The Love Club

When I land at Heathrow, everything gets hazy. I’m an emotional wreck and despite my best efforts to sleep on the plane, I was physically incapable. Now I’m loading my things into the back of a hired car, and when the driver asks me where to, I give him my dad’s address in Oxford.

I don’t know why, but I can’t go home right now. My phone begins buzzing in my pocket, and I pull it out to turn it off immediately. Niall is calling me, but I can’t talk to him. I can’t go there now.

The drive to Oxford is far too long. Gatsby stares at me from her carrier in the passenger seat and I find myself wishing I’d bought a book or something instead of that dumb magazine. It was mostly junk, things to keep my mind off what I was doing and who I was running from, and it didn’t last long enough. Now, staring at the English countryside, I close my eyes and rest my head against the window. One of my favorite songs plays on the radio and I don’t even care; I haven’t the heart.

I begin to count to myself for lack of anything better to do. I tried focusing on breathing or mouthing along to the song, but it’s too dull. The numbers help, though, and I’m at 14,892 when the car stops and my eyes blink open.

My dad’s house has never looked so welcoming. I could burst into tears at the sight of it, and I do as I slip out of the back seat with my bag slung over one shoulder and Gatsby’s carrier in my hand. When I ring the doorbell, it’s Felicity who answers.

I must look how I feel because she doesn’t say anything. It’s been weeks since I’ve been here last, but she takes Gatsby’s carrier from my hands and my bag, and sets them gently on the ground. I’ve no longer walked over the threshold that I’m in her arms, and she’s holding me while I sob.

“Who was at the–,” my dad asks, peeping his head out from the living room. When he takes in the scene before him, he crosses the room toward us and envelops me by the other side. I wish I could control my sobbing to say hello, but it all hurts too much. My vision is blurred, so I close my eyes as I try to stifle the pathetic sounds that pass through my lips. My dad presses a kiss to my cheek and Felicity rubs at my arms.

Gatsby mews in her carrier, and I pull away. She must be feeling anxious from being cooped up so long, so I pull out of my parents’ embrace and let her out of her cage. My dad is allergic, which is why she had to come on tour with me in the first place, but right now that doesn’t matter. We’ll figure it out. What matters is that I’m here, and my two most favorite people in the world are by my side, comforting me without even knowing where the pain is coming from. This is my family. This is my home.

“I’ll draw you a bath,” Felicity says quietly before she scoops Gatsby up into her arms and makes her way up the stairs. She knows nothing soothes me like a good, hot soak, and I’m more appreciative than words could ever express. Wiping under my eyes, I turn toward my dad to let him hug me again.

“I don’t want it,” I mumble into his chest.

“You don’t want what?” he asks.

“This thing, this curse. Whatever the hell it is, I don’t want it anymore.”

“What happened?”

His voice is soft, and I can tell he’s trying to piece it all together. My dad has always been that way; the fixer. If it can be solved, he’ll do his damndest. Unfortunately for him, I can’t find the words to articulate what I’m going through. If I could, I’m not sure I would have. It was a pain that had no answer.

Upstairs, Felicity has turned on the bathwater. The sound of it running is soothing, and I give my dad a tight squeeze as I shake my head. I think he understands as I pull away and trudge up to the second floor.

Gatsby is perched on the toilet in my dad’s private bathroom. It’s the one with the best bath tub, a standalone clawfooted hulk of a thing that I want nothing more than to sink into. Felicity turns off the water and I can see steam rising from it. With a small smile, she runs her hand down my back soothingly before closing the door.

I strip out of my clothes quickly and sink into the water. I can feel the muscles in my body untensing as I soak in the heat, the scent of Felicity’s jasmine body wash overpowering all else. It calms my mind, and I close my eyes for a moment and will the tears to stop. When they don’t, I suck in a breath and plunge into the water. I let out a scream, the bubbles and the sound of my voice mixing together into a horrific screech that fills my water-logged ears. I re-emerge, gasping for air and wiping the stinging water from my eyes. Gatsby watches on sadly, and that’s when I know I’ve hit rock bottom.

-

On my fifth morning sulking in bed, Felicity throws open the door. It’s noon, but I’m still laying wrapped in blankets. Gatsby is lying across my neck and I pet her while I stare at the ceiling.

I could be an advert for anti-depressants.

“Mina, we’re going out,” she tells me from the doorway. I look over at her blankly. “Get dressed,” she orders, flipping on the light. I wince.

I am pathetic and I know it, but I can’t seem to find the energy to actually do something to correct the situation. The one friend I have in London hasn’t spoken to me since the Harry Apartment Dinner Debacle of 2014 and my other mates are wrapping up the European leg of the tour and preparing to fly to America. I’ve fallen for a boy who so clearly belongs to someone else, and in an attempt to be the bigger person, I’ve isolated myself from the incident and spent the last five days reading historical novels I’ve picked up from my dad’s study.

As much as I adore Felicity and the obvious attempts she’s making to be soothing, I don’t much feel like going out. Gatsby looks from her to me, judgmental. It’s the last straw and I push the cat away from me, sighing.

“Yeah, fine. Whatever.”

She looks victorious and gives me an encouraging smile before disappearing into the hall and leaving me to get changed. All I have here is the clothes I had packed from tour, but it’s all the same. I still have those trendy-looking joggers and a crop top. I run my hands through my hair a few times and actually apply eyeliner for the first time in a week, despite the fact that I have no idea what it is Felicity has in mind.

When I bound down the stairs, Felicity is waiting near the front door with her keys in hand. She eyes me up and down and I frown at her.

“What?” I demand.

“Nothing,” she tells me, and then turns and makes her way out the front door. I roll my eyes and follow behind, shutting it behind me. It’s the first time I’ve seen sunlight in a while and I lift my hand over my eyes as I trudge to her car, sliding into the passenger seat and buckling up.

“Where are we going?” I ask, watching as she looks over her shoulder to back out of the drive.

“Vaults and Garden,” she answers simply.

My mood perks immensely at the mention of one of my favorite cafés. I can feel Felicity gauging my reaction from behind the wheel, and she smiles slightly. Really, it’s a low blow that she’s resorted to this, but I don’t mind much. If she’s going to try to get me out of the slump, at least she’s not half-assing it.

We pull up to the café and I practically launch myself out of the passenger seat. Felicity can’t help but laugh as she locks the car and links her arm with mine. I lead the way to the garden, requesting to sit outside. We’re led to a stone table beneath the shade of a tall elm tree. The server leaves two menus, but I don’t even bother to glance at it. Felicity doesn’t, either.

For a while, neither of us say anything. Someone comes and takes our order for afternoon tea. When they disappear again, I slump comfortably into my seat and eye the area around me with a wistful eye. It’s one place from Oxford I wish I could take back with me to London.

The garden is more of an outdoor patio with large slabs of stone spaced throughout. It’s shadowed on the sides by the Old Congregation house, the Old University Library and the University Church Gardens. It’s easy to get lost here, beside walls built in 1320 and the flowers and herbs that sprout from the ground. I wonder vaguely what my life would have been like if I’d decided to go to uni instead of following the matchmaking path. I’d have never met Harry, but I might be better off for it. When I turn to look at Felicity, she’s studying me like she knows the thoughts going through my mind.

“Your mother met your father in this very garden,” she muses, and I pause for a moment.

“What?”

“He was a server here for a while,” she continues, resting her chin in her hand. “She was studying for exams and wanted a quiet place to read. Your dad got so nervous when he looked at her that he spilled tea all over her study guides, but do you know what he says about it now?”

I blink, intrigued. She smiles softly, her eyes pools of brown that somehow express empathy and contentedness all at once. I wonder how she’s found the balance.

“He says when she looked at him, he thought she knew.”

“Knew what?”

“Where their lives would lead. That they’d spend it together.”

I swallow thickly. Our tea arrives and Felicity thanks our server before cupping her hands to the mug. She lifts it to her face and sniffs it for a moment before taking a sip. Satisfied, she sets it down.

“Wait, are you saying...?”

“Your mum shared your gift, yes,” Felicity nods. I bite my lip.

“Why did dad never tell me?”

Felicity shrugs and raises a hand to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I think it’s what reminds him most of her, and it’s something that brings him both pride and sadness. He may have wanted to spare you that, but I think you deserve to know.”

A beat of silence. “Thank you,” I say softly.

“I can’t imagine what it must feel like, Mina,” she sighs, and her gaze drops to her tea. “To be the one to bring happiness to others, to couple two people together and know they’ll be bound for life. And I can’t fathom the heartbreak you’re dealing with right now, but I can tell you something; I may not be your father’s soulmate but I do know I love him fiercly. There’s no where else I’d rather be than by his side.”

I think I know where she’s going with this, and it hurts in my chest. Still, I venture to ask, “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I think you may have acted a bit prematurely. And I think ultimately what happens between you and Harry is up to you.”

I shake my head, pushing my scone away from me on the table. I’ve lost my appetite.

“I can’t do that,” I tell her.

She raises a brow. “Why?”

“Because.”

She frowns and I know I owe more of an explanation than that. I know what I look like to her, and while she says she understands, I’m not quite sure she does. I’m twenty years old. I’ve never been in a relationship before because I know better than to waste my time. Regardless, I couldn’t will anyone to like me because it didn’t work, and even if it did I wouldn’t want something so obviously fabricated by my own hand.

But Harry is different. I know this because I know what it feels like to fall in love; I’ve done it thousands of times when finding the right person for someone else. It goes away with time after each match I make, but with Harry it doesn’t. It won’t. Because I’ve never been hit so hard with it, and the intensity alone is enough to knock me breathless.

I love him. So I’m letting him go.

“He’s not mine to have. Whatever is going on between us, I know that Victoria is a match. So whatever potential we have with each other, it’s nothing compared to what he’ll have with her. And I just have to live with that.”

“If that’s what you believe,” Felicity allows, taking another drink of her tea. I have yet to touch mine. “But he at least has the right to know why. And I don’t think it’s healthy for you to block out the other mates you’ve made along the way. I don’t like seeing you this way.”

I hope this is the end of her motherly advice for the day, because I’m not feeling any better than I would had we not had this talk. But maybe her intention isn’t to sugar coat it until I can trick myself into believing I can be happy. Maybe it’s giving me just enough of a push where I realize I have to make some changes if I’m going to survive this.

Felicity finishes her tea while I pick at my scone. I still don’t have much of an appetite, but I at least take a few sips of my own lukewarm beverage for her sake. When she’s finished, we make our way back to the car and she drives us back to the house.

“I think I should go home,” I say as we walk through the front door. Felicity sends me a worried glance.

“I hope I didn’t scare you away today.”

“No,” I answer earnestly. “I just need to pay my bills and maybe arrange some new clients to keep me busy. It might help take my mind off things and I’ll be able to get back into a schedule again.”

In the living room, my father sneezes. I half-smile.

“Also, dad might die if he has to spend another evening with Gatsby in the house.”

Felicity nods, placing her keys on a hook near the door. When she turns to look at me, her expression is guarded and she has her arms crossed over her chest.

“That’s fine,” she allows. “But I want you to think about what we’ve discussed today.”

I doubt I’ll be able to think of much else.

I’ve been living out of a suitcase for the last few days, so packing up isn’t difficult to do. In the span of thirty minutes, I’m packed and ready to leave. Dad has called a car for me, and it’s idling at the end of the drive. My parents watch from the front door when the driver pulls away from the curb.

My phone has been off for a week, and I cringe to think of what horrors will befall me when I switch it back on again. I suck in a breath and turn it on, but don’t dare to make a move to unlock it. It buzzes incessantly for five minutes straight before it settles down. I have a thousand new e-mails, sixteen voicemails, and one-hundred thirty-seven missed calls.

Fantastic.

As the lights of London approach on the horizon, I scan vaguely through the missed call log. Most of them are Niall, the second largest majority consisting of Mitchie’s name. Harry, it seems, has also attempted to reach me, but one name sticks out among the rest.

It appears my stalemate with Duncan has ended. I open to my messages and see I have three from him.

I hear you’re back in London.

Let me know if you need anything.

I’d really like to see you.

I bite down on my lip, my eyes flickering to Harry’s name just beneath his in my message log. I can’t bring myself to open those, so instead I choose to type a reply to Duncan.

Lunch tomorrow at O’Malley’s. Noon.

I’m not interested in stifling my heartbreak by leading on Duncan, but I could use a friend. I smile when I see he’s texting me back.

See you soon.

-

I know the moment my phone rings that I shouldn’t answer it. It’s late and I’m exhausted and moving means Gatsby will be unhappy with me, and thus far she’s the only ally I have. Still, my finger pauses over the ignore button when I scan over Niall’s name.

Felicity’s words still ring in my mind, despite my best efforts to shake it off. Niall has been nothing but kind to me, even when his pig-headed stubbornness threatened to get in the way of me actually accomplishing anything when it came to setting him up. I know from my call log that even Tinley has left a few messages, but I can’t help the guilt that creeps up on me when my eyes land on his photo ID. The stupid selfie he took with me half-asleep and not paying attention in the background is the thing that breaks me, and I sigh as I slide my finger to answer it.

Silence.

“... Mina?”

“Hi,” I answer lamely.

There’s a pause while he tries to get his bearings. Calling me must have become such a chore to him in the last few days that he does it mindlessly now, not expecting an answer. I’ve thrown his whole routine off guard.

“I can hang up and you can call back if you were hoping for my voicemail,” I tell him sarcastically.

“No, just give me a second,” he mumbles.

I can hear a shuffling in the background and I wonder where he is now, or if Harry is around. It seems awfully quiet, so he might be in a hotel room or one of the two tour busses. There’s a thump that sounds like a door shutting, but he still takes a few moments before finally saying, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Can’t say I wasn’t expecting that. Still, I choose not to answer it.

“How is he?”

The question leaves me before I can think better of it. The moment it slips out of my mouth, I regret it. There’s absolutely nothing in this world I can imagine worse than me finding out the state I’ve left Harry in. I’m enough of an emotional wreck myself to worry about that.

“Annoyed,” Niall answers flatly. “Confused. Sort of angry all the time, really.”

I cringe, falling back against my pillow. I can feel a migrane coming on.

“I assume everything’s rosy on your end, then?”

It’s a defense mechanism, and I know it, but it still stings to hear him say it. He sounds bitter and angry, and I know I’ve hurt him almost as much as I’ve hurt Harry by leaving.

“No, everything’s shit and I’m miserable, actually,” I tell him truthfuly. “Believe it or not this isn’t fantastic for me, either.”

“Why did you do it, then? Because one moment you’re snogging beneath the Eiffel Tower and the next there’s a note beneath my door explaining you need to leave before things get out of hand. Sounds like a pretty dick move to me.”

“You don’t understand, Niall,” I begin, but he’s off again before I can get much further.

“You’re right. I don’t understand because you won’t explain it to anyone. Harry hasn’t gone out on a limb for a girl in quite a while, Mina. Did you know that? And I know nothing had even really developed yet, but Harry’s been into you from the get-go and now I’m the one who has to stand here and watch my best mate mope around a world tour.”

“That literally makes no sense,” I point out. “He asked me to set him up.”

“Because he’s an idiot!” Niall answers immediately. I can’t see him, but I know he’s practically pulling out his hair at this point. “He got nervous, he tried to buy some time. You scare the shit out of him, Mina! And apparently within reason now that you’ve gone and fucked it all up.”

I make no response. The line is dead for a moment before I hear Niall sigh on the other end. I wonder if he’ll let me talk yet, or if he has more to say.

“I need you to make sure Harry gets in contact with Victoria,” I finally tell him.

“Nope,” he responds simply, and I roll my eyes.

“It’s why I left. He needs to talk to Victoria.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, Mina. Harry has no interest in Victoria.”

“Not yet, but he will.”

“You’re not nearly as good as I thought you were if you honestly believe that Harry is going to persue Victoria. I want my fucking money back.”

I want to smile, because it almost sounds like a joke. Even when he’s mad at me, he can’t help but pounce on an opportunity to tease. Still, the offer is tempting. I contemplate it for a moment.

“I’ll give you your money back if you do this.”

“What?” he sputters. “No, I don’t want my money back. I want you to fix this.”

“I can’t fix this, Niall.”

“Why are you so hell-bent on Victoria? What does it have to do with anything?”

I’m standing at that precipice again, the one where I choose my battles. Besides my parents, Mitchie is the only person whom I’ve ever admitted my secret to. Telling Niall seems risky, especially with the situation I’ve set into place between him and Tinley.

But right now I’m emotionally drained. I can’t keep going in circles like this with him because it’s too exhausting and I need his help too badly.

“I just know. I always know. It’s why I do what I do, it’s why I’m getting along in the business as well as I am, and it’s the reason I left. I can will couples together and I can sense soulmates, and Victoria is Harry’s.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he answers, and I frown.

“Actually, I’m not. And that’s why it sucks so much for me to have to sit here and do the right thing, because I can’t fuck with fate. And if Harry and Victoria are meant to be together, then I’ll sit over here on the sidelines and die alone because he deserves that happiness. Everyone does.”

I’m not sure at which point I’ve started crying. It might have been before I even started responding, because Niall’s immediate rejection of my most painful truth really sort of sucked. The thing about telling people secrets is that usually you trust them to believe you.

I’m trying desperately to pull myself together, because I know he can hear me sniff on the line. He’s painfully silent and still and I wonder if he thinks I’m insane. I would probably think I was insane.

“Mina,” he sighs. “That’s literally the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Not because I don’t believe you, because actually it puts your weirdness into perspective a little bit for me, but because you can definitely fuck with fate.”

“No I can’t,” I protest.

“What if Harry had never met Victoria? What if you hadn’t stumbled across her at the restaurant?”

“It would’ve happened eventually.”

“No, Mina. Because I refuse to believe there’s one person that everyone is destined to end up with. I mean, look at your dad.”

I tilt my head to one side, trying to figure out where he’s going with this. I think I’ve only discussed my family life with him that one time in the stadium in South America, so I’m unsure as to why he remembers any of these details. Wiping at my eyes, I try to quit sniffling long enough to understand what he’s saying.

“Your parents met, and they fell in love and had you. Fantastic, great job Mr. and Mrs. Underhill. But then your mum died, and you found Felicity for your dad. It was that simple. Even playing field, everyone wins. You can change this if you want. The ball’s in your court.”

The ball is so far out of my court that it’s not even funny, but I don’t voice this to him. Instead, I run a hand through my hair and gather the strength to push myself from the reclining position I’ve been in on my couch. I force myself to stand and cross toward my wall of windows, looking down on the streets below. The sun has long set, and there’s a long line of red and white lights dividing the roads in half.

“I’ll talk to you soon, Niall,” I promise him.

“Just please think this over, Mina. You deserve happiness, too.”

The line goes dead.