14
S o, tell me about these late-night rendezvous,” Dad says pointedly on FaceTime.
“You heard?” Damn, news travels fast.
I just got back twenty minutes ago. It’s the third night Caleb has taken me on an adventure. Each night, we’ve wandered and gotten lost, winding up in a completely different part of Rome than we expected.
These adventures are Caleb’s compromise for following Teller and Jenny’s strict itineraries during the day. And I have to say, there’s something thrilling about not having a destination. About discovering hidden gems, going with the flow, and embracing the unknown.
Tonight resulted in taking the wrong subway and getting stranded at the station for over an hour. But Caleb took it all with a smile, despite how hungry and tired we both were. By the time we found ourselves in Testaccio at a huge late-night food market, it felt like we were destined to wind up there. After trying our weights’ worth of street foods that required me to pop multiple Lactaids, like panzerottis, suppli, zeppole, and meat skewers, we wandered into a karaoke bar and passionately (and terribly) performed a duet to “Shallow” by Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper. We got a standing ovation.
With each night, I fall harder and harder for Caleb. He’s so present when we’re together. Maybe it’s that he’s not distracted by his phone. He doesn’t have the urge to constantly check his texts or notifications. His thumb isn’t itching to scroll mindlessly through his feed. He looks at me like I’m the only object in his field of vision. Listens to me like I’m the only sound for miles.
Being around him makes me want so much more out of life than I thought possible. With him, I’m not stressing over obligations or money. I don’t have Dad or Teller making sure every decision is measured and thought through. Caleb lives his life without fear or stress about what tomorrow might bring. He takes risks and is always searching for ways to push himself. He even signed up for a one-hundred-kilometer bike ride in Spain. I wish I could bottle Caleb’s spontaneity and sense of adventure and douse myself with it every day. I’ve never had a guy make me feel so alive.
“Aunt Mei told me. I also heard you’ve been going out on a motorcycle.” I can tell he isn’t pleased about this detail.
“I did. And it’s a Vespa. Everyone drives them here.”
“Remember Mr. Talbot across the street?”
“How could I forget?” Whenever we so much as see a motorcycle, Dad reminds me of Mr. Talbot, the nice man in our old neighborhood who got clipped while driving his Harley. “It doesn’t take much to knock you right off,” Dad used to warn.
“Are you at least wearing a helmet?”
“Of course. And don’t worry. Caleb is super safe.”
He goes a little quiet. “How are things going with him, anyway?”
I’m giddy at the question. Caleb feels like a first crush, when you’re wild for each other and can’t stand the thought of being apart for a single second.
“Do you think he’s The One?” Dad asks.
“Absolutely. It all adds up, according to my vision.” I recount that it was sweltering hot when he rescued me, just like the heat I felt in the vision. “And then there was the scent. I smelled espresso, and he smells exactly like that. Besides, Aunt Mei and Aunt Ellen said the vision meant I’d meet him here. And I did. It was the perfect meet-cute,” I point out.
“I guess I just don’t know what’s so romantic about almost getting killed.”
“He did save my life,” I remind him. “Which is probably the most romantic thing someone could do.”
Dad goes on to ask a series of questions—like how old is he, how do I know he’s not a criminal who will sell me into a trafficking ring, what do I know about his family—most of which I can’t really answer.
“You know when you just connect with someone? He’s incredible. We’ve talked about pretty much everything, like current events and religion. He’s so open-minded. I mean, he has opinions, but no hills he’s willing to die on, aside from poutine being the world’s greatest food.”
Dad laughs. “Gravy and cheese, huh? Sounds sociopathic.”
“Maybe. But honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever had so much in common with someone.” I’ve always longed to find that, someone who loved all the same things as me, just like Mom and Dad. I suck in a deep breath, finally building up the courage to ask, “Did Mom know you were The One when she first saw you? She had the vision before meeting you, right?”
“She did.”
It’s nice knowing I share my romantic tendencies with my mom, but I still can’t help but wish she was here. I can’t help but long to talk to her about love. Ask her advice about the vision. About how she navigated things with Dad after they met.
He doesn’t elaborate, not that I expected him to. I feel guilty for making him uncomfortable, so I switch gears. “So what are you up to these days?” I ask instead, hoping he isn’t too lonely without me.
Overbearing as Dad is, this is the first time we’ve talked since we arrived in Rome. I’ve texted him updates and sent photos. I assumed he’d nerd out about the Roman architecture, but his responses have been uncharacteristically sparse, so much so, I even texted my aunts to check in on him. Mei thought maybe this was a breakthrough—that he’s finally loosening the leash. But then he brought up human trafficking and that theory went out the window.
“I’m fantastic,” he says, oddly chipper. I expect him to tell me about the latest true-crime series he’s binging, but instead, he says, “I’m actually about to go play pickleball.”
“Pickleball?” I repeat, unable to mask my shock. Dad has never played a sport or done anything remotely athletic for as long as I can remember. I can’t imagine his lanky self on a court. “Since when do you play pickleball?”
“I just started the other night. Excellent cardio.”
“Who are you playing with?” I ask.
There’s a longer-than-normal pause before he says, “Just a friend.” His response strikes me as odd. His only two friends, Jones and Arjun, aren’t athletic either. “All right, hon, it must be nearly midnight over there. I’ll let you go.”
I barely have time to say goodbye before he’s hung up.