He looks at me in surprise. “You are kind,” he says, confused.
I feel as if my Mark is burning me.
Chapter 8
I never plan on telling Beth.
Beth’s always been The Good One, but I don’t trust her not to blab to Ethan, or anyone else for that matter (which, in Lake Redwood, would mean that Ethan would definitely find out. People like to talk here because there’s not much else to do).
But a few days later, I’m in her apartment. It’s not very nice; it’s a studio with a bulky old television she was gifted by our parents when she moved out. The building itself is a brick building from the ‘70s, three stories high. She’s on the second floor. Her door doesn’t shut smoothly; you have to push it a little to get it to latch shut when you close it. The kitchen is small and dated, with only an updated fridge, but Beth lives off of tacos and chicken; she never experiments much, so it’s tolerable for her. However, the apartment’s not much worse off from the apartment Greg and I shared. Plus, it’s significantly cheaper. If this were a one-bedroom instead of a studio, I’d beg her to let me move in with her. Mom and Dad’s cold war is getting to me.
In any case, despite the lack of appeal in the apartment itself, Beth has made up for it with incredible interior design flare. She’s the queen of Goodwill; she finds decor for incredible prices and spritzes the place up with colors I’d never think would go together. She’s so feminine compared to me.
“So what’d you want to talk about?” Beth says, bringing me a cup of coffee. Her laptop’s still on her coffee table, open; I can see a partially-written contract on the screen. She closes it, muttering that she ought to save some battery.
“Well,” I say, taking a deep breath, “I got a text from Greg.”
She looks at me. “Well, crap.”
“Yeah. Pretty much.”
Hey, he’d written. Just that. Hey.
I’d woken up to it early this morning. I haven’t been sleeping well; stress has been keeping me awake, and then wakes me all too soon once I do sleep. The text, a simple greeting, was a few hours old by the time I’d blearily reached for my phone, but it tore me apart.
Why did he message me? I thought we were done. He’d shipped back my things several weeks ago. It didn’t seem more final than that.
I debated for a long time about writing him back. I knew I should just ignore it, let him drift away even if he’s trying to swim back. But because I’m weak and I make stupid decisions, I wrote back, Hi.
How are you? he responded.
I’m okay, I’d written back. How are you?
Okay, he’d said. And that was it for a while. Then: I miss you.
I miss you.
The phrase has haunted me all day. I didn’t mean to ignore it; I just didn’t know how to answer. I miss you too? It made me feel too vulnerable. I still love you? That’s laying it on way too thick, even if it’s true. You dumped me, so leave me alone? I could never type that. Besides, I couldn’t blame him for dropping me. Maybe I would have done the same to him if he’d been the one to get his Mark and not me.
No, I wouldn’t have. I’d be too selfish for that.
I miss you.
Such a simple, damning phrase.
As Beth reads our exchange, she lets out a sympathetic hum. “Ouch.”
“I don’t know what to do. He was my first serious boyfriend. What would you do?”
“Maybe just let it be. This is a weird breakup because it’s not like one of you just stopped loving the other. He’s trying to do the right thing.”
Just then, another message comes through. Have you met your soulmate yet?
“Wow,” she says. “I think he might be trying to get back together. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know!” I whine.
“I mean, you didn’t seem anxious to meet your soulmate anytime soon. Are you just going to be with Greg until you meet him naturally, instead of using those apps?”
“Greg’s not just some consolation prize until I meet my soulmate,” I reply fiercely, whipping my phone away from her and putting it securely in my purse.
“Okay, okay. Sorry. I know you still have feelings for him, so maybe you want to tell him you haven’t met your soulmate yet? It’s not like you’re lying.”
I stay silent.
“No,” she says, gaping at me. “You met him? Was it through an app?”
I shake my head.
“No way! You actually met him, in real life?”
“Yeah,” I say softly.
“How? Recently? Who is he?”
I clear my throat. “If I tell you, it cannot leave this room.”
“I swear.”
“I mean it, Beth. You can’t tell a single soul. Not even Ethan. Especially not Ethan. Or Mom and Dad.”
“I said I wouldn’t! Geez!”
“Fine,” I say, huffing. “It’s…Ethan.”
Beth blinks at me. “Ethan? As in Ethan Perry? As in, my best friend?”
I wince. “I know that’s probably weird and breaking sister code or girl code or something, but when we went swimming, I saw his Mark. It looks just like mine, and it was glowing, Beth. It’s legit.”
“Huh.” She leans back into the sofa. “Ethan Perry.” I can’t make out her expression. Is she annoyed, sad? Just bewildered? I can’t tell. It’s a mystery.
“I’m sorry,” I say, although I don’t know why. She’d established she and Ethan weren’t anything romantic.
“No, it’s fine,” she says, leaning back. “It’s just…geez. I never would’ve thought.”
She shakes her head, and it hits me.
“You do like him,” I realize.
“No, I don’t.” She looks at me, then looks away. Beth sighs. “Okay, so maybe I kind of do? But it’s nothing serious. I thought, ‘Whoa,’ when he came back to Lake Redwood, but as soon as I saw the Mark on his arm, I knew there was no way for us to be anything. I might’ve held on to a little hope that I’d get my Mark late, too, but it never happened.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, this time certain of it. “He’ll never know, I promise. I’ll keep my arm covered up.”
She looks at me, frowning. “That’s unfair to him.”
“How’s that unfair?”
“Ethan might not have been seeking out his soulmate, but I know him well enough to know he’s happy to have one. He always touches his sleeve, as if to make sure it’s still there. I know he’s joined the apps, even if he doesn’t check them often. You can’t just leave him hanging.”
“I’m not leaving him hanging.”
“I know you’re grieving over Greg, and I’m not telling you to get together with Ethan right away, but you should at least let him figure it out for himself that you’re his soulmate. He’ll be patient, you know. I’m sure he won’t rush you into things, especially since he knows about you and Greg.”
“You were just telling me to get together with Greg, weren’t you?”
“Yeah, but that was before a) I knew who your soulmate was, and b) I knew you knew who your soulmate was.”
“Isn’t that a bit of a double standard? You were fine with me ignoring my soulmate otherwise.”
“You can’t honestly tell me that knowing it’s Ethan doesn’t make much of a difference to you.”
It does. I know it does. My soulmate, until a few days ago, was a vague stranger with a dim smile. He might have been tall or short, fat or thin, wimpy or muscular. He could have been cold, like Dad, or a drunk, like Nick. He could have been a bigger mess than I am. Or he could have been a dream. Either way, I could rationalize to myself that it was okay to live life the way I wanted, without taking him into account except to avoid him. Because if he was awful, the less I was around him, the better. And if he was kind, well, at least I could rationalize that he was better off without me, at least for a while.
It’s not like that with Ethan. Ethan’s kind, but his kindness is known to me. He’s no longer just a childhood friend, either. I know him a
little as not just a boy, but as a man. I know that he still rubs his ear when he feels awkward or embarrassed, and that he still likes to smile, but he’s also opened up to me in ways that he never did before. He and I never had heart-to-heart chats when I was a teen, and certainly not when we were children. But the other day, he’d told me he admired me.
What an idiot.
I feel like I haven’t stopped lying since this Mark first appeared on my skin, staining it and me. I lied to myself, first, that it wasn’t there; then I lied to myself and Greg that he would end up with a Mark. Then I lied and said everything would be okay, and now I’ve lied by omission by not telling Ethan he’s my soulmate.
He admires my honesty? He’s crazy. That proves it. He thinks higher of me than I deserve. If he has to put up with me for long, he’ll really start to hate me.
“He’s better off without me,” I tell her.
“Don’t be stupid,” Beth says.
I glare at her. “You know he deserves better than me. You’ve seen what I’m like. You should have this Mark, not me. Maybe there was a mistake somewhere.”
“It’s not a mistake, Abby. Stop being dramatic.”
“I know, see? I’m always dramatic and obnoxious.”
“Yeah, you’re so annoying,” Beth finally snaps. Good. It feels better to argue. “But everyone is, Abby. We all have stuff we hate about ourselves. The point is just to work on that, even if it takes all our lives. God knows I’m not perfect, either.”
I scoff.
“You know I’m not. I’m not very responsible. I’m oblivious. I always make stupid mistakes. Yeah, people think I’m nice or whatever, but so what? I’m nearly thirty, and I don’t feel at all grown up enough for that. I still have to ask Dad to help me file my taxes.”
I blink at her. “Isn’t there online stuff to help you with that?”
“I know!” she cries, throwing her hands up in dismay. “That’s how bad I am at this!”
I frown. “Geez. I thought I had self-esteem issues.”
“I’m 90% sure everyone does, Abby. It’s just a matter of how we deal with it. I just try to look at my good points. And yes, you have them too, before you argue.”
Then she surveys me. “You know,” Beth continues, “I never thought you suffered from self-doubt.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. You’ve always been so confident and sure. You went all the way to New York on your own. I didn’t even have to move out while I went to school. You’ve always called out Mom and Dad on their BS, even when you knew it would get you grounded, and I just stood around and watched. You’ve always dared to do stuff.”
Okay, maybe Ethan’s not the only one who’s a total saint.
“Thanks, Beth,” I say, meaning it.
She shrugs. “Just try to consider Ethan, okay? I don’t think many people do or don’t deserve each other, except in extreme cases. Otherwise, we’re all just….people.”
She glances at my purse. “What are you going to do about Greg?”
“I don’t know.” I bite my lip. “Do you think I should write him back now? Should I tell him I’ve met my soulmate?”
She bites her lip. “Hmm. I think…you need to do what works for you.”
“Thanks for the non-answer.”
Beth grins at me. “It’s annoying, but it’s true. I don’t know Greg, and I’m not you. I know how I’d react to all this, but you should handle this your way.”
“I might make a mess of it.”
“So make a mess. So what? The world keeps on turning.”
Leave it to Beth, ever the optimist, to make these things a little less daunting. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
“Good luck.”
I nod, pulling my smartphone out of my purse. I open our message thread, then type, I met my soulmate. He doesn’t know I have his Mark, though.
“It’s the truth,” I tell her as she looks over my shoulder. She nods. I hesitate, then tap send.
“Celebratory wine,” Beth suddenly squeals, jumping to her feet. “We need to cheer.”
“For what?” I drawl, raising a brow. “I just sent a text.”
“Texting an ex is always hard. Hang on.”
A few minutes later, she comes back with two plastic wine glasses partially filled with red. “To me, for tackling new horizons,” I say dramatically with an old Hollywood accent.
“Brilliant, dahling,” she drawls back. Our plastic glasses tap together, sadly without the satisfying clink I’ve heard at fancier occasions, and we sip. The wine wakes up my taste buds and slides down my throat almost painfully.
“You know,” Beth says thoughtfully, “this is the first time we’re having girl talk, isn’t it?”
Now that she mentions it, she’s right. I was a freshman in high school when she was a senior; our friend groups rarely merged in school, except for the two of us and Ethan. It’s a very different dynamic, us being adults and talking about boys while we have drinks. It’s kind of fun, in a way I never knew time with my older sister could be. I’d always just quietly admired her, more or less, while sometimes stewing with jealousy.
“So,” I say, looking at her, “any other guys besides Ethan who have caught your eye?”
We dish for a few hours until I decide it’s time for me to go. Mom and Dad are probably almost ready for dinner, and while I love my sister, she doesn’t have much to eat in her apartment. We hug, and as I turn to yank her front door open, she says, “You know, Ethan’s mom isn’t doing so hot. Have you seen her lately?”
“Not since I left Lake Redwood the first time. With all the drama going on, I haven’t been out and about very much. Why?”
“I think she’d really like to see you, from what Ethan’s said. Her birthday’s coming up. And maybe you can let him notice your Mark while you’re there?”
I roll my eyes. “I’ll think about it, okay?”
She grins at me. “Okay. I’ll see you later. Good luck with Mom and Dad.”
* * *
I used to think dinners with Greg post-Mark were awkward. Clearly, I’d forgotten what my parents were like.
They used to do a better job hiding it when I was a kid. They smiled a little more, danced around disagreements or controversial subjects with ease. Not anymore. Mom’s kind to me, asking me about my day and how Beth’s doing. Dad occasionally makes a remark toward me. But if they talk to each other, it’s usually with curt tones.
“Any news on your soulmate?” Mom asks me.
“Nope,” I say, shoving some peas in my mouth. I don’t think I’m a very good liar.
“What about a job?” Dad asks, guzzling some beer.
“I told you, I have an interview at Crisp Pages tomorrow.”
“Good. Although you should really aim higher. It’ll be good to have some money, but don’t waste your degree.”
I frown. “I’m not. I’m still looking at jobs. But I don’t think I want to work in New York again.”
“I don’t like this attitude, Constance,” Dad says, frowning. “Your generation doesn’t know how to stick with a career.”
“Sticking with one job isn’t always admirable, David,” Mom says mildly, sipping her water.
“It’s not, Rose? Maybe you’re right. I should have changed careers every other year. We didn’t need constant raises, or this nice house with the long driveway you love.”
Mom glares at him. But Dad’s in fine form tonight. He continues, “We certainly didn’t need to fill it up to the brim with all this useless junk.”
“I work too, thank you,” she says coolly.
Dad opens his mouth, but I burst out with, “Can you guys please just get a divorce or something?”
They look at me as if I’ve turned into a hydra. “Excuse me?” Mom says.
“You’ve been doing this for ages,” I groan. “Just, like, be done with it if you’re not going to try to fix it.”
“Don’t be silly,” Dad says. “We’re Marked.”
I think of Nick and
Jen. It’s so depressing. Just because you’re Marked doesn’t mean they have no responsibility to fix their problems.
“Forget it, do what you want,” I tell them, clearing my plate.
“Watch the attitude,” Dad barks.
“My bad,” I drawl, closing the dishwasher and ignoring the piles of junk on the counter. I sidestep various boxes and climb the stairs, finding relief in my relatively bare room.
I have a text from Greg and Ethan. Of course. My life’s become a bizarre, not-quite love triangle.
I hesitate for a second, then open Greg’s first.
Okay, it reads. Good luck.
That’s all. It makes me both want to scream in irritation, and sigh with relief.
I open Ethan’s next.
We’re celebrating Mom’s birthday on Sunday. Wanna come over?
Never mind the awkwardness of us being soulmates. An excuse to get out of the house? Heck. Yes.
I’ll be there, I text him.
He sends back a smiley face, then asks, How are you?
Fine. Trying to survive my parents, but not willing to commit to living in an apartment in Lake Redwood. Also because it takes $$$.
Lol fair enough.
How are you? I ask, just to be polite. Greg’s message has left me uneasy about chatting with Ethan.
I’m good, he responds. Are you excited for your interview?
Yeah. $ will be great, even if it’s just a little. :) Thanks again.
No worries, he says. By the way, do you have any book recommendations?
LOL, are you trying to help me practice?
No, I’m serious.
Why? You work at a bookstore! You should know just as well as I do!
I don’t have much time to read anymore, he writes. Plus, you worked at a publishing co. Maybe you know some upcoming releases I should check out? ;)
I consider this, flopping on my bed. What do you like to read?
As he types, I change into my pajamas, a simple combination of a t-shirt and cotton shorts. By the time I plop back on the mattress and my phone dings, I’ve wracked my brain for a few different answers to his question.
Ethan writes, I enjoy a lot of genres. Christian, mystery, historical non-fiction. Only things I’m not a fan of are comic books and romance.
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