M. Suzanne Terry

On Fridays (or shortly thereafter…ahem) this month, I’m going to be following a Tumblr prompt that made the rounds for a while. I’m tweaking it a little, though:

On their 25th birthday, every person has the opportunity to request permission (because consent is sexy) to share the mind/vision of their soulmate. If permission is granted, they have 24 hours to observe and communicate with the person to see if they want to pursue a future together.

Trina knew he would say, “Yes,” the minute she blew out her candles. They’d planned it that way – a cozy dinner at home where the first thing she would see through his eyes was him carrying her to their room and laying her gently on the bed so that she would feel rested when she came back to herself. She closed her eyes, made the wish, and blew.

When she opened her eyes, she was sitting in a cafe. How did he get there so quickly? Or maybe it took awhile to take effect? Seeing through someone else’s eyes had to be a complicated process, she reasoned.

Maybe she should try saying something. Hello, Ryan, she thinks.

“Huh. Not Ryan. But…welcome? I guess this does actually work.”

Not Ryan?! But…no. That’s not right, she thinks. It was supposed to be Ryan. Ryan is my fiancee. We were supposed to spend the day together. Where am I now? Who is this?

“Works really, really well, in fact. Who is Ryan? Am I…are we…cheating? Feels a bit like cheating. Do you still want to do this?”

Oh, so everything I think…you hear. Huh.

“Apparently so.” There is a pause as he takes a sip of coffee. It’s not very good coffee. Grimace. “Sorry about that. I tend to go for quantity over quality. Is there something you prefer?”

Earl Grey would be nice. With a little cream. And sugar.

“Earl Grey it is.” He walks toward the counter. He leaves his book – Proust heavy reader – and his wool cap – brown, rose, burgundy, and turquoise stripes kinda sweet – at the table.

“Yeah, I’ve always been told I should read Proust, and I’m slugging through all right. It’s definitely more challenging than my usual fare, which leans more Crichton-esque.” She can tell that he smiles a little at this. Sheepish. Cute. “And the hat was a gift from my mom. She’s really into making hats this year.” Super cute. “Thanks. I bet you’re cute, too.”

She tries thinking about the selfie she took last year that she really liked, but before she could, she thinks of the unflattering one Ryan took when she fell over in the grass and had her mouth wide open, mid-cackle. Of course. Sigh.

He laughs a little, but not unkindly. “I like it. You look happy.” Pause. “And I was right. You are cute.”

He orders the tea, and the barista looks at him quizzically. “It’s not for me,” he explains. She looks back at his table without changing her questioning look. “I mean, I’m trying something new.”

You come here often.

“Are you trying to pick me up? Seems like overkill. I already said yes.” She can tell that he smirks at this. Charming. Witty. “I’ve gotta say – I like this arrangement. I always guess wrong at what others are thinking. It’s pretty helpful to have it right there in my head.”

Me, too. I thought it would be weird, but it’s actually super convenient. Pause to try and stop the next thought from coming, but it doesn’t seem to work that way. I also thought it would be Ryan.

“I can’t help you there, but I sort of wish I were Ryan. He seems like a pretty lucky guy.” He takes a sip of the Earl Grey, delicious and sweet, and the barista, still watching, shakes her head. “My name is Nick, by the way.”

Of course it is. I’ve always had a thing for Nicks. But they’ve always been trouble. Erm…I mean…hi, Nick.

He laughs out loud this time. She can’t help but think he must look crazy. This just makes him laugh even harder, although he tries to subdue it.

A few minutes pass in silence, so he says, “Listen, I know you’re into this other guy, and you seem great, but I want you to be happy. If he makes you happy, you should go back to him. I just want…” He sighs. “I’m fine. I want you to be happy.”

She can tell he means it. Okay. Yes. I’m sorry about all of this. Um…enjoy your tea.

Another laugh. “Not likely, but it doesn’t hurt to try something new, right?” Pause. “Even if it’s not for me.”

It’s still dark outside when she wakes up in her familiar bed with Ryan right beside her. He looks nervous. “Did it work?”

She weighs her words carefully. She makes a choice. “No.” She commits. “No, it didn’t. I guess it only works if you’re still looking.”

Ryan smiles, relieved. She falls asleep in his arms.

A year and three months go by, and things don’t turn out the way she planned. Nothing is ever really right between them from that point on. Her small lie is always caught in the middle. On the eve of his 25th birthday, she says, “I think you should do the soulmate thing.”

Ryan doesn’t look at her. He knows. He’s known for some time. “It wasn’t me, was it?”

This time she tells the truth, even though it sounds like exactly the same answer. “No.” She tells him a little about the encounter, but stops when it’s clear he doesn’t really want to hear it.

The next day, he spends a day away from her and returns, excited and apologetic. She had already decided by 10:00 a.m., to let him go, so the conversation is easy. Cordial. Civilized.

Two years pass. Other boyfriends – some named Nick who drink bad coffee – come and go. One day she sees a knit cap – brown, rose, burgundy, and turquoise stripes – bobbing through the crowd. She follows him and finally catches up. Nervous, she touches his arm. “Nick?”

When he turns around, it’s the face she’s always loved the most. The face she knew the best. The one she chose.

After a long hug, Ryan takes off the cap. “Ugly thing, but I figured it was the best way to find you.”

I’m writing 31 stories in 31 days. Click to see the master list.