“All right.” His focus darted throughout the room. “Let’s see. We can—”
“No.” My leg muscles clenched. A sharp knife of pain sliced through my knee. “I really hate to say this.” We were bound to one another, tethered by some invisible universe string. “I know what our emails said. We aren’t right for each other.” Imaginary scissors to the imaginary string.
His jaw ticked, his hand clutching the granola bar. His face paled, maybe, but also drooped. “What are you saying?”
I repeated myself, because I knew it was clear, but his face didn’t move. I tried again. “I’m saying we’re breaking up.”
“But we can’t.” He hopped from the counter, his movement thankfully sloppy, because in that moment, I found I was a sucker for fluid, graceful jumps. “You’re my soulmate, Olivia.”
“I know,” I said, trying to keep my tone gentle. I was furious with the shrapnel of guilt that wedged into my intestines. Here was my soulmate, who’d grieved a huge loss, who’d donesomething horrible out of sadness. Who was trying. Would I have been more open to his efforts if not for reconnecting with Caleb? It was impossible to say, but it didn’t matter. Even though we were unequivocally matched by way of something I never could’ve predicted happening, I was learning there was more to life than facts. I couldn’t get over what he’d done now. “I hear you. I do, Wells, but I’ve never gotten over you cheating on me.”
“I told you, I’ll wait. I’ll do anything—”
“Please,” I murmured. “We gave it a go. I don’t like doing this.” I turned my head, focused on the pattern of bricks in the building next door. I knew I was trashing the wedding episode, and I dreaded reporting this to Yvonne, updating Samantha. All I could do was bank on the network supporting me the way the museum had Caleb. “But it’s over. We’re over.”
“How did you figure this out?”
The question made me pause. I think I figured it out the moment that text message lit our bed, but maybe part of me knew it before that. I didn’t tell him the bottle of melatonin was what shoved me over the imaginary cliff, because even admitting that to myself sounded ridiculous. I said nothing.
“Oh, Olivia,” he said, his voice breaking on my name. “Do you hate me?”
I shook my head. “You don’t deserve to punish yourself every day for the rest of your life.” Even though part of me wanted him to at leastsomeof the time. He betrayed us first. Forgiveness was important, but it wasn’t that I hadn’t forgiven him. It was that I would have spent the rest of my life wondering what if, what if, what if.
“Don’t.” He was crying. I moved to him and wrapped my arms around his waist. Habit, or routine, or obligation. Desire normally clicked in for me here, but it was thankfully absent.
“I’m sorry we didn’t work out,” I said, because it was true. If it weren’t for that text, I wouldn’t have needed an email to marry him.
He embraced me, burying his face into my hair, mussing it. We were quiet for a while. I waited for him to pull away first. My last gift.
“I’m so sorry I did this to you,” he said. “To us.”
I nodded. I was sorry he did, too. “Thank you. I know you are.”
“What now?” he asked, but there wasn’t much to say. Our breakup would be cleaner this time. We didn’t live together anymore. No rings to return. Only a universe to buck.
“We’ll need to cancel the wedding for real.”
He nodded.
“You can move out west with no strings attached now, at least,” I offered, and at this, something on his face shifted. It looked like relief.
He laughed a little. “Maybe,” he said. He was already rueful. I knew he’d find someone again, maybe someone whose soulmate had died, or whose soulmate was platonic. Someone who would find herself lucky to have him.
But that soulmate wouldn’t be me.
Forty-One
That night was the first time it’d been just my parents and me in ages. I always brought Natalie or Wells around, an act that filled the missing planet in our family orbit for just a little while. Tragedies might erase someone from the system, but their shape didn’t change. They still needed that missing piece or tool to function. Mom and Dad weren’t on social media, and I wasn’t sure if my link to Sabrina would hit the news cycle and if so, how quickly, but the threat was imminent enough that I knew I had to do something about it.
I ordered Italian takeout, purposefully not getting fish because Dad hated eating it outside of what he brought home, and put on blues music he liked. We sat in the living room beneath blankets. If relief tasted like Italian takeout, I’d order it more often.
“So what now?” Dad asked when we finished eating. Ever practical.
“Not much on the personal side. Wells is canceling the wedding for real this time.” I stacked cardboard and plastic into a compact pile. “Plus, I’m already moved into this place. If this doesn’t work out...”
“You’ll move home,” Mom said firmly.
“I don’t think it’ll come to that.” I’d sooner land in Natalie’s guest cove. I nudged Mom with my foot. “But if it ever did, then thank you. One rough thing now will be canceling the network special for real, though.”
