“I’m not grandpa demographic just yet.” He hitched a sip of his drink, letting it mull in his mouth before he swallowed. “My trajectory was lucky. I hit it kind of big in the alt-academic circles when I made a TED Talk about pairing up oceanographers and historians to counteract climate change a while back, so I became their younger-guy recruit.”
“That’s impressive.” I made a mental note to find his TED Talk.
He waved his hand. “Your turn. Tell me exactly how one becomes the face of the biggest sea change in our working memory?”
“One point for your pun. And I’ll tell you once I figure it out,” I said. “It’s been the weirdest U-turn of my life thanks to a huge disruption to our working world order. Definitively knowing who your soulmate is... just never felt like something that could happen.”
“Yep. It’s removed free choice from the equation. Unless you choose not to open it.” Caleb tipped his head toward the not-Caleb I’d approached at the top of our evening. “And now you’re a household name for guys like hat boy over there.”
Free choice was exactly why mine was left unread. “I have to assume that’ll blow over,” I said, shrugging.
He leaned forward. “You mean when the Soulmails end?”
I shook my head slowly. “I don’t know what’s going to happen with those. No one does.”
“But you really think they’re real?”
I hesitated, thinking about Dola and Trent. About Samantha and her sweet little baby. The government confirmations. “I didn’t. And then things started happening—coincidences that got too big. To people I know personally. I witnessed two people finding out about one another, for one.”
He nodded. “Two of my coworkers, too. It was the thing that made me start to question it not being a scam.”
I took a deep breath and continued. “The government confirmation was a huge one. They were frank about what they were able to confirm and what they still don’t know. The whole thing is surreal, to be honest, but that’s where we’re at.”
“I guess it’s where the whole world is at. We’re living history.”
“Good for your career.”
“Definitely got the art-imitating-life thing going on. And yeah, we’re already collecting stuff for a living exhibit.”
“I bet.” I paused. “And you still haven’t opened yours?”
“Never going to. You?”
I shook my head. “I don’t want to know. Besides, I’m pretty sure I’m my own soulmate at this point.”
“Better that than Micah Kimiko’s,” he said. “I saw your interview with that guy who ditched the NDA?”
I nodded. “That was wild. Our trust index went way up after that, too.”
“Jeez. Trust index.” He tilted his head. “I never pictured you growing up to become a national news personality.”
I squeezed my glass. “How’s your trust index scoring that one?”
“It might be rising.” He clanked his drink on the table, his face tightening. “But I have a confession to make.”
My heart thudded. Here it was. Our sticky point. It was thething that no one wanted to do: take that wrong turn down memory lane. He’d explain why his mother had closed the door in my face that Thanksgiving weekend, why he’d let this massive divide come between us after we’d made one mistake after a childhood spent together. “Oh?”
Redness crept along his neck, ringing his black T-shirt. “After seeing you on TV this week, I sort of Googled you.”
I swallowed. “How does one sort of Google?” I winced at my attempt to joke, but my mouth kept going. “Did you use Yahoo, or Bing, or—”
“AOL, obviously,” he shot back. His eyes crinkled. He traced a line on the table. “I saw that first viral video you made. Also, you’re a fashion icon right now, you know that? And... I saw an engagement site.” He reached across the table and rubbed his fingertip on the bridge of my empty ring finger. “But I don’t see a ring.”
His touch sent a crackle of energy up my arm. My breathing quickened, and I fought to regulate it. My new life was a definite distraction from what could have been my future, but my insides still felt blistered and hollow when I thought of my previous one.
Even with the looming wedding episode, I’d publicly given zero acknowledgment or affirmation of my breakup since Soulmail dropped. My breakup was precisely that—mine. I hadn’t posted a picture of Wells since our ill-fated Fourth of July weekend a few weeks ago, and I’d hidden my hand in my new posts. I’d hoped our relationship would just fade into the night. It didn’t feel like news.
I made a low sound in my throat. “There isn’t one. Anymore.”
