But Carla had stared through the glass and somehow knew she’d found the right one. The silk column dress was simply and elegantly cut, so different from the fluorescent white dresses she’d tried on in wedding boutiques, with their flouncy skirts and fussy lace. It looked to be the right size and she’d gone into the shop to try it on.
As soon as she’d emerged from the dressing room, her gran had gasped. “It’s gorgeous, honey. You look like an angel. The color really suits your hair and complexion.”
Carla had stared at herself in the mirror and run a hand over the dress. It had felt right and looked right. She’d swallowed away a lump in her throat, knowing her mum should be sitting next to Lucinda, sighing with pride.
Lucinda had sensed her emotions and taken her hand. “This is going to be the happiest day of your life,” she’d promised. “I think Tom will love the dress, too.”
In her bedroom, Carla clutched the dress. Perhaps buying a secondhand one had meant bad fortune after all.
She hung it back in her wardrobe and slammed the door shut.
After taking a shower to try to warm her shivering body, she put on a shapeless navy dress and went back downstairs. Leafing through all her mail, she found the leasing agency had send a card prematurely. We Hope You’ll Be Happy in Your New Home.
She sighed and slapped it face down on a shelf, wanting to be somewhere else—anywhere else but here—as she waited for Tom to arrive back in England.
There was still going to be a flock of relatives at her gran’s place, and Carla didn’t have the strength to face them. In the weeks to come, when they all eventually found out about her pregnancy, she’d no doubt be under siege with familial advice, like wrap a red thread around the baby’s wrist for good luck or drink lots of milk so the baby will have a clear complexion.
Carla looked around her, taking in all the boxes and the rest of her unopened mail. She felt the urgent need to be surrounded by love and color again. To be among some happier stories. So, she took a taxi to the Logical Love office.
On arrival, she looked up and noticed that one of the hearts in the Logical Love logo was missing. It was hard to believe it had only been three weeks since she and Jess had discovered the glitch in the system, contributing to the confused mess of Carla’s once-steady life.
She found her office was bursting with blooms, reminding her of a park conservatory with all the roses and tulips on display. Some still had thank-you tags attached to them, sent from successful Logical Love matches.
She carefully tended to each flower individually, pulling away soggy leaves and browning petals. She poured away yellow water and gave the bouquets a fresh drink.
Jess’s silver pixie ornament sat on the desk, giving Carla a wicked grin.
Her sister’s report about the couples who’d matched during the twelve-month problem period was also waiting in front of Carla’s computer. She made herself a coffee and sat down to read it.
Her sister had done a great job, running all the couples’ data through the system again to ascertain their true match percentages. Jess had contacted and talked to the clients, framing her call as a new “aftercare policy” to see if they had any concerns or questions about their matches. She’d made notes next to each name, and Carla was impressed by her attention to detail. At the end of the report, Jess had written a short summary.
Although the majority of clients matched during the problem year scored statistically lower in their revised percentages, and therefore shouldn’t have technically been placed together by our database, 74% of the couples reported they were satisfied or very satisfied with their current relationship.
Carla let out a sigh of relief, her body deflating. Seventy-four percent was good, not much higher or lower than usual. But a wave of confusion also threatened to consume her. What was the point of the Logical Love system she’d created, and her entire business ethos in general, if the algorithms hadn’t really affected people’s compatibility with each other? She’d tried to protect people by finding their ideal matches, but it looked like they didn’t need her help at all.
She chewed her lip and spotted a few gift bags sitting on one of her shelves, a regifted red heart-shaped casserole dish among them. Tags said Happy Wedding Day, Just Married and To the Happy Couple, and sadness hit Carla like a wrecking ball.
She spun away from them and felt her elbow nudge against a vase on her desk. It wobbled and she could only watch as it toppled over, crashing onto the silver pixie ornament. The glass shattered and water soaked Jess’s report. It dripped off the edge of her desk and pooled onto the carpet.
“Damn it!” she yelled, then grabbed a handful of tissues and threw them onto the puddle.
She swiped the pixie off her desk and it hit the wall, its head snapping off and landing on the floor, laughing at her.
Fatigue suddenly came crashing down upon her, so heavy it was like being buried under a pile of rocks. Carla sat in her chair and cradled her head in her hands, her fingers kneading the roots of her hair. Her tears were a hot torrent down her face and she absentmindedly reached for her eye pendant, clenching it in her fist. She felt the chain snap and fall loose around her neck. The one thing that reminded her of her mother the most, and now that was broken, too.
Everything around her was cursed.
She and Tom were cursed.
And it was all down to Myrtle.
Consumed by self-pity and a sizable chunk of self-loathing, Carla let out a series of anguished sobs. She reached for tissues but they all sat in a sodden heap.
Her whole body shook and she only raised her head when a series of rhythmic creaks sounded on the staircase. Not wanting Jess to see her in this state, Carla quickly sat up and wiped her face with her hands. She looked in a mirror on her desk and cringed at the red rings surrounding her eyes, which made her look like she’d removed a pair of swimming goggles.
Her door opened, there was a flash of white fabric and Carla attempted a watery smile to greet her sister.
But it wasn’t Jess who stood before her.
It was Diego.
Thirty
Onion
Diego’s fedora looked ultrawhite under the office lights and his tanned skin rather sallow. “I rang the doorbell but it didn’t work.” He gestured toward the stairs. “The front door was ajar.”
“Oh.” Carla tried to recover her surprise. She smoothed a hand over her hair several times to gain some composure. The skin on her cheeks felt tight from her tears. “It’s, um, lovely to see you. Is Babs here, too?” She threw the clump of sodden tissues into her wastepaper basket and hoped Diego hadn’t noticed her sunken eyes.
“We called to see your grandmother first, on our way to the hotel, and she told us the sad news about your aunt’s fiancé. I am so very sorry for your loss. Babs and Lucinda have a lot to talk about and I offered to check into our hotel.”
“But you’ve ended up here?” Carla asked, confused.
Diego cleared his throat. “I needed some fresh air, after the flight. I overheard Lucinda mention you might be here. She says you can be a workaholic.”
Carla nodded, still not sure why he’d come to see her. “Did Gran tell you about the date for the funeral?”
“Yes, on your wedding day. Again, I am so sorry. Have you and your fiancé decided what you are going to do?”
