Page 40 of Sort of Seeing Someone

The two snicker as I’ve instantly become the odd woman out—emphasis onodd. When I agreed to do this segment, I was nervous but promised myself things would go smoothly if I just rehearsed solid answers to their preset questions. But now, the wheels are coming off the longer the segment goes on and I didn’t come here to be mockedorto be accused of being a witch. No offense to those who identify as one, but I haven’t dedicated every free moment I’ve had researching my gift only to be mislabeled.

If the producer doesn’t know how to properly end things on this stage, then I’ll have to do it myself. I take their mockery as my cue to unclip my mic and bolt. I give a final wave and smile to the studio audience before seeing my way out.

As I plop down on the couch in the greenroom, I let out an audible sigh. Maybe Mal and Antonio were right to laugh me off the stage. Maybe thisisall a joke. Or, at most, a fad that will wear off once @Sheree_in_the_City posts about the next great thing—probably someone who dyes eyelashes the perfect shade of black-brown or can make zero carb noodles that taste like fettuccine alfredo from Olive Garden.

I wish I could put my right hand against my left palm and see a glimpse into my own future right now. Perhaps it would show a vision of me sitting at a teacher’s desk in the front of a classroom after all. I feel so far from the idea that my life’s work would be within the Chicago Public School system, but after being literally laughed off stage this morning, I wonder now more than ever if that’s where I was meant to be this whole time. Is it too late for yet another Moonie Miller life pivot? Would anyone even hire a yoga studio assistant-turned day-time TV witch-turned wannabe teacher?

In the midst of my existential crisis, I can hear my phone buzz from inside my purse. I fetch it and see a million notifications on the screen. Most recently, an incoming text from Nora. I slide to open it.

Saw you on TV. WTF. We need to talk.

Livis also copied on it, which marks our first-ever Miller-sister group text. I can’t believe it’s taken twenty-six years.

Meet at Nora’s house at noon,Livcontributes.

I give it a thumbs up asI toggle away from my textsand check my Instagram instead.

I’ve gotten two hundred new followers since my interview and I’ve been tagged in several posts and stories. At the top of my list is a notification from@Sheree_in_the_City, who made a word meme of one of the things I said—“I’m quite allergic to cats, actually”—and paired it with a cat emoji and a red X. Her caption is a series of hashtags: #thatsmygirl#LOL#getyourMBA

Familiar with TheShereéEffect, I take a quick peek at my online shop’s stats: thirty new orders and counting. I spring up with a renewed pep in my step and shoot a quick text to Angeline letting her know a bulk order will be coming her way by the end of the day once I tally the final numbers. WhateverMaland Antonio did to throw me off, actually may have workedin my favor.

On it,Angeline responds with lightning speed.

For as life-changing asShereé’sinitial tag has been for me, it’s also turned Angeline’s world upside down. What she used to do in monthly sales prior to meeting me, she now does in a weekbecauseof me. Together, we’re the unlikeliest duo, but also a budding dream team of energy field workers, who are silently vowing to ride this wave together for as long as we can.

Speaking of riding this wave, an email dings on my phone. It’s a new contact submission form generated from my website. This particular note is from a Mr. RogerMacnider—subject line:Opportunity.

Dear Ms. Miller,

I am the General Manager of Chicago’s iconic hotel, TheBrockmeier. I watched your segment onWindy City Todaythis morning.Toward the end, I caught you stating that you’d like to get into some in-person work.So, on behalf of the entireBrockmeierteam, we’d love to host you next Friday night. That is the night of our annual all-staff partyhere at the hotel. For the last decade, I’ve made it a tradition for our colleagues to gather as close to Halloween as our occupancy allows as we celebrate the end of our busiest season and honor The Lady in Red, the rumored spooky spirit that haunts our iconic hotel.

The gathering is to be held in our sumptuous Palm Court. What I’d like is for you to come and work some of your magic at the party. Crystal therapy. DIY candle making. Palm reading. Whatever. The idea would be that the hardworking ladies and gentlemen of TheBrockmeier(there will be about fifty in attendance) could come visit your spiritual station in between their mixing and mingling at the soiree. I’ll leave it to you to inspire my staff to get in touch with their energy so we can be poised and ready for a prosperous festive season.

We’d also like everyone to come away with a party favor from Moon Batch Apothecary. Smudge sticks for all?I do know that this is short notice and you hold a busy schedule. That said, would a prepaid sum of $5,000, plus a 20 percent cash tip on the night of, suffice to confirm your attendance? Of course, if the Presidential is available that evening, I shall arrange for it to be reserved in your name, as well.

Please respond back at your earliest convenience and I’ll have my executive assistant facilitate the details and payment.

Warmest regards,

Roger Macnider

Just a few moments ago, I was sitting on this couch doubting everything I thought I knew about following my dreams. And then, a few moments before that, I was sitting on a different couch being lambasted by two out-of-touch, energy-whacked boomers who took me seriously until they didn’t. Now, I’ve received a generous offer to showcase my business at Chicago’s most legendary hotel where rooms start at $800 a night and may or may not be haunted by a mythical Lady in Red.I can’t hit reply fast enough.

Mr. Macnider,

My palm reading skills are on hold for the moment. But aside from that, count me in.

-Moonie Miller

12

Chapter Twelve

Per request, I bypass my usual headquarters, the coach house, and reluctantly slink through Nora’s front door in search of my sisters.

“Hello?” I say as I shut the cherry-red painted door behind me.

“We’re in here.”

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