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“The marriage!”
“It’s going.” I take a gulp.
“So does a train, girl! Woot woot!”
“I hadn’t finished,” I say, pretending not to be amused by her silliness. “It’s going well.”
She bites back a smile, mischief dancing in her eyes. “As in, well, this is a time? Or as in, well, this man rocks my world?”
“I didn’t realize there would be a quiz.”
“Come on, let me live vicariously.” She gives a playfully petulant stomp of her feet.
“It’s good. Really good. We . . . gel.” Who knew asking Troy Templeton to marry me would be one of my more successful impulsive decisions.
“Called it!” A couple of steps, and she’s leaning against the countertop, her eyes still wide and sparkling. “The man has dreamboat written all over him.”
“I’ll be sure to tell him you said so.”
“Don’t you dare!” she says, bounding upright. She gives a wistful-sounding sigh. “You know, I’ve never been the one. Actually, no. That’s not one hundred percent true. I’ve been the one they lost their virginity to. And the one they cheated on,” she says, unfurling a finger for each account. “The one their mom hated. And the one who hit them with her car.”
“Those are some tales,” I say with a nod as I try to digest.
“Let’s just say there will be no manifesting an ex for me.”
I take another mouthful of my water.
“I’d kill to have what you have. Your marriage is giving legit fairy-tale vibes. Cinderella, but make it billionaire,” she says, framing her thoughts with her hands.
“If the shoe fits?” I smile, indulging her.
“Girl, you have the stepmother.”
“The Grimm fairy-tale version,” I say, scrunching my nose as I reflect on what Troy said about her putting me on a diet. I never really considered it as something awful. But sometimes you need a little distance to see things for what they really are.
“But now you have your prince, so the suffering was worth it, right?”
In answer, I smile. I can’t allow my feelings to deepen. I can’t fool myself that this might turn real. Because our moments are so easy, they’re dangerous territory.
It would be so easy to fall for him.
“That man is down bad.”
“You can’t know that,” I scoff.
“Girl, I saw the photos on the socials!”
Heat creeps up my neck. “It’s . . . good. We’re good. Things are good.”
“That is a whole lotta goods. But I have eyes.” She makes a V of her fingers. “You both looked so happy. I could practically feel the love outpouring. It’s such a classic romance arc. Boy meets girl. Boy loses girl. Boy finds girl again, wearing his angry face mask that she dared to cross his path. Then, boom! Second-time soulmates.”
The irony presses against my ribs, though I give a soft chuckle that I hope sounds convincing. “I’m hungry,” I say. “You?”
“I could eat. Ooh, how about dosa?”
“Sounds good.”
As we make our way out of the apartment, I remind myself that soulmates don’t schedule sex to avoid feelings. Especially when it feels like it might be too late for that.
