Page 16 of The Soul Never Forgets

His hairstyle is short with a little more length on top. I can’t imagine him with a “business in the front and party in the back” haircut. “I’ve seen a few modern mullets that were okay, but the vintage one with the stringy long hair in the back is a no for me.”

“What’s a trend that you hate?”

This one will probably surprise him. “Women around the world would hate me if they heard me say this, but I loathe gender-reveal parties. I hate them with a passion.” And it’s all Instagram’s fault. I think my algorithm must be set to show me every cringeworthy gender-reveal-gone-wrong reel.

He laughs. “What did a gender-reveal party ever do to you?”

“To me personally, nothing.”

“Then why do you hate them so much?”

“The main reason is because so many of the dads act like jackasses when they find out the baby is a girl. People record it and plaster it all over social media. They laugh about the dad’s bad response, but all I can think about is how hurt that little girl would be if she saw her daddy’s reaction.”

I know what it is to be hurt by a parent’s disappointment. No child should ever have to experience that.

“I’ve never given gender-reveal parties much thought, but you make a good point. That’s something to keep in mind for the future.”

Dr. Wes doesn’t yet realize it but I am his future. I’m the only woman who will ever have his babies, and I promise that we won’t be having gender-reveal parties. “I don’t want to know the gender until my baby is born.”Ourbaby.

“Sounds like you’ve given it a lot of thought.”

Thought isn’t what drives this decision. Through Augustina, I became a mother four times, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that there’s nothing like hearing your child’s first cry and learning the sex of your newborn baby when the doctor holds him or her up, fresh from your womb.

“Yours is an old-fashioned choice. It’s not a popular decision.”

“That’s how I am when it comes to a lot of things.”

“I’m the same way.”

We engage in small talk while we wait for the pizza to be delivered, and I learn a few bits and pieces about Dr. Wes. All trivial things. The man is tight-lipped. I learned more personal information from the man who randomly started talking to me in the grocery store on Saturday.

Dr. Wes and I kick out of our shoes and sit on the floor when dinner arrives, the pizza box spread open on the coffee table between the two sofas. The protective wall that he’s built around himself crumbles a small bit.

We fall into what feels like a familiar territory, and he forgets that he’s supposed to be in therapist mode. But if I’m being honest, this session stopped feeling like a therapist-patient session the moment he asked me to stay and have dinner with him.

Casual. Comfortable. Carefree. Conversation comes easy between us. It’s exactly the way I imagined it would be between my soul mate and me.

Dr. Wes moves his notepad to the coffee table after we finish eating. We remain shoeless, sitting on the floor, and the session resumes. “You said your life changed about a year ago. I’d like you to pick up where you left off.”

It’s time to dig deep. “Have you ever had a psychic reading?”

“No.”

“I hadn’t either until about a year ago. After that, my life was forever changed.”

The next hour turns into two and before either of us realizes, it’s going on nine o’clock.

Psychic reading.

Miss Seraphine’s prediction.

The dreams.

Frank Harrison and Augustina Lebeau.

The modern-day research.

Pascagoula.

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