Page 20 of The Lovers
“I think my compass is broken.” The words are almost a whisper.
Broken. Or used to being forced to trek toward a false true north.
I could let it spin out, caught in the force of this seemingly fated magnetic field. I could see where it lands when it finally does. I could follow fate rather than the Ideal Rom-Com Life Path.
I could just try it, just for a second, just to see.
“You got any candles for getting rid of an ex?” A stranger’s voice through my phone speakers jolts me back to reality. Nina gets two mischievous lines like the number eleven between her brows. “By violent or nonviolent means?” I can’t see the customer, but I can imagine the horror on their face. Nina grins back at me. “Gotta jet, but—” She pulls the phone close to her face. “Take the dare, babe. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Twin Flames always find their way back to each other.
This journey with Julia started because of a dare from a twelve-year-old girl who had just gotten her period. I could end it with a dare from an ageless universe determined to fuck with my status quo.
Nina ends the call, leaving me alone to survive in the storm of my thoughts. I exhale sharply, glare at the water that isn’t cutting it, and decide rather than get tipsy t-minus two hours before the bachelorette party events—of which I am an important spiritual attraction—that a walk to clear my head and work out some of these jitters is just what I need.
When I see another text from Mom, I nearly throw my phone across the Airstream trailer.
It’s just three question marks in a row followed by a photo of her holding up my graduation gown from Berkeley, and standingin the background, right at the edge of the frame, wearing a cherry red Alo Yoga matching set, is her girlfriend, Willa.
Keep or toss, Kitten?
I glare at the phone, zooming in tight with the spread of my fingers to try to get a better look at Willa. I have so many questions bouncing around in my head for my mom.
When did she know she was bi? Why did she keep it from me?
How does it feel to be out now, after being married to a man for so long?
How does it feel to be out when everything she ever showed me about love made it seem like the only way to have it for real was to have it with a man?
But I have this willful resolve to keep her dangling and in the dark—to give her a taste of how confused I feel right now—so I don’t ask them.
Do not get rid of any of my stuff, I text back, before putting my phone on Do Not Disturb and shoving it in the back pocket of my jean shorts and heading outside in a flurry. I follow the paths around toward the main building and purposefully avoid the one that leads to Homebase. Fate or whatever the hell is happening can just be patient—we’ve waited ten years, what’s a few more hours?
I round the corner, right into a pillar of soft human flesh smelling intensely of expensive perfume.
“Shit, sorry,” I sputter, jumping back. She’s taller than me by at least a head. Pilates body, lithe and lean, hair bouncy red waves.
“Let me guess.” Her eyes trail up and down. Sharp green with shimmery apricot powder swept across the lid. “Sound healer?”
I’m immediately aware of how my flowy camisole under a bohemian-printed gauzy jacket probably looks to someone like her. This chick is dressed in head-to-toe Chanel, her earrings are Prada, and her heels are undoubtedly Louboutins, but I can’t see the red sole from where I’m standing. My gem jewelry and messy blond hair tipped in fading pink couldn’t possibly be a more opposite vibe.
“Unqualified,” I reply. “Tarot mystic.” I try to come off as cool and detached, but with a Pisces Sun and Moon, and the most chaotic air sign as my Rising, I never quite nail that.
Her microbladed copper eyebrow hooks up. “Millie didn’t used to be into all this stuff.”This stuff, meaning me. Like I am just a walking tarot deck or something.
Which…okay, sort of fair. But I don’t care for her tone.
“When was the last time you saw her? She’s madethis stuffher brand for a while now.” Millie doesn’t read her own cards, as far as I know, but she’s created a presence for herself right at the intersection of spiritual enlightenment and lifestyle aspiration.
And it’s totally working for her.
“Infrequently,” she says, her peachy cheeks darkening. “I was her sorority president, she’s a couple years younger than me. I split my time between New York and LA, for work.” She doesn’t offer up information about her work, but my guess is that it’s something high paying with a boys’ club. She feels like a woman who would smoke a cigar and drink a Scotch while shooting the shit in a room with a lot of dark wood paneling.
Her eyes trail over my head in the direction of the main building.
“Sorry, you were on your way somewhere,” I say, stepping out of her path. Clearly, I’m boring her. She blinks rapidly a couple of times.
“No—well, yes. I’m trying to decide if I should go back to the main lobby and wait for the bride and groom, or wait until Millie settles in and meet her in her room.”
