“One million percent. No matter how in love they are, you wanna know what every one of my brides or grooms freaks about while they get ready?”
“What?”
Dola’s smile was rueful. “Doubt,” she said simply. “It’s human nature to wonder if there’s more. But now, with Soulmail?” Sheshrugged. “It’s almost like getting together with a money-back guarantee. The confidence in the match is, well, unmatched.”
Wells. My tongue thickened in my mouth at the thought of my universe’s dictated endgame.
“Oh, there’s another secret that never fails to comfort my brides and grooms.” Dola cupped her hands around her mouth and bent toward me. “Divorce exists,” she whispered.
My laugh surprised me. Most people didn’t enter marriage with that end goal, but if we went through with it, I guess I had that fallback.
Dola busied herself with cleaning, wiping her products with alcohol pads. “You know, I wish you could’ve seen yourself that first day we picked you up. Never would have known how much my life was about to change.”
I snagged the lint roller from the counter and ran it over the emerald sheath the network had selected for me. “Yeah? How’d I look?”
Dola’s face cleared. “Everything was so tense and so rushed, and so weird, we had no idea what state you’d be in when we picked you up. But there you were. You looked...” She met my eyes in the mirror.
“Freaked out?” I suggested, thinking of warm bathroom floors, of someone else’s pale breasts, of bedroom chandeliers, and one of those gut feelings that everything was about to change for good.
“Oh, no. Relieved,” Dola said finally.
I dropped the lint roller. Samantha poked her head into the room. “I have Alanna here for touch-ups. Adler, you’re on in ten.” She was gone as fast as she appeared.
My headache blinked again, like a curtain shoved aside to see if it was raining. I frowned. Zero part of me wanted to go on-air today. With a pang, I thought of Jesse Ringwater, that dad who’d tried to take his life because of his Soulmail.
Alanna Sorensonn, government expert extraordinaire, sailed in. “You’re on with me today?” I asked around the pounding in my head.
She nodded. “About the government memo. Real estate tax breaks for the Soulmailed.” She winked. “Rumor has it there are two West Coast senators who sit in two diametrically opposed parties that are soulmated, but you didn’t hear that from me.”
Thirty-Two
Before Soulmail, I’d agonized over our wedding. Not the napkin folds or the appetizers, but the people. I worried Sabrina’s ghost wouldn’t leave Mom alone, I worried I’d snap at Wells’s mother for fretting about something inane. I probably would’ve called our love a candidate for Dola’s four seasons kind. But now I cycled through stages of wondering, even with that confirmation of our destinies. The cosmic handshake. The universe’s whisper that this was what I was supposed to get.
A few nights later, Wells and I tried the Mediterranean place around the corner from my new apartment, eating garlicky shrimp, lemon hummus, baklava shaped like wedges or sailboats. Wells had to repeat himself twice before I heard him.
I shook my head to clear it. “Sorry. Zoned out. Been up so early lately.”
“You were always up early,” Wells said, but his tone was pleasant. “Never thought I’d be able to sleep through your alarm. Good thing I got used to it.”
“Yeah. Something about all this—” I gestured toward my hair, my makeup, the things that I used to never even consider doing half the time. I missed my messy bun and calling tinted SPF a makeup routine. “Takes up so much time, and all for pretty much nothing, you know?”
“Oh, it pays off,” he said, a hint on his face.
A flush of pleasure swept through me. “What was it you were saying?”
“You must be tired,” he said, covering my hand with his.
I turned my palm over, accepting the gesture. “Exhausted.”
He ran his thumb along mine. “Oh. Meant to tell you. You know what a planner I am?”
My mouth opened, then closed, someone pinching a snapdragon. Wells? A planner? Wells liked following someone else’s layout, liked constructing the image of a perfect boyfriend. He was fortunate enough to take weekends away from the city because it was easy to go to his parents’ house, not because he’d made any specialplans. “Sure,” I said cautiously.
“I was thinking about how much you like your new apartment,” Wells said. “I was describing it to my mom—”
A cringe passed across my shoulders before I could hide it. Wells gave my hand a warm squeeze. “I know what you’re thinking. They really have always liked you.”
I sighed. “Okay, what about my apartment?”
