cheesy, wasn’t it?”
“The cheesiest,” I say. I can’t help but giggle over the accordion’s cheerful tune.
“Is it too late to take it back?”
“Unfortunately. But I’ll take the compliment,” I say bashfully. I’m air punching on the inside. Caleb thinks I’m beautiful.
Caleb.
Thinks.
I’m.
Beautiful.
I log this moment. The heat of the beating sun. The vibrant melody of the accordion. The synchronized clapping from the audience. This fizzy feeling in my chest, like a balloon expanding at a breakneck pace. “I owe you, though,” I say coolly, leaning against the stone pillar. I’m finally starting to feel more like myself.
He runs a hand over his square jaw, pretending to be in deep thought. “Well, if you insist. I’ll take payment in the form of food.”
“You’re a foodie, huh?”
“Sweets, in particular. I’d do unsettling things for a good panna cotta.”
“I’ve never had it.”
His eyes widen like dinner plates. “Oh, sweetheart. You haven’t lived until you’ve had panna cotta. I discovered it when I did Florence last week. Niccolo’s panna cotta. You have to go.” When I did Florence. Teller would die.
“We’re going to Florence after Rome, actually. What’s so special about it?”
“So most panna cotta is all about rich, velvety creaminess. But Niccolo’s has this caramelized layer on top with a berry compote. It’s the perfect blend of tart and sweet. Like pure heaven in your mouth.”
“Wow, you’re really hyping this up.” I can’t help but smile at how animated he is over a dessert. I probably can’t eat it without becoming violently ill. I don’t mention that part, though.
“Absolutely. I mean, it’s one of those small things that make the experience. Even if you don’t speak the same language, food is still universal. It’s tradition, history, custom in itself. And best of all, it brings people together.”
“I was just saying to my aunt before I came here that I was most excited to try the food.”
“Hey, that’s my type of travel. That’s why I keep coming back to Italy. That and I’m Italian,” he says proudly.
“How many times have you been here?”
“Twice with my family. And then I started my travels here a year ago and couldn’t wait to come back.”
“A year ago?”
“Oh yeah. I haven’t been home for a year.”
“You said you’re from Ottawa, right?” I ask, though I definitely know the answer.
He nods. “Technically. But I like to think the world is my home now.” His face lights up even brighter as he tells me about the places he’s been. Australia and New Zealand, and parts of Asia. He’s also done seemingly everything, from swimming with sharks in the Pacific to meditating with monks in Tibet.
Two things dawn on me as he describes how delicious scorpion on a stick is in Vietnam: First, that he seems so much older than me. And second, my life has been so sheltered compared to his. “I’m starting to think I haven’t truly lived until now. I haven’t traveled anywhere,” I admit.
“What’s stopping you?”
I think about that. “My dad was an army brat growing up. He moved all over the place as a kid and hated it, so travel just wasn’t something we did. Just a bit in-country. And there’s also money. Things are a little tighter since I started college.”
“It’s not cheap to travel, even when you live frugally. It’s definitely a privilege I don’t take for granted,” he admits. “But I make it work, mostly by picking up odd jobs here and there. When I was in Australia, I taught surfing. Worked on a sheep farm for a while in New Zealand too.”
I let out an embarrassingly loud shriek. “That’s my literal dream. I love sheep.” I recall a girl at the animal shelter talking about working at a sheep farm in New Zealand. She told me and another volunteer all about the rolling green hills, the ever-present mist, and how they fed baby lambs bottles at night.
“They’re cute, but they’re a nuisance.” He holds up his finger, which seems to be missing a tiny chunk along the side. “One named Tilly got me.”
“Jeez, that looks painful.”
“Oh yeah. She was a cutie so I forgave her, just like I’ll forgive you for messing up my back.” He shoots me a disarming wink. “But aside from working, I keep my expenses low. I only have with me what I really need. Turns out, it’s easy to part with a lot of shit once you carry it on your back for months at a time. I actually ditched half of what I brought with me initially.”
“Wow, I can’t imagine throwing my things away.”
“It’s just material stuff,” he says with a shrug. “There’s something really freeing about shedding the deadweight, traveling with only the essentials, and trusting yourself to get from point A to point B. I also don’t have any bills, no phone or anything.”
I cough. “Wait, you don’t even have a phone?” Who is this unicorn?
“Ditched my phone after my first month of travel. If I need to get in touch with family or friends, most hostels have a computer you can use.”
When I cracked my phone screen, I had to go without it for an entire week while Dad’s tech friend repaired it. And the whole time, I found my hands reaching for it constantly like an addict. Relief surged through me when I finally held it again. But Caleb looks so relaxed, so untethered by the shackles of modern society, but not in a pretentious way.
“I just can’t imagine not having it. For safety, even.”
“I get it. It’s a privilege to not feel like I need it. I mean, I’d never let my sister go on a trip like this without a phone. Sorry—I hope that doesn’t sound sexist or anything.”
“No! I mean, male privilege is just a reality,” I say. “But what do you do if you need directions? Or information about something?”
Caleb shrugs. “The old-fashioned way. Ask people for directions. And paper maps and brochures. It’s been the best decision of my life, honestly. It’s wild how much more I notice when I’m not glued to my phone.”
God, this guy is so cool. He could probably stand in the middle of Saint Mark’s Square singing “Baby Shark” and still look undeniably cool.
“So how long are you traveling before you head home?”
He leans back against the column next to me, eyes trained ahead as the street performer packs up his accordion. “Not sure. I’m supposed to go home at the end of the summer for school. I deferred my history program for a year. So if I don’t go back, I’d have to reapply. But honestly, I don’t know if I even want to go to college.” Wait. Are we the same person?
“I’m considering deferring too—well, taking a leave, actually, or dropping out entirely,” I confess. It feels freakin’ amazing to finally say that to someone who understands.
“Really?”
“I’ve really tried to love it. I’ve taken so many different courses but just don’t like anything enough to pay so much money. It’s not that I want to close the door on college, but I want to have a better idea of what I want to study before I spend that much coin.”
“That makes total sense. It feels like such a waste of the best time of our lives, you know? I bet I’ve learned a hell of a lot more in my year traveling than I’d ever learn in some dim lecture hall. Abiding by traditional markers of success just seems like a recipe for unhappiness, you know? I mean, having that dream job and money only makes you happy for so long. Once you have your basic needs and a little extra to enjoy life, happiness is probably pretty stagnant.” I nod in vigorous agreement. “So does that mean you’re sticking around Europe for a while?” he asks.
“Just a month,” I say. “Going to Rome from here, then Florence. And then who knows. I wanted to leave things flexible ... well, as flexible as Teller will tolerate.”
He smirks, nodding toward Teller, who’s squinting down at his phone. “He seems like a guy who abides by a schedule.”
“Oh yeah. But I need that. Otherwise, I wouldn’t know what I’m doing or where I’m going day to day. He’s got a whole itinerary planned for us in Rome.”
His eyes light up. “A full schedule, eh? Well, I’m happy to show you guys around Rome if you want, give you a more authentic experience. Show you some places off the beaten path. I’m no expert by any means, but—”
“Yes!” I practically scream. “You’re more than welcome to join us, if you don’t already have plans.” I have an immediate pang of guilt. I probably should have checked with Teller first. But I’m sure he won’t mind, seeing as Jenny and Riley already basically invited themselves to Rome with us.
Caleb smiles, flashing his perfect teeth. “I don’t have a schedule for exactly this reason, so I can go with the flow. And trust me, one week in Rome and you will fall in love.”
I think you’re probably right.
“Anyway, we better get back to the group.” He tilts his chin in their direction. “It was cool chatting with you. Really cool. I just said cool like, five times, didn’t I?” he says, cheeks flushed in the most endearing way.
“Three,” I correct.
“You’re weirdly easy to talk to.”
Of course I am. We’re soulmates, after all. No big deal.
I want to tell him. But I refrain. This is going so well. The last thing I want is to prematurely scare the crap out of him with the psychic business. “So are you.”
A beat goes by and we’re just standing there, smiling at each other. It feels like a movie scene, a slo-mo moment when the light hits just right. The moment you just know this person is going to be in your life in a big way.
“You excited for tonight?” he asks.
I try to recall our group’s itinerary for the evening, but my brain is basically mush at this point. “What’s tonight again?”
“The most romantic activity in all of Italy. Gondola rides.”