Page 33 of The Lovers
Kit isn’t wrong in calling attention to the changes in my style, but I can tell the observation is more than just an aesthetic curiosity. She’s prying at the lid on my life, trying to tug the edges up to see if I’m still as messy on the inside as my outside once appeared.
I can call her bluff like the cool cucumber I’ve become in the years since we fell apart.
I whirl on my heels, eating up the distance back to the yurt and tugging open the ornately painted wood door.
Inside, the sound bath has officially come to an end, leaving the women who embarked on this soul journey in a state of apparent bliss. Millie seems to be the most blissful of all. It’s rare that a bride ever truly reaches serene in the days surrounding her wedding. No matter how well planned, or how much she trusts the Love, Always team to make her dream day a reality, most bridesexperience this time—thehappiest of their lives—through a haze of mixed-up emotions. Millie’s cheeks beam bright even in the candle-glowing, moonlit wash of the yurt. Anything but mixed-up. The joy on her face makes me almost want to release the death grip strangling out all semblance of enjoyment I might have from this experience.
Kit’s taken her place at the center of the yurt where they have set up a small round table with a chair on either side, covering it with a deep purple crushed velvet cloth. She unpacks the contents of her beaded bag. The tarot cards, she sets face down in a stack on top of the table, uncapping a small brown bottle and lifting it to spritz the air a few times. She takes a deep inhale through her nose, closing her eyes and slowly exhaling. Her lips part and she wets them with the tip of her tongue before drawing the flesh in with her teeth, nibbling.
She’s nervous.The realization hits me like a zap of static electricity.
The room has gone quiet as the attention of every reveler has turned to the center, watching, waiting, interested, and eager—like this is real entertainment and Kit is a real star. Her shoulders pitch back as she elongates her neck, and my eyes can’t resist the temptation to trail the full length of exposed skin. A simple gold chain with a raw crystal dangling just above the curve of her cleavage twinkles. She inhales deeply and her breasts strain against the neckline of her dress. She brushes the tips of her fingers together, and I notice a tiny cluster of stars tattooed on her pinky finger before she flattens her hand to the table, palms down.
When her eyes open, the pupils contract and expand, adjusting to the light.
She was always a star. That hasn’t changed.
She holds eye contact with me, unblinking. One more breath, then a smile, before her focus moves over the faces of her captive audience. It’s showtime and it’s clear any nervousness she felt when she first sat at that table has melted away.
“This group of women has gathered here to celebrate the one and only Millie Morgan. Not just because she’s marrying the love of her life, but because she’s an actual badass bitch that every single one of us here has reason to admire.” Kit winks at Millie. Coco yanks her in for a smooch on the cheek. The other women clap and hoot, calling out pet names for the bride. “Choosing to explore your inner world in this safe space of friends before embarking on the next great adventure of your life is more than just entertainment”—Kit pauses, smirking—“it’s also one hell of a show.”
The glee level rises in the yurt until even I feel a smile tug at the corners of my mouth.
“Now! Who here has never had their tarot cards read?”
Piper, Heather, and the sulky Jenni raise their hands.
I can sit this poll out.
Kit’s eyes slide to me as if she’s checking for signs that I remember the history I have with the cards. I reply with a raised brow.Of course.
You don’t forget a thing like that, even if it was a waste of time. We didn’t get any answers—none that we wanted, at least. We didn’t get insight into a future we’d actually get to live out in Technicolor.
What we got was a haunting instead.
“Cartomancy—the more accurate name for divining fortune through tarot—isn’t a science. The messages that come througharen’t chiseled into stone, set it and forget vibes. Tarot is more like a conversation between friends. The cards present possibilities, but still the choices we make determine the outcome.”
Kit isn’t a mind reader, no matter how skilled she is at reading people or that deck of cards. Still, this tarot explanation is pointed. Like she read my thoughts and wanted to drop a response to the whole room.
“Tarot can be used to dig deeper into what your own intuition already knows. Asking questions that will color in the lines of the life you are actively living is always a good place to start.” She motions to Millie, closing her hands around the deck.
I take a seat on a cushion close enough to see the cards, but out of Kit’s immediate eyeline. Unfortunately, this puts me in the direct line of sight of Piper, who has taken her same seat from the sound bath, probably hoping I would do as well.
I redirect my attention to the table, examining the deck. This one is different from the one she used earlier to calm Healer Arynne’s crystal arrangement freak-out. This one is a matte black background, with watercolor flowers painted around the edges and a metallic gold border. In the center of each flower is a crescent moon, pressed in that same metallic gold leaf.
She begins to shuffle as Millie settles into the seat across from her.
“I usually do a simple, but supereffective, five-card spread for these kinds of readings.” Kits cuts the deck, setting each stack down on the table to shuffle them like they’re playing cards.
“You’re the expert,” Millie replies. “I trust you.”
“Close your eyes,” Kit says as she works the cards back together. Millie follows her instruction. “Get clear on what you want revealed. Questions or concerns. Desires, guidance.”
“Hopefully, they won’t tell me to run,” Millie says, smiling, her eyes still closed. Kit’s brows twitch as if she’s surprised by the statement.
“They’ll only tell you that if you intuitively know it’s what you want.”
Millie’s whole energy shifts at that statement. She’s taking this seriously. Her spine straightens, her expression pensive. Oh God—or whatever deity it is that handles tarot readings—please do not tell the bride to bail. Generally, if the bride runs, the wedding is considered a flop. Jesus Christ, I do not need that on my record when I’m trying to break out on my own.
