Soulmated

by Shaila Patel

  Jack stopped me with his hands on my shoulders. He scanned my face and then glanced at Liam. “I thought you wanted some time alone to recharge. You okay?”

  “Liam was worried, so he came looking for me. And yeah, I’m good.”

  “Good.” Jack hugged me, and a growing sense of unease gathered around me like a building storm. The sensation seemed to come from behind me, where Liam stood. I looked over my shoulder. The muscles in his face were taut. He stared at Jack while Chloe yammered on about something.

  Great. Now I was hallucinating. I rubbed my temples. A slow throb had begun.

  Even Jack’s concern felt like watching a towering purple raincloud blow toward me. Or maybe it was just that I could see the concern on his face. My head throbbed harder.

  Jack glanced back at Liam and then at me. The pity was back in his eyes. “Your mom’s gonna kill you if she finds out, you know. And I’ll kill him if he hurts you.”

  I frowned. “No one needs to kill anyone.”

  Jack stayed behind to wait for Chloe and Liam, while I left for the auditorium.

  Once inside, the air-conditioning cooled me off and eased my headache a touch. I put my hair up in a ponytail as I weaved through the crowd, but a man in a dark suit joined me, slowing me down. He had a visitor’s tag stuck to his lapel.

  “Hello. I’m visiting the school for my daughter. Do you like it here?” His accent sounded Greek.

  I looked around, wondering where his faculty escort was, and then turned to answer him. He now faced me, staring with the most ethereal gray eyes I’d ever seen, but an ugly scar, carved along the length of his cheek, tempered their beauty. He cocked his head as if to study me.

  “Uh, sure. I love it here.” His stare felt like a jackhammer against my brain. The throbbing came back in full force. Something didn’t feel right about him—all I wanted was to push him away and run. The panic bubbling up in me seemed extreme. It wasn’t like he’d attack me in a hallway full of students. “I really should get to class.”

  I picked up the pace, but he matched it, as did my heart rate. Chill. You’re freaking out because of the scar.

  He put a hand on my upper arm, stopping me. “Nice to meet you.”

  I jerked out of his hold and stepped back. Doesn’t he get that he’s creeping me out?

  A small smile changed the angle of his scar. “Your emotions are strong.”

  I bit back a no shit, but before I could say anything at all, he turned and blended into the crowd. The jackhammering stopped, but the throbbing and the creepy panic lingered. I pressed my palms into my eyes. Breathe in. Breathe out. C’mon. Calm down.

  “Lucky!” Liam was pushing his way to me, his eyes darting around, searching the hallway.

  I was both relieved and frustrated. How could I clear my head if I always needed him? He cupped my neck and studied me like he usually did. The tingling felt like a dampener on the pounding, and my body relaxed. Please don’t let go of me. The creepy feeling vanished, and I felt safe. Even the crowd around us seemed to part so we wouldn’t be jostled.

  He scanned my face. “You were—I mean … you had a panicked look about you.”

  “It’s nothing. Just a headache.”

  He narrowed his eyes, obviously doubting me. I covered his hands with mine so I could feel more of the tingling. The one-minute warning bell rang. Why was it when a guy finally seemed to like me, he came with baggage?

  That was it. He only thought he liked me.

  “You’re pulling away again,” he whispered.

  I pulled his hands off my skin. The throbbing was gone now. Thank God.

  “You’re going to be late,” I said, walking back a few steps. I turned and raced into drama, thankful for some Liam-free time to think. The lights were already dimmed, and Mr. Truman stood on stage, dressed in a tie-dyed shirt and dreads, discussing foreign accents while talking in a Jamaican one. As part of our first big assignment, we had to choose a monologue native to the country we’d be assigned and perform it using an accent.

  We all came to the front, taking turns digging into a dark velvet bag to choose our country. Some cheered, others groaned, and when it was my turn, I wanted to cry.

  Ireland.

  CHAPTER 17

  Liam

  It was past four in the morning. I could still feel the impression of Lucky’s face in my hands, like feeling the lingering heat after holding a warm mug. When I did close my eyes, I kept imagining us walking together in the fields back home, strolling among the wildflowers. I could hear her laugh and feel her skin against my own. I’d lean over to kiss her, but then I’d be jolted wide-eyed again by the doubt I’d see in her eyes, or the sting of having to watch Jack comfort her.

  Turning over, I stared at the moon through my open blinds. The silver metallic slats reflected the moonlight, amplifying its brightness, but it still left a shroud of darkness over me. The bed felt hard as stone tonight.

  How could she not want to know why I cared about her? Unless she thought I didn’t care much at all. But how could she be thinking that? We’d been walking together whenever we could. We’d held hands a time or two, and I’d even kissed her. Sure, it hadn’t been a real kiss, but the intention was clear enough. Hell, I’d even offered to help her every day after school for her Irish assignment. I smiled. It’d taken her three tries to finally pluck up the courage to ask for my help.

  I covered my head with a pillow and groaned. Girls. How was she turning my whole world upside down in three bleedin’ days? If she wasn’t The One, complicated didn’t even begin to describe what my life would become.

  A strange sensation crawled over me, and I sat upright, flicking on the lamp. It felt like Lucky was sitting on the bed with me.

  Christ. Now I’m imagining her.

  My heart was hammering in my chest. After all these years, this soul mate bollocks was wearing me down.

  I planted my feet on the ground and rubbed my face, giving up on sleep. Was Lucky having trouble sleeping too? Jaysus. I needed to be clearing out the rubbish from my head. Tinkering with something should help. The garage was mostly unpacked. It was time I used it.

  I slipped out the back door, and the humid air was just cool enough to temper the heat burning inside me. In the garage, the smell of wood, varnish, and motor oil calmed me. Each garage had its own scent to get used to, and I was liking this one. This one would mix with my things and become the smell reminding me of Cary.

  After a bit of searching, I found a slice of an odd-shaped tree trunk I’d been meaning to work on. The jagged bark scraped my fingers. As I traced the rings, I thought it’d turn nicely into a small table. I began working the outer bark just enough to leave the edges rough to the touch but not serrated. I liked the idea of a rough, outer edge with a refined, smooth center. Would Lucky like it? Bringing out my safety goggles and tools, I set to work sanding the top.

  An image of Lucky’s eyes flashed in my mind. How would I ever know if she was meant for me? Wouldn’t everything be falling into place like a puzzle if she was what I was hoping she was? I had no grand notion of romance, but wouldn’t finding a soul mate be something earth-shattering?

  And what if she wasn’t The One? Was that why she was pulling away? Because it wasn’t meant to be? Could the tingling be a warning, a sign, against her?

  The top was almost level enough now. I turned off the sander, still feeling the vibration of it in my fingertips, and blew off the sawdust. I brought my face to the table to eye my work. The right side needed more smoothing. The sander’s buzz filled the garage once again.

  Hadn’t I been ready to tell Lucky that I cared about her when she’d asked yesterday? Even without knowing if she was my soul mate.

  Without knowing—or without caring?

  I could hear Ciarán in my head now. “What the feckin’ hell? Shag her already, then you might know bloody more.” The idea of him sitting on the stool across from me made me chuckle. I had to be half mad
, laughing to myself in a room full of power tools, but it felt good to smile.

  All I knew was, soul mate or not, I was gone in the head over her.

  It had only been three days. Three days. How was that even possible?

  “Why are ya letting her mess with you?” the imaginary Ciarán asked. “What if this and what if that and so feckin’ what. Get some testicular fortitude and make up your feckin’ mind.”

  He was right. Wasn’t it time I was about my own life?

  I stopped the sander, blew off more sawdust, and inspected the top. It took a half-hour of fine sanding before the smoothness satisfied me. I’d make a table of it yet. It was six in the morning now. Aside from the imaginary conversation with Ciarán, I was feeling some sanity returning.

  Despite her pulling away from me yesterday, Lucky and I had a grand time today. She was still worrying about something, but if I kept things light, she’d soon relax. She’d not talk about the intense panic she’d felt yesterday before her theater class, and it’d been nagging me the whole day. She’d been projecting her panic so loudly that I’d rushed inside to find her. I hadn’t been able to sense anything around me for a few minutes. It was like being blinded by the sun after being in the dark indoors. Maybe this was a part of her breakthrough. I could only hope she’d transition quickly enough.

  On our way home, I stopped by the tree where we’d met that morning and took out three books from my bag. “By the way, these are for your monologue. This first one’s a short story collection by James Joyce called Dubliners.” I handed her the book and watched her smooth her hand along the spine. “This second one is a novel by Kate O’Brien, Without My Cloak, and the last is my favorite book of verse. It was published about a hundred years ago.”

  “Oh, wow! These are great. Thank you—Wait. You have a favorite book of poetry?” She arched her eyebrows.

  “That’s got some of the best Irish poets. What? You’re the only one who can like poetry?”

  We’d eaten lunch on our own again today, and I’d discovered she liked to write. Da would love that about her, but I kept that to myself for now.

  “Well, no, it’s just unexpected,” she said. “Nice, but unexpected.”

  I couldn’t resist stepping closer. Her scent was clear enough that the smells of cut grass and flowering shrubs fell back and faded. She tilted her head back to look at me. The canopy-filtered sunlight danced on her face. She was a stunner. She thumbed through the poems and then read the dedication from Da.

  My Dear Liam,

  Find comfort in these pages

  For winter ends in stages,

  Have faith.

  You will find The One.

  Your loving father,

  Patrick Whelan

  2009

  “Why didn’t your dad finish the poem? He even left a space in the middle.”

  We continued walking toward her home. “I dunno. Da doesn’t write poetry much. Maybe he couldn’t come up with anything more.”

  “The first two lines have promise.”

  “Do you think so? He does love to recite, especially if he’s been bending his elbow with a glass or two.”

  “Sounds like it’d be fun to watch.” She flipped through the pages again. “Thomas Moore? Is he one of your favorites?”

  “Uh … why would you be asking?” Her house came into view, and I didn’t want to leave her.

  “A lot of his pages were dog-eared at some point.” She showed me a few and looked quite smug.

  “Well now, look who’s the detective.” I shoved her gently with my elbow.

  I followed her up her porch stairs and hoped she’d invite me in. From what she’d told me, her mum worked till supper most nights. I needed this time alone with her—to find out why she’d been pulling away, and if she was ready, I needed to be telling her how I felt.

  Was I really about to push aside Da’s vision along with the last twelve years of searching, the past six of them away from the family? Would I be ignoring everything they’d sacrificed? I ran a hand through my hair. Ciarán had said I was always diving too deep, never caring if I surfaced.

  She turned, fiddling with her keys. “We could, uh, pick out something from one of your books to work on. I mean, if you’re not too busy. You probably have a lot of homework though, right?” She bit her lip. The uncertainty and hope in her eyes were enough to slay me.

  “Why do you think I walked up here with you?” Just like that, I was diving deep in her bubbles of happiness—the happiness that had me hoping I was as perfect for her as she was for me.

  CHAPTER 18

  Lucky

  Liam and I put our bags by the coffee table, and he walked around, getting acquainted with the living room. Outside of Caitlyn and Bailey, not many of my white friends had been to my house. I wondered how strange Liam would think our living room was. In the corner, on our one and only end table, Indian elephant figurines sat next to stacks of Gujarati-language newspapers. Squeezed between the elephants and a lamp was a copper loto she used as a vase, stuffed with shortened peacock feathers.

  Flanking the end table were the east-meets-west of sofa pairings. Against the wall with the long window stood a brown, microfiber sofa. Mom fashioned pillows from red and gold Indian-patterned fabric matching the cushions on our sankheda loveseat. The loveseat sat under the front window and was made from tubular pieces of decorated, lacquered teak wood. Little baubles dangled between each row, fluttering like leaves whenever someone sat on its cushions. On the opposite side were two, hand-me-down armchairs from one of Mom’s coworkers. They were cream with apple-green stripes and stood in front of our fake fireplace. The entire room was a culturally confused eyesore.

  I quickly brought out some drinks, napkins, and a bowl of tortilla chips, leaving the cheese in the microwave to melt with the salsa. I was anxious to spend time with him and irritated that I kept forgetting to protect my heart. It’d been like this all day.

  He studied the photos on the mantel between the armchairs.

  “So this is your Indian dance costume?” He pointed to a photo from one of my Bharatanatyam performances.

  “Yup.”

  My costume was made from emerald-green silk with an ornate, brocade border. He traced the pleated fan of fabric splayed out between my legs, which were in a demi-plié-like position. No one from school, other than Jack and Shiney, knew this side of me. Even Caitlyn and Bailey had never seen a performance. It was like he was getting a peek behind the curtain.

  I moved to get a better look at the photo, and he blocked me in, standing inches behind me. Even without touching me, his heat seeped into my skin. He rested his hand on the mantel. I glanced over my shoulder and caught him grinning. He’d been pushing the personal-space-thing all day, acting like it was accidental. Uh-huh.

  I was getting tired of fighting my attraction to him.

  “That’s quite a bit of jewelry,” he said.

  I steadied my breathing so I wouldn’t sound shaky. “Over five pounds of it. It takes about an hour to get dressed and done up.” The fake ruby, pearl, and rhinestone jewelry consisted of headpieces, earrings, a nose ring and chain, long and short necklaces, armbands, a belt, and lots of bangles. I always felt like a dancing rhinestone ad.

  “What are those?” He pointed to the six-inch-wide belt I wore around each ankle.

  “Those are ghungroos. They’re rows of little bells to make our footwork audible.” Mine added an extra two pounds to each ankle as well. “Not quite a tutu, huh?” I looked over my shoulder again, but he was studying the picture.

  “Your expression is … stunning,” he said.

  “Thanks. That’s high praise for a Bharatanatyam dancer actually.” His scent filled my nostrils, and I was going to do something stupid if I didn’t move soon.

  “Does this dance have a meaning?”

  “It’s a devotional piece to Lord Krishna. I’m Radha in the dance. It shows how their love transcends all earthly
bonds.”

  Gee, I wonder why I’m a hopeless romantic.

  He was quiet for a moment. “What part in the dance was this?”

  “It’s near the end, after a really emotional part where she thought he’d left her. He was only hiding in the trees for fun. When she finds out though, she’s overwhelmed with emotions. She’s overjoyed mostly, but, as I interpreted it, she’s also scared by her own, um … vulnerability.” I cleared the lump in my throat. “I know I would be.”

  He wrapped his arms around me from behind and buried his face in my neck. His warm sigh tickled my skin. I lifted my hand, but paused before I rested it on his forearm. The moment seemed more intimate than any other time we’d touched. His posture felt as vulnerable as I was scared to become.

  I ground my teeth together, mad at myself for always being scared. I’d spent all of gym class today unloading my neurotic ramblings on Shiney. She finally slapped some sense into me and told me that being afraid was a choice.

  She was right.

  I had to know what was happening between Liam and me. What if he was just a super affectionate guy? I would never need to ask him about his ex-girlfriend then. And if he really did like me …

  I pulled out of his arms and faced him. My heart thumped in my throat, and I wondered if I’d actually be able to speak. I gripped the back of an armchair and took a deep breath. You can do this. “Remember what I asked you yesterday? About why you cared?”

  He stepped closer and nodded. “Are you ready now to be hearing why?”

  I nodded, and he broke into a glorious smile.

  He held my face, and the tingling made me lean into one of his hands. “I’m mad about you, Lucky. I can’t sleep. Can’t think. I’m a right mess. I care about you, honest I do. And watching you pull away from me … it’s tearing me up inside. Tell me what you’re worrying about. Let me fix whatever it is.”