43
E ver since I was a little girl, I imagined I’d be the subject of a grand cinematic gesture. You know, that final scene in the movies where one person runs across crowded New York traffic to confess their love in a dramatic fashion. They are sweaty, out of breath, and disheveled, but it doesn’t matter in the least. The other person finds it both bewildering and endearing because it’s clear evidence of how much they care.
I always dreamed of standing on a Romeo-and-Juliet-style balcony while my soulmate declared their undying love from below. Maybe he’d buy a thousand-dollar plane ticket just so he can get past security, then dash to the gate as everyone’s boarding and convince me to stay, moments before I’m supposed to depart the country forever.
I definitely didn’t picture myself on crutches, with my aunt as chauffeur, blasting “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” on Christmas Eve. But here we are.
“So you’re still not sure if he’s actually single?” Mei shouts over the music.
“He doesn’t post on social media. Bianca told me Sophie’s socials haven’t been that active either,” I explain.
She gasps. “Going dark on social is one of the telltale signs of a breakup!”
“Lots of people go dark around exam time,” I point out.
Mei makes a tff sound. “Your generation has such an obsession with mystery and intrigue. I miss the days when people set their Facebook relationship status to Single . Or It’s Complicated . That was always gold. That’s how you knew it was messy,” she adds.
I crack a smile. “For real?”
“After the relationship status, they’d drop passive-aggressive life quotes about self-love and narcissistic behavior. Then there’d be an onslaught of look-at-me-I’m-so-happy-living-my-life photos. On the beach. At bars. Usually, a new haircut thrown in there too.”
I chuckle at the thought of Teller changing his relationship status to It’s Complicated and posting one of those angled selfies.
“You sure he’s home?” Mei asks as we pull into the driveway behind his mom’s Subaru, snow crunching beneath the tires.
“I have no idea,” I say, peering in the bay window. Someone is home, based on the lights inside. “He was here as of three days ago, when Bianca saw him at the coffee shop. But if he’s still with Sophie, it’s totally possible he could be with her family.”
Mei helps me maneuver to the door with my crutches. Normally, I’d insist on going alone, but the ice is hazardous. Before she makes it back to her car, the door swings open. It’s Kurt, Teller’s oldest brother. He’s all bundled in his winter gear, ready to head out.
“Oh, hey, Lo, Merry Christmas,” he says casually, brushing past me.
“Merry Christmas,” I call after him. “Wait, um, is Teller here?”
“No clue!” he says with a shrug, heading down the driveway. I take that as a positive sign. If Teller weren’t in town at all, surely Kurt would know?
I poke my head inside. The house isn’t as messy as it once was, probably because the boys have all moved out. But it’s still chaos in the entryway, with boots everywhere, coats, mittens, and hats strewn all over the bench. Nick comes barreling past, unfazed by my presence.
Nick also has no idea if Teller is home or not. How does no one know if their brother is home on Christmas Eve? After I call a shrill “Hello” from the entryway, Doris comes zigzagging down the hall, little stub of a tail wagging a mile a minute. I can’t bend down to pick her up, so I lean over and let her lick my fingers until Mrs. Owens hears me.
“Lo! I haven’t seen you in ages!” She looks the same as last summer, although her sandy hair is a little grayer at the roots. She’s small as ever, a little too thin from running herself ragged at the coffee shop. Her face (and voice) is obscured by a stack of Christmas gifts, topped with crocheted stockings she’s balancing in her arms. She keeps talking (yelling) to me from the kitchen, even though I’m out of sight. “I hear you’re quite the adventurer these days.”
I stand there petting Doris, and we have a whole conversation through the wall about Italy and my knee before she finally says, “By the way, Teller is at Roasters. You might be able to catch him before they close up early for the holiday.”
I thank her and hightail it (more like slow limp) to Mei’s car. “He’s at Roasters.”
The scent hits hard. Fresh-ground coffee beans with sweet hints of espresso and warm pastries.
A gangly-looking teen girl in a Roasters apron eyes Mei and me up from behind the counter, where she’s fighting with the blender. I assumed Mei would leave once she saw me safely inside, but instead she peruses the chalk menu and display of muffins and various Christmas cookies. “Oh, they have those jam cookies Layla likes. I’ll take five.”
“Um, I’m looking for Teller,” I say to the girl, scanning around for him.
She takes far too long before jerking a lazy acrylic finger over her shoulder. “He’s cleaning the bathroom. A customer ran in there not long ago and said they used the toilet aggressively . Whatever that means.”
I’m about to find out.
I hobble down the hall past the Bathrooms sign, my crutches clicking as I go. Roasters has unisex single bathrooms. I knock on the first two with my crutch—empty. Then Teller emerges from the third, back to me in his smock, mopping the floor, headphones on.
I tap my crutch on the floor next to him, and he looks over his shoulder, eyes wide. “Lo?”
“Hi,” I say, taking him in. All the hard angles of his face, every dip, shadow, and line. Even the way his hair falls, all mussed, refusing to lie flat. Every detail I’ve cataloged in my mind and wasn’t sure I’d ever see again. He’s all there. And it’s perfect. He’s perfect. So perfect, I don’t know what to do with myself other than gawk.
He leans his weight into the mop and removes his headphones. He doesn’t say anything, although I think that has more to do with shock than anything. He hasn’t blinked once.
“Coldplay?” I ask, hearing the familiar voice of Chris Martin filtering through his speakers.
“It’s ‘Christmas Lights’” he says, voice hoarse as he eyes my crutches. “What happened?”
“I twisted my leg on a hike. Hurt my knee. I’m totally fine, though,” I assure him.
“Why are you home?”
“Because things weren’t right. And it took me a while to realize that. To realize a lot of things. But deep down, I think I always knew—” I pause, letting my heart lead the way. “I always knew I made a mistake.”
His jaw stiffens and his eyes narrow suspiciously. “I ... Are you saying this because things didn’t work out with Caleb?” Harsh, but fair.
“No. I know that’s how it probably sounds. But I swear, you are not second choice. You never were.” I lower my head, tightening my hold on my crutches, limbs suddenly feeling heavy. “Caleb and I weren’t right for each other, and I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner. I mean, I did in my gut, but I didn’t let myself recognize it. I was scared because I thought I was beholden to this vision. That I couldn’t deviate from it, or I’d be giving up this chance at true love, giving up a chance to finally prove to my family that I’m not a huge failure. I wanted to be like my mom, my family, so badly. And as it turns out, I’m more like my mom than I thought.”
“What do you mean?”
I repeat the whole story, exactly as Dad explained it to me.
Teller is unreadable. He seems to be contemplating.
“But what about the vision? Fate? Eternal loneliness?”
“The curse thing isn’t real,” I explain. “And yes, fate is important. But we still have free will. We still have the ability to alter the course of our destiny. And I choose you, regardless of the vision. I should have chosen you years ago, Teller. I love you. The truth is, I think I always have? Even if I didn’t see it from the beginning. I convinced myself that we were too different. But I realized all the things that make us so different are exactly what I love most about you. I love that you keep me on schedule. And you know I need someone to make sure I don’t walk around barefoot or let random animals lick my face.
“After Tuscany, I was in denial about my feelings for you. When I finally realized it in Amalfi, it scared me, so I avoided my emotions completely. Avoided thinking of you for months. And it worked temporarily, but in the end all it did was show me that I never want to be without you. I can’t be.”
He watches me for a few seconds, stunned. Too stunned to speak, move. He doesn’t even seem to breathe.
I wait for his reaction, continuing on when he doesn’t respond.
“I know I’m probably too late. I know you’re probably back with Sophie and—”
“I’m not back with Sophie,” he says firmly.
“You’re not?” I ask, tone neutral, not allowing myself to celebrate until I know just how he feels about her. Because after everything, all I want is for Teller to be happy, even if that comes at my own expense.
He shakes his head, like it was a given. “Of course not. We talked and talked, but it was never going to work with us, especially after what happened between you and me. I couldn’t be with anyone until I got over you.”
“And are you? Over me?”
He smirks. “I’ve been listening to Coldplay on a loop for months, so what do you think?”
I can’t help but laugh. And when we meet eyes, neither can he.
“How could I ever be over you?” He leans the mop against the wall. “You know I’m not the kind of person who believes in superstition and fate and all that. But the first time you walked into The Cinema, I thought, ‘Holy shit, this girl can’t be real. She’s way too happy, way too friendly.’ I thought that light would fade. But it didn’t. Even with the rudest customers, you were still kind, giving everyone the benefit of the doubt. And knowing it was one of the hardest times of your life just proves how genuine you are. Your sunshine is the closest thing to magic I’ve ever experienced. You’ve completely ruined me for anyone else.”
It’s everything I’ve ever wanted to hear and then some. I may be on crutches, but this is a true cinema moment. Our version—mine and Teller’s. My knees weaken and I want to cry happy tears, but instead, all I say is, “Except for Doris.”
He tilts his head in admission. “True. Doris is the number one girl in my life. As long as you can handle that.”
“Can you handle being number three after Brandon and Brian?”
“I am fully okay with that,” he says softly, taking a step toward me.
“Seriously, though, I want to give this a shot. A real shot. I don’t know how it will work living four hours away, but I figure I’ll get a car and drive up—”
He takes another step forward and gently presses his index finger over my lips. “Let’s figure out the logistics later,” he says, which almost sounds like a foreign language coming from him. Knowing Teller isn’t worried fills me with comfort. For once, he’s not stressing and planning. He’s with me, fully absorbed in the moment.
He sweeps a hand across my back, stabilizing me enough to ditch the crutches. He balances them against the wall and pulls me to his chest, pressing me to him. He threads his fingers through my hair, pushing a section of my unruly bangs away from my eyes, then tilts my chin up.
Due to my knee, I can’t pop onto my tiptoes to angle toward him, so he has to make up the distance by bending down at an awkward angle. It’s soft, quiet, this kiss. Understated, just like him. One kiss becomes another, then two, then three. I kiss him like we aren’t standing in public—in his mom’s coffee shop, no less. Like we aren’t in plain sight of Mei and a handful of customers a few feet away. Like there’s not a dirty mop at the base of our feet. I kiss him until I completely forget where I am.
The gurgle and flush of a toilet pulls us back to reality. I peer up at Teller, who’s cringing. “This is peak romance. A romantic gesture outside a bathroom.”
“It’s like a throwback to plunging at The Cinema,” I say with a smile.
He presses his forehead to mine. “Oh god. Don’t remind me.”
“I can’t say I pictured this. But somehow, it’s ... right.”
“The crutches. Did you hobble all the way here?” he asks, voice gravelly in my ear as he breathes me in.
“Mei helped me,” I say, fanning myself as the barbs of heat prick me. It occurs to me I’ve been in my coat and mitts this entire time.
Teller notices and unzips my coat. And then it hits me. The sudden prick of heat in my vision. That nutty, earthy espresso aroma. The sensation of hot, liquid warmth unfurling through me. All at once, my world shifts.
“Teller,” I say, gripping his forearm for support. The space between us feels charged, thick.
He takes my mitts and coat, folding them over his arm. “Mm-hmm? You okay?”
I was so sure it all pointed to Caleb. Venice. But this moment feels uncanny. I’m overcome with this tingly sensation settling along the base of my spine, just like in my first vision.
“You good, Lo?”
“Better than ever,” I say, angling my chin up so he can claim me with another kiss.
I register the warmth of his body crushing against mine. The wool of his sweater brushing against my neck. The softness of his lips. The thud of two hearts beating against each other, glowing inside and out. I welcome it all, letting each detail etch itself into my memory.
My grandmother always told me I’d just know when I met The One. I don’t know for certain whether the vision was about Teller or not. But maybe it doesn’t matter. Whether by cosmic design or free will, or maybe a mix of both, being with him is exactly where I’m supposed to be.
I just know .