Page 56 of The Sun and the Moon
“Okay, I won’t argue with you there,” she says, looking back at the two of them. “But they’re in love. I can tell by the way she’s changed at work.”
At work.The mention of Kismet is such an organic gift that it could be considered a blessing from the Universe. If I still believed that the Universe was in the habit of granting me favors.
“You’ll have to fill me in,” I reply, trying to snuff any audible expectation out of my voice. Lola takes a drink from her wineglass, and I follow her lead.
“She’s just not as intense about retaining clients, getting new clients. It’s almost like she would rather go on lunch dates with Rick than do a reading for a stranger.”
“So if she isn’t working, is Kismet in trouble?” The bank papers for Kismet could be related to the business and not the house. I can readily admit that I don’t know enough about these types of things to be able to tell the difference at a glance.
“I don’t know about that—it’s not like she lets me look at the financials—but her attitude has been different. That’s all I’m saying. And I do kinda get it.”
“Because she’s in love?” I cut her a look of disbelief. She elbows me lightly, starting to walk again. I don’t follow right away.
“Because her industry is changing like crazy.” She turns back to look at me but doesn’t stop moving. I have to follow her. “People can get a psychic reading on an app. They can order crystals from Amazon. Why would they trek through LA to a spooky house in Pasadena just to sit with her in person?”
“Loyalty?” I question. Despite everything, the idea that my mother might be pushed out of a profession she’s been in for over three decades gives me a sinking feeling. Who is she without the thing she’s worked so hard to make her whole identity?
Who am I if not estranged from her because of that?
“Hello, have you met the internet?” Lola guffaws. “There’s no loyalty there. Sure, she has her clients, but she doesn’t offer Zoom readings, and she’s not on any of the apps.”
“Have you noticed a drop-off in her clientele?”
“There’s been a drop-off in everything to do with Kismet,” she says. We round the end of the row of vines just as Moira and Rick reach the ends of theirs. I feel her eyes on us, watching, and my paranoia spikes.
Lola seems to experience the same creepy sensation, because her volume shifts down to almost a whisper. “It just wouldn’t surprise me if she was planning for her second act.”
She catches sight of Hawthorne emerging from a large outbuilding with the vintner and waves. Her smiles cracks open her features. She looks genuinely happy to spot him, but she’s probably also grateful for the excuse to escape this conversation.
“With Rick?” I question. I know she’s going to read my skepticism as something to undercut Rick, even if that’s not how I mean it. Her eyes narrow.
“No offense, Cadence, but why do you care?” I’m surprised by the sharpness in her voice just as much as I’m surprised by the question.
“Of course I care.” I don’t know why, but I feel the sudden urge to defend myself.
“Really? You left LA, you don’t visit, you’ve made it clear that none of this matters to you.” Her words feel like a slap. I have to double down; it’s the only way I know how to put up my armor.
“Moira and I don’t mesh. It’s better for us to be in each other’s lives as little as possible.”
“Isit better?” Her massive eyes shouldn’t be so cutting. But her normally doe-like expression becomes a knife. “Or just easier?”
“Lola, that’s not fair,” I say, surprised by the sting.
“Not fair? That’s not the only thing that isn’t fair.” She turns to go.
“I’m sorry about vanishing on you,” I say before she walks away. Because I did. It’s the truth, even if I never saw it that way before now, and even if I don’t have any idea how to possibly mend it.
“I’m used to it,” she says. A truth that crushes me. “I get that you need to shut her out—I do.” She drains her wineglass in what I assume is an attempt to drown her feelings. “I don’t mind her overbearing bullshit, her thinking she knows everything because the cards said it or shevibedon it.” A snort tempers her words. I feel a smile creeping my lips up. “It never bothered me, but I know it was hard between you two. I know she wanted something from you that you couldn’t give her—or maybe it was the other way around.” She shrugs. “I don’t get it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t believe you’re doing what you think will protect you—or something.” She pauses, looking me over. “But you could have calledme. I was there, not going anywhere.”
I should say she’s right, let her know that I miss her, too. But I never told her I appreciated her growing up, and it’s really hard to start telling her now.
“It was easier to put Kismet in its entirety behind me.”
She nods, as if I’ve said exactly what she suspected and she’s not mad, she’s just disappointed. “So why are you here now?”
It’s rhetorical, which becomes clear when she walks away without giving me a chance to explain. I watch her move, with astiffness in her posture as she crosses a section of grapevines to meet up with Hawthorne. I turn in the opposite direction, not sure what to do with myself.
Lola’s hurt pricks beneath my skin, and as much as I want to ignore it, I can’t. When I left Kismet behind—put LA in my rearview mirror and tried to lose every number, box up every memory—Lola got thrown in and closed off without me ever considering another option. It’s true that I was lonely as a kid, as a teen, but I often forget that Lola and I had a lot in common. We both had messed-up relationships with our moms, and we were both only children. But even though we could have had each other, we never really figured out how.
