Page 35 of The Sun and the Moon
Kismet didn’t have a loan on it years ago. But does it now?
I’m about to get a closer look when Sydney says, “I am a little curious about what it takes to start your own business and especially to run it successfully for so long.”
The hairs on my arm stand.Alert.
“And I’m a little curious about what your future holds,” Moira says.
No.Fuck.My eyes shoot to Sydney. She looks taken aback but not on high alert. Sheshouldbe on high alert.
“My futu—Why?” She blinks.
“You seem to have a lot of questions about it yourself—whether you want to move, buy, or sell? Change careers? Love?” I am struck by two simultaneous thoughts.I didn’t know she was thinking about changing careers. But maybe Moira did.Andthe game from last night isn’t over, she’s just been waiting to make her next move. “I’d love to give you a reading.” Her hand grips Sydney’s. “On the house.”
My heartbeat shoots up, sending a whir of blood rushing past my eardrums.
“I’ve never had a tarot reading before,” Sydney replies. Her voice quivers, a different curiosity laced through it.
“I’d consider it a high honor, then, to give you your first.”
Moira whirls back to face the desk and her loan docs, and I just barely drop below the glass before she sees me. “I think we have what we need here.”
A flurry of texts from Sydney make my phone buzz repeatedly.
I left my purse in ur car
gonna ride to kismet with ur mom
“If you could just forward everything to the email I gave you…” Moira’s saying.
I text back:do not let her give you a reading
“I will happily finish my end of this over the weekend,” my mother’s voice continues.
I have to, Sydney replies back.Follow us
“I Ubered,” Sydney says, and I assume our chance to text has ended. Meaning my chance to talk her out of this disastrous idea is over as well. “I just realized I left my purse in the car.”
“I hope they can recover it,” Moira replies, looking alarmed.
“I’ll have to use the app and see if the driver will meet up with me somewhere,” Sydney replies. “Can I catch a ride with you back to Kismet?”
“Ready when you are,” my mother says.
Oh, I bet she is.
?For the second time today, I find myself hiding behind a plant. This time I’m outside my childhood home, crouched in the begonias, looking in through Moira’s Reading Room window. I parked down the street where I could see the front of the house but couldn’t be seen by them as they pulled up beneath the jacaranda tree near the curb and parked. I still don’t know what Sydney learned about the reason for Moira’s bank visit, since she wasn’t able to text me without drawing the Eye of Moira to her, and now I have the added anxiety of worrying that Sydney has been saddled with the difficult task of surviving a tarot reading without revealing our secrets. I should have been the one to go in instead of her.
I could have easily walked right up to Moira and asked her what the bank meeting was about. I could have insisted she be square with me, and even if she refused, played coy, tried to dodge, I could have played the indignant daughter and forced myself into the conversation.
I could have, and maybe I should have, but when Sydney suggested she be the scout, it felt logical, reasonable, like teamwork, which isn’t something I’m used to having offered my way. I wasn’t the girl chosen first in gym class—not because I wasn’t athletic but because I was a weirdo. I wasn’t the girl people wanted as a study partner or to sit with at lunch. I’ve always told myself it’s because I prefer my solitude, but even I know that isn’t the whole truth.
I’ve never been seen and loved without condition. Not by friends or classmates.
Not even by my own mother.
After that whole thing with Sarah Wright, and then all the times after, I realized it would be a lot easier to never get close to people. If I don’t get close, don’t care, the eventual rejection can’t hurt. From then on, I didn’t bring friends home in order to avoid my mother meeting their parents and ruining their lives. Keeping people at arm’s length, or even farther, is easier than closeness—even if closeness is what I crave.
Too much empathy, not enough armor.
