Whoever She Is

“What do you think yours would be like?”

“My what?”

Abbie hid behind her steaming mug, eyeing me with intent through wisps of vapour. “Your soulmate, if you had one. Describe her.”

I responded with a drawn-out groan and hoped it was answer enough.

“Tell me.”

“Well, she’d have light blonde hair, tied up in a messy bun. I like a few freckles, feisty girl with baby blue eyes. I’ve got a thing for baggy black T-shirts and sweats.”

“Buttering me up won’t work, dummy.” She kicked my shin under the table, but I could tell she liked the flirting. “Come on, everyone has an idea in their head.” Abbie ran a single manicured nail along her face and behind her right ear, tucking away a loose curl. She repeated the motion twice more even though she’d gotten it on the first try. It reminded me of our early dates, when seeing her was all nerves.

“Not me.” I leaned forward, elbows crossed on our coffee-ringed kitchen table and cocked an eyebrow. “Does this mean you’ve been thinking of someone else? How could you cheat on me like this?”

She put the mug down, made sure I could see her eyes roll. “I’m serious. We never talked about what we’d do if either of us got the letter.”

The thought terrified me. A single letter and a four-and -a-half year relationship gone, because of bloodwork of all things.

Three years ago, the first clickbait articles tore across social media like wildfire. Scientists Discover Soulmates!!! That stupid article changed a lot. The short version is that a group of geneticists identified an underlying layer to human DNA, then a second figured out said layer contained a natural frequency, unique to each individual. It didn’t take long before they stumbled onto a matching set; from there it was just a matter of getting enough of a database to find matches.

Fourteen couples had already been found by the time news got out.

“Wouldn’t you want to be like all the others? Don’t you want to have a good life?” Abbie tossed the question in the air as if it were weightless, but by the way she ran her fingers along the rim of her mug, she expected a hard landing.

“We have a good life here, together. Do you really think that I need a million strangers on my phone to prove that?”

“You know that’s not what I mean. High roading me doesn’t prove anything.”

“I’m just saying that the entire concept is ridiculous to me. It’s insane that a private corporation can run my blood through some computer on the off chance it spits out a match. Opting out isn’t even an option. Then we’re just expected to drop everything to go be with someone because what, their DNA compliments yours? That’s insane, the world’s insane.”

“Oversimplifying and omitting facts doesn’t make you right. There’s a one hundred percent success rate behind it. Science supports it, people who find their matches flourish. Think about it, you could achieve everything you’ve dreamed of.” She leaned back against the creak of the chair and raised an eyebrow in victory.

“Calling that science might be pushing it, but since it seems to matter to you, if you got the letter I’d understand. I’d let you go.”

Abbie stared into her small well of bitter black coffee before answering me, I’d never understood how anyone could enjoy something so bitter, but it seemed to comfort her. “Thank you, I needed to hear that.”

“Why are you so concerned about this all of a sudden? It’s like one in ten thousand odds.”

“Eleven thousand two hundred sixty-eight actually.”

“Exactly, big number, Abbie. It’s a non-issue.”

She didn’t reply. Didn’t reply for a long time, instead just stared into her half-drunk coffee.

Then Abbie reached under the table and produced a bland, beige envelope. “It’s not that big.”

“Y—you got one?” The Earth shook beneath me, magnitude rising, but our cluttered one-bedroom remained still.

The garage sale kitchen chair fell backwards, and I was on my feet. My mind raced and each thought blurred passed me too fast to make out, but I could see Abbie; I could see her golden hair, done up the way she did it when she felt pretty, her overcast eyes squinting the way they did when she laughed. I saw all of the woman I loved, I saw the last five years, and I saw someone other than me with both.

My stomach turned and I could taste the acid.

“No.” Her eyes welled, and her voice broke somewhere in the back of her throat. “You d—did.”

Tectonic plates collided beneath my feet, my own personal natural disaster. None of it made sense, unable to grasp the situation, I settled for the table.

My eyes went so wide that my face ached. I wracked my brain for the right words but only fragments fumbled their way through my lips. Without conscious thought my body found itself pacing the kitchen. It was that terrible feeling, of seeing some tragedy on the news, the knowing that something awful is happening in the world and you’re stuck, watching.

Abbie smiled; I couldn’t place the emotion behind it, but it stopped me dead.

She stood up and made her way to me. The tears had stopped but I could still make out their trails down her cheeks. “I’m going to miss this, watching your mini meltdowns. They’re adorable.”

“What do you mean miss? That letter doesn’t change anything.”

“You’re sweet for saying that, but it does, it changes everything.” She placed her hand at the side of my face, ran it up until her fingers were in my hair. She did it whenever I spiraled, and I spiraled often, but I could smell the lotion on her skin; orange and ginger, a signature. “She’ll bring out your potential just like all the others do. You’ll be the man I know you can be. I’ll be watching, just from afar.”

Since these soulmate couples started popping up, they’d all become affluent. Leaders in their fields. Most weren’t anything significant before they were matched up, but once they were, they skyrocketed to success. It even had its own term: resonant amplification, two matching frequencies strengthening one another like soundwaves. Television shows, articles, verified social medias: people ate it up.

“I can bring out my own potential. I don’t need a soulmate or some stupid red checkmark on my Instagram to prove that I have worth, I just need you.”

“You’re being stubborn; there’s science behind this. You’ve wanted to be an Artist as long as I’ve known you and as long as we’ve been together you’ve stayed in this tiny piece of the world, working jobs you hate so one day you might be able to afford to try. Well maybe this is the push, maybe this is the end of the excuses.” There was that soft smile again. “I already packed a bag. Look, you’re a good guy and—"

“Don’t.” I pulled her hand from my face and grasped it. “Don’t call me a good guy, not like you heard it from someone else. You know me.”

“It’s not about that.” Her face strained and she stopped herself with a deep breath. She was pushing something down, sorting between the kind and harsh words. “You’d stay, you’re too stubborn. I know you think you’d never hurt me, but that would be cruel. When I saw the letter.” Her eyes welled. Right on the edge but held together. “I knew that I’d have to spend the rest of our relationship terrified of when she’d come for you, terrified that even if you chose me, she’d always be there in the back of your mind, like she has mine, since I found this damn thing.”

I starred at the envelope, only now noticing the torn edge. It was ragged and uneven as if she had opened it with her finger, too impatient to find a knife. The envelope itself was creased and misshapen from overhandling. Abbie had had the letter for some time, all the while in preparation for this moment.

“Shouldn’t I be the one to decide what’s best for me?”

“Oh, honey.” A single huff of amusement. “No, you’ve never known. I’ve seen you eat dessert with breakfast. You can take care of everyone around you, but you don’t have that for yourself. This isn’t a sad moment though; she is truly lovely.”

The word ‘she’ struck like lightning leaving uncomfortable static in the air.

“Wait, what?”

“I—uh—I called her.” Abbie looked around our little one-bedroom apartment, looked everywhere but at me. “I know it’s overstepping but I’m glad I did.” The words were for me, but she said them to her feet. “She’s gorgeous. Really pissed me off at first. Dark hair, green eyes, and sweeter than those god-awful candies you love. She’s really your type. Perfect, actually.” The tears ran down Abbie’s face again, but this time they brought with them sobs.

Her knees buckled. I caught her before she dropped and just held her.

“It doesn’t matter. Whoever she is, wherever she is, it doesn’t matter.”

“It does.”

I got one last kiss goodbye. Really goodbye.

We went back and forth for hours. Me arguing against her leaving, her not hearing any of it. Abbie had the letter long enough; she’d already gone over all of this and everything I’d say in her head but still I said the words. Having those extra weeks to prepare hadn’t made it any easier on her. I saw the pain in the way she looked at me, but she was strong, and she’d made up her mind. The whole time the ground kept shaking. The apartment; all the furniture and life within it was just rubble. This was the end, I knew it, and I’d have to watch her walk out the door for the last time.

She was halfway gone when she turned around. There was that sweet smile I couldn’t place again. “I almost forgot; her name is Rosie.”

And then she left.

I sat at the kitchen table, a half mug of cold coffee and a beige envelope staring at me until night fell.

Until the Earth stopped quaking.