Chapter Twenty-Six #2
“She called Natalie.” The paint on the porch rail was peeling. “They want me to come in to discuss something. I guess last night’s program was big.”
His teeth flashed white when he smiled. “That’s great.”
“Yeah.” From my perch, I was just high enough to check the ocean. This stripe of water normally hung in the navies, but today,
it was bluer than usual. “They want me in tomorrow.”
“There it is.” Caleb crossed his arms, leaned against the chair. “And you told them you appreciate it, but you’re on vacation?”
I winced. “Not exactly.”
“But—” He shook his head, cleared it. “Never mind.”
“It’s my career.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s why I never-minded it. I wish I could tell you money is a construct, but that’s patronizing.”
“Incredibly. And just because something is a construct doesn’t mean it’s not real. Hypotheticals have definitions, too.”
His eyelashes fringed together, apart. So long ago, that face above mine, mere blocks from here. “Never change, Olivia.”
But I had. We were two different people now.
Wells was my soulmate. I thought of the red light against my lids last night, of the rolling forces of pleasure I enjoyed
about ten feet from where I currently sat. But here was my childhood best friend, a person I was indivisibly woven to in some
way, shape, or nostalgic form.
He stood, crossed the deck, then resettled himself against the opposing porch pole. Our feet were inches from each other.
“I’m proud of you,” he began.
I nudged his foot. “I’m proud of you, too.”
He cleared his throat. Time had etched his jaw, carved his face into stone. It made me wonder what he’d look like when we
were old, if he’d resemble his parents. His dad might be an asshole, but he sure is hot, I imagined Natalie saying.
“I have to tell you something.” Caleb arranged his spine against the post, his expression resolute. “I know it shouldn’t, but it’s bothering me that he’s your soulmate. I just don’t get how that can be when I’ve never been more comfortable with someone than I am with you.”
I considered this. “I haven’t, either,” I said finally. There was my heartbeat again, this time, in my fingertips. I itched
to reach out to him, but Wells.
This was possibly a problem.
He gestured around us. “I was really looking forward to this weekend. And, look, Olivia: I will cheerlead the hell out of
your decision. I’d never want to put down your career. But if we only live this one time, are you going to spend every second
of it working?”
“I don’t spend every second of it working.” I stiffened. “Hardly. Honestly.”
“Wasn’t it just on the plane ride here that you said you’ve woken up before sunrise for years?”
“Hey,” I said, trying for lightness. “I was exaggerating. Don’t throw my words back at me.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not. I swear. I was only . . .” He dragged in a breath. “This felt like a second chance.
Or a do-over, really.”
“I know,” I began, when I heard my name. A sweaty, shirtless figure sprinted up the beach parking lot, the same limbs that
hovered over me last night.
One side of Caleb’s mouth quirked, but his eyebrows plummeted. “Livi,” he said, unable to wring the sadness out of the single
word, two-syllabled nickname.
I was afraid to speak. I was afraid I’d cry.
Caleb pressed his foot to mine. “I need to be extremely clear.”
“About what?” My words thickened in my throat.
“I wish your soulmate wasn’t him.”
My focus flickered. “Who, then?”
“I think you know,” he said, his voice quiet, intense.
I met his eyes. The air between us was charged. It was like the time we were at a classmate’s birthday party at Papa Gino’s,
where everyone took turns rubbing their heads on a balloon until static electricity stood our hair on end, pretending we were
Whos from Whoville until one mother yelled at us, said we would all get lice. Now wind whipped my mussed hair, blew through
his dark, dark curls. I could palm the air between us, throw it like an orb in a video game. His lower lip dipped.
Wells rounded the walkway, and I raised a hand to him.
“I think I do,” I mouthed at Caleb then, hurriedly, guilt clanging into my belly button.
“Had an amazing conversation on the beach,” Wells said through his panting. He jogged up the porch steps. He swiped his forehead,
sweat sluicing over his cheeks. “Saw a banker I recognized from a conference I was at. D’ya know that soulmates are getting
a full percentage point lower on mortgage interest loans around here? All you have to do is forward your official emails.”
“Why?” Caleb asked, frowning.
Natalie banged out the screen door onto the porch, clutching a bowl of pineapple. Her wet hair dripped on the wood. “Your
phone is buzzing.”
I took it. A biomarker notification: my heart rate was experiencing a rapid acceleration. I took a deep breath, willed it
down. Facts were facts, and this was hard evidence.
Wells shrugged. “I guess soulmates are a safer bet. We should consider it someday, babe. Probably sooner rather than later,
before this whole Soulmail thing blows over.”
“Speaking of Soulmail,” Caleb said. “Olivia here has a decision to make.”
My ribs turned to stone.
“A work decision, that is,” Caleb said.
“Oh?” Wells grabbed a bottle of water from the house, returned with a dish towel slung over his bare shoulder. He tipped his
head back and chugged. “What’s up?”
There was no decision. It had been made. It was made, in fact, before Samantha even called. It was made the second Wells showed
up with the email, or even before that, when whoever or whatever sent them out.
After I filled in Wells and Natalie, he picked me up and swung me. “My girl,” he said, a note of awe creeping into his voice.
“You’ve worked so hard for this.”
“Yeah,” I said, thinking, have I? Before Soulmail, for sure. The late nights, the early mornings, writing and rewriting, my hair twisted back and poked through
with pencils. Coffee on coffee, running for deli wraps for a 3:00 p.m. lunch. That was work. Creative exhaustion. All those
fired-down ideas, punched-up, handed off stories: all of that was gone now. Now I just had to show up, be made up, recite,
regurgitate. “I guess I should check my phone,” I said. “Text my agent.”
“Are helicopters safe?” Even Natalie was buzzing. “They are, right? It’ll be scenic.” Her bowl clattered on the wicker table
beside the rocking chair. “Are you sure you’re okay with cutting the weekend short?”
“I wish we weren’t,” I said. “If you guys want to stay, then please do. But how can I say no?”
Natalie shimmied her shoulders. “My old roomie,” she said, thumbing a sticky spot above her lip. “You are taking off. This will totally give you a leg up for your documentaries, too.”
“Amazing. This is amazing,” Wells punched a fist in the air. “Ever been in a helicopter, Caleb?”
“A bunch of times,” Caleb answered. “My dad’s a pilot.”
“That’s right.” Wells mopped his face with the dish towel. “God, the air here is so thick. Well, another day, another flight
for you, then.”
“Oh.” Caleb hopped down from the porch rung. “Actually, I just told Olivia, but I’m staying a few extra days.”
Ice squeezed my veins, ran over my temples. I pressed against one, rubbing vigorously, trying to unlock the moment when he
might have said that instead of I wish it wasn’t him.