Page 25 of The Lovers
Coco waggles her brows. “Ooooh, the twins.” She makes a vomit motion. “Pretty sure Jenni has me on mute, but whatever.”
“Pretty sure you cheated on her with your SoulCycle instructor.” More casual mention of sexual fluidity and me over here prickling up beneath the honesty.
“Potato tomato.” Coco downs the rest of her champagne and then pouts. Natalie snorts, rolls her eyes, but follows it up by cradling Coco with affection.
“I’m freshening up and you all should, too,” Millie continues. “The photographer is arriving to begin shooting our festivities before we board the bus.”
The women scramble to attention at the mention of a photog, and I use the mayhem as an opportunity to make my exit. As soon as I step outside, I shiver against the dropping desert temps. Millie’s bridal suite looks out over a tiled courtyard that features a bubbling fountain, some funky outdoor beanbags in varying bright patterns, and a perfect view of Homebase.
The curtain is pulled back, the window hanging slightly ajar. Framed inside like a portrait stands Julia, looking down over the array of tables, shuffling papers into a folder. One hand absently goes to her temple, pressing some tension away, and then runs back to where a hairband holds her thick dark locks in place. She tugs it, releasing her hair to cascade in kinky chestnut waves that brush her angular cheekbones.
My breath hitches, catching between my ribs as my heart pounds. Thump thump thump.Her hands in her hair, pulling it off her shoulder.Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump.My hands white with sunscreen, placed on her sizzling skin. Heat licks between my legs as I rub slick lotion into her skin.I squeeze my thighs together, clenching my hand into a fist, curling my toes in my sandals and rooting my feet to the earth.
In three seconds, I’m going to move.
I’m going to breathe in and out.
I’m going to stop the feelings erupting like firecrackers all across my skin.
One.I brushed my fingertips along the hem of her bikini top.
Two.She exhaled a sharp sound of desire.
Three.Move.
I shoot out in the opposite direction of Homebase, back toward my Airstream. Faintly, from behind me, I can hear the clack of high heels on the courtyard entrance as the other bachelorette partiers arrive.
I need a costume change, to hold the cards in my hands and breathe. Fortunately, the one thing I no longer need is a coffee. Every bubbly, wobbly sensation has sharpened and sobered into one thing.
The command order: Do not fantasize about kissing Julia Kelley.
?When I step outside the main lobby doors to meet up with the bridesmaids, I try to embody the Mystic Maven persona with absolute commitment. I changed into a white spaghetti strap dress with a sweetheart neck, added a patterned wool shawl, and secured it with a vegan leather belt. On my feet are distressed gray vegan suede booties; in my hair I have quickly threaded thin gold ribbon into a few carefully placed mini braids. I carry a small beaded bag with my cards and the cleansing spray I use to protect the spaces I work in.
Despite all the elements being perfectly in place, I can’t get the vibes quite right. I yank out the tiny brown bottle of spirit cleanse aid and spritz myself from head to toe for good measure, breathing in the mist containing mugwort, lavender, and California poppy. Its earthy smell is bright, fresh, with gentle floral notes, and it’s not doing its goddamn job.
It’s not the work that worries me. If I can read a room full of Kardashians without breaking a sweat, a few bridesmaids should be a breeze. What worries me are all the questions I haveswimming around in my head and all the feelings bubbling to the surface. Tarot readers work with energy and intuition, which means keeping mine clear is a top priority when I’m on the job.
I’m the furthest thing from clear, and can only hope the sound bath Millie has scheduled ahead of my readings will move the rest of this pent-up energy far, far away from me.
When I first stumbled into tarot reading as a self-care method during college, I didn’t work with herbs or crystals, had never had a Reiki session or been to a sound bath. Now that world is my second home, somewhere I reside almost as much as my day-to-day. There, the Universe has everything we need to heal, which is so different from my LA life, where Peloton is God, psycho-dermatology is all the rage, and everyone is either in therapy or talking about it over mimosas at brunch.
I live in both, but I don’t fully fit in either.
Story of my life.
I shove the currently useless mist back in my bag and suck air through my nostrils.Cleansing breaths, focused thoughts.This is all manageable. This is all fine. Julia isn’t coming tonight. She passed on Millie’s offer, she’s all work and no play—which isn’t how she once was, but okay. I should take her lead and buckle down, but the other racing thought in my head is Piper Cunningham shaped.
A very distracting shape.
It shouldn’t matter to me who Piper is to Julia. It’s none of my business, really. I’m not trying to wash the last ten years—all the pain of those few smoldering weeks that one August, or the turmoil that tormented me for months afterward—under the bridge. I’m not trying to feel that rush of adrenaline from brushing skin on skin, or taking in the scent of her hair as I nuzzled in closebefore we kissed. I’m not trying to be in love with a girl again, not when I still can’t say the word for what that means out loud.
“Impeccable vibes,” comes Millie’s sunny voice from behind me. I take a calculated pause to get my smile painted on before turning to see the bridal party—including the newbachelorettes onlyarrivals—dressed in varying shades of cream, blush, and ecru, skin glowing in the golden hour light.
The twins are easy to spot. Glam, leggy, East Asian, and equally stunning. One of them—likely Jenni—is staring daggers at Coco, popping bubble gum in a fit of barely contained rage.
The other women look like influencers: camera ready, all flawless, all branded.
Even though they are dressed to match Millie’s boho spiritual goddess color scheme, their true styles still shine through. One of them is clearly a full-figured vintage-Disney model, who likely goes to cons and talks about Star Wars on podcasts. She’s wearing a cream corset dress with a subtle Minnie Mouse etched into the boning. The other is probably a fitness influencer, because she’s wearing Alo Yoga pants and a sports bra beneath a fluffy white oversized jacket she’s left unzipped to show off her rock-hard abs.
