18
C onfessions of love look so easy in the movies.
They’re generally impromptu, spur of the moment, because that’s just more cinematic and entertaining. What you don’t see is the hours of turmoil and deliberation in the lead-up.
We’re in an ideal setting—the Bardini Gardens, surrounded by a vibrant collection of azaleas and roses and several ornate fountains, with a panoramic view overlooking the Duomo, the Palazzo Vecchio, and the river. Caleb even brought wine and fettuccine alfredo from his favorite restaurant. I can’t eat the fettuccine without getting a serious stomachache. But when in Rome (or, Florence).
Maybe it’s the fast onset of my stomach cramps, but I’m internally melting down. Caleb is talking about how he eventually wants to go vegan, but I can barely pay attention. I’ve been practicing over and over in my head, just waiting for the moment to magically present itself. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t. See, I’m not confessing love like a normal human. There is no How to Confess That Your Someone’s Soulmate for Dummies guidebook.
For reasons beyond me, I choose the moment he takes a heaping mouthful of pasta. “I have a confession to make. I’ve been ... keeping something from you.”
Caleb forces down a swallow and straightens his posture, eyes fixed on me.
Why did I have to sound so cryptic and sinister? I mean, it’s not like I’m telling him I’m a fugitive, or masterminded a pyramid scheme, or that I’ve killed someone. I’m merely telling him he’s my one true love—my twin flame, if you will. No big deal or anything.
“Oh no,” Caleb says, tone uneasy. “Do you secretly have eleven toes or something?”
If only. I can’t help but laugh, grateful for the comedic relief. “Maybe. Would that be a deal-breaker?”
“No,” he says genuinely, but not before peeking at my bare feet. “I would still like you and your extra toe just as much.”
“Really?” I whisper, heart kicking into overdrive.
“Of course. Isn’t that obvious?”
“It is,” I say. Based on how often he takes my hand and kisses my knuckles, or wraps his arms around my waist from behind, he’s made his feelings pretty clear. But it still feels like a fever dream, too good to be true. Sometimes, I’m scared to go to sleep at night in case I wake up at home, in my bed, in my normal, boring life. “It’s just—I’m scared that I’m not enough for you. You’re this super cool guy who’s traveled everywhere, who’s done everything. And I’ve never even left the country until now,” I say, easing into deeper conversation. I can’t just segue from toes to soulmates seamlessly.
“You haven’t traveled as much as me. But the point is that you want to, right?”
I nod, ripping out a blade of grass to shred.
“What matters is you want to get out there. You want adventure. You’re always in a good mood. Always happy, down for anything.”
“It’s funny, I’ve always seen that as a weakness.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m a bit ... flighty. I like a lot of things, but I have no real passions. I don’t know what I want to do with my life.”
“You’re passionate about animals. What about being an animal doctor?”
I sigh. “I wanted to be a vet when I was really young. But I also don’t want to put animals down. I don’t think I’d be able to handle that side of it.”
“There must be something you could do with animals.”
I stare at the torn blade of grass and contemplate. “In an ideal world, I’d love to buy a huge ranch and open an animal rescue for disabled pets.”
“Why can’t you?”
“It’s expensive. And I don’t exactly have the money to run something like that. They rely on donations and they’re always super underfunded.”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “You of all people could rally donations.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” I smile wistfully. It’s nice to know he doesn’t think I’m a total loser.
“I can see it. You, dedicating your life to wounded and unwanted animals.”
“You think I’m a weirdo, don’t you?”
“No, sweetheart. I think it’s adorable.”
Sweetheart. My heart flutters.
Only days ago, Caleb was nothing more than an idea. I was terrified to talk to him at first. And now he’s here, right in front of me. And I’m casually running my fingers across his forearm. I open my mouth, poised to finally bring up the topic, but Caleb has other plans.
He leans in, hovering over my lips for a beat before exhaling just as I inhale. It’s embarrassing how loud my heart is jackhammering as he glides his hand up my arm, over my shoulder, and down my back. He finally rests his mouth over mine, and I fall back onto the cool grass, dizzy.
As our tongues meld together in an intricate dance, I can’t help but compare Caleb and Teller. Caleb is broader and more barrel-chested to Teller’s lankiness. His hugs are more commanding, gruffer than Teller’s measured touch. Not that I should, or have any reason to compare the two. Why am I thinking about Teller at all right now? But I can’t help but wonder what he’s doing on his last day with Riley.
Caleb’s hands lock around my wrists as he rolls over me. His fingertips trace down my dress, over the soft part of my knee. I nearly unravel. We kiss like this for I don’t even know how long, until my updo has fully fallen out and our mouths are red.
And while I’m tempted to do a whole lot more, this is as far as I want to go physically. Something about having sex before he knows the truth feels ... wrong. I also want to contain this—whatever this is between us—capture it exactly as it is. Besides, we have our whole lives ahead of us to have sex.
“Is it just me, or does it feel like we’ve known each other longer than just two weeks?” he asks.
“It’s not just you,” I say. “I feel the same way.”
“It’s wild. I feel like I was meant to meet you or something.”
“Do you believe in that kind of thing?” I sit up straight. This is it. This is my time to tell him the truth. “Like ... soulmates?” A flush creeps across my cheeks and I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for his reaction.
“Totally. I believe in soulmates. Why?”
Strangely, this response doesn’t make me feel any less terrified. But I come out with it anyway. I tell him everything. About my family history, about my vision, all the way until almost getting crushed by the trolley.
He sits glass-eyed, in silence for a few beats before letting out a low whistle. “Wow. That’s—”
I cover my face with my hands, suddenly regretting telling him so soon. “I know. It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud—”
“No,” he says, eyes darting to everything but me. The loose thread in the blanket. A rock in the bottom of his sandal.
“But?”
He’s silent, still as a marble statue for far too long. I’m about to bolt before he finally meets my eyes. “I like you, Lo. A lot. And I believe you. I absolutely can see us together. But I guess I—” He bites his lip. “I just I don’t know if I’m ... ready for something like that. I feel like I’m still in the exploratory phase of my life, you know? I don’t know that I want anything serious romantically. At least right now. Actually, I’m not sure I really believe in monogamy ... if that makes sense.”
My cheeks are burning, flush with a mixture of shame and embarrassment. I can barely hear the rest of his ramble. Something about how he does have feelings for me and he wishes he were ready for that type of commitment. About rigid societal expectations of relationships and how he values autonomy and freedom, and how monogamy isn’t natural for humans.
I feel like I’ve just been judo-kicked in the gut. I’m desperate to crawl inside myself, to hide away for all eternity, but my limbs feel too heavy to move, to do anything but float face down in this sad, pathetic pool of rejection.
He tries to change the subject and act like everything is normal as we pack up. I can tell he’s flustered. He can’t stop rambling about how the garden dates back to the thirteenth century, was owned by the Mozzi family, and on and on. The longer he talks about prominent Italian families, the more panicked I get that I’ve blown it entirely.
Mei was right. It was too early to tell him.
When we get back to the hostel, we pause outside my door. “I don’t suppose it’s possible to forget about everything I said today?” I ask.
He flashes one of his dazzling Caleb smiles, which makes me feel marginally better. “About your eleven toes? Impossible.”
“Seriously,” I say.
“It’s fine, Lo. We can talk more tonight on the cruise, okay?”
I nod, and he gives me a stiff hug before heading to his room.
Despite his assurance, I text Mei and Ellen an SOS, followed by a multiparagraph rundown of what happened.
Ellen: I’m sorry, hon!! I bet he’ll come around soon enough.
Mei: Remember, just because someone is your soulmate, doesn’t mean they’re automatically yours. It doesn’t always come easy and it isn’t always instantaneous. You might need to give him some space.
Ellen: Yeah lots of space!
I always assumed I’d meet my soulmate and bam , we’d be inseparable from then on. But maybe this is a long game. Maybe it’ll take months, even years, for Caleb to be ready.
Frustrating as it is, I’m only nineteen. I have time ... even if that time has to be spent in a holding pattern. Why am I rushing things?
With this new perspective, I pad over to Caleb’s room. I need to smooth things over, make it clear I’m not looking to marry him ASAP, or even be exclusive in any way. That I’m happy to give him time and space. As much as he needs.
Just as I’m about to knock, the door swings open.
It’s not Caleb. It’s a maid.
“Um, is Caleb here?” I ask, looking over her shoulder at the empty bed.
She shakes her head. “No one in this room,” she says in a heavy Italian accent.
She closes the door and I just stand in the hallway, trying to put two and two together. I know for a fact this is Caleb’s room. I’ve spent hours in here and watched him go in literally an hour ago. So if he’s not here, where is he?
I head to the lobby and check with the front desk. The clerk cheerily informs me that Caleb checked out half an hour ago.
My chest hitches. There’s a squeezing sensation in my ribs as it all sinks in. Caleb is gone. He left.
Without even telling me.
I’m officially the only Zhao woman in history to scare off her soulmate.