Page 7 of The Second Sight
I nodded, clutching the glasses carefully as I followed Moira. Brooklyn rolled her eyes but didn’t leave. She just leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed.
At the counter, I carefully set the glasses down and reached for my wallet. The worn wooden surface was covered with various small items. I noticed a brass compass, several antique keys, and a silver letter opener shaped like a feather. Moira swept these aside with one elegant hand, creating a space for the glasses.
“Twenty-one,” I said, counting out the bills. The coincidence of the price matching my age still bothered me, but I was too entranced by the glasses to question it further.
Moira took the money without counting it and tucked it into a pocket in her dress. Then she reached beneath the counter and produced a sheet of delicate tissue paper, so thin it was almost translucent. With practiced movements, she wrapped the glasses carefully.
“All items in the Wanderlust Emporium find their rightful owners eventually,” she said, her tone light. “These have been waiting for you.”
She held out the package, but when I reached for it, she didn’t immediately let go. Her fingertips brushed against mine. “Be careful what you look for,” she murmured. “Not all truths are comfortable ones.”
Then she released the package with ease. I clutched the wrapped glasses to my chest, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure Brooklyn could hear it across the room.
“Thank you,” I managed to say, though my mouth was dry.
I turned away quickly. Brooklyn pushed the door open as I approached.
“Finally,” she said as we stepped outside and onto the sidewalk. “I thought we’d never get out of there.”
I looked up at the little Black angel girls above the door and wondered why they were crying. Did they lose their mother, just like me?
The transition from the Emporium’s hushed atmosphere to the noise and movement of the Chicago Street was jarring. Cars honked, people brushed past us on the sidewalk, music drifted from a nearby café. It all seemed too bright, too loud, too normal after the otherworldly quiet of the shop.
Brooklyn took a deep breath, as if cleansing her lungs of the Emporium’s dusty air. “What did you buy?” She asked, eyeing the small package in my hands.
“The reading glasses,” I said, not wanting to share the strange pull they had on me. “They looked very cute.”
“Weird gift for your twenty-first born day, but okay.” Brooklyn linked her arm through mine, tugging me down the street. “Now, can we please go get tacos like regular people? I’ve been dying for some all day.”
I let her lead me away, but I couldn’t resist looking back over my shoulder. The Emporium stood exactly as we’d found it, the red door closed, the stained glass above it glowing in the afternoon sun.
I clutched the package tighter to my chest, the outline of the glasses pressing against my palm through the tissue paper. My heart pounded with a strange anticipation I couldn’t explain. Maybe it was just hope. Maybe turning twenty-one was a turning point in my life. I sure hoped so.
Chapter
Three
KASI
The throbbing bass hit me before we even entered the club. This was Brooklyn’s idea. She flashed her ID at the bouncer with practiced confidence while I fumbled for mine. I was twenty-one officially. The driver’s license felt strange in my hand, like it belonged to someone else. Someone who knew how to celebrate milestones without a mother.
“You’re holding up the line, birthday girl,” Brooklyn whispered, her voice cutting through the noise. She nudged me forward.
The bouncer was a mountain of a man with a neck thicker than my thigh. He barely glanced at my ID before waving us through. Just like that, I was inside the pulsing darkness of my first legal nightclub. This place didn’t have an underage night, so I’d never been inside.
Bodies packed the dance floor, gyrating under flashing strobe lights. The DJ stood elevated on the far wall in something that looked like a tower. His hands raised like a conductor orchestrating the synchronized chaos. Sweat, perfume and alcohol mingled in the air, creating a scent that was intoxicating.
Brooklyn linked her arm through mine. “This is what twenty-one looks like, Kasinda, my best frienda! We’re legit now!” Herexcitement should have been contagious. But I was more of the excited on the inside type of girl.
A wave of emotion struck me in the chest. What if my mother was dead? What if I was out celebrating my birthday and she was gone for real? What if someone made her write the note? Maybe this Desmond Moreau guy showed up at our house and forced her to leave with him. Had I been angry with my mother for all these years when she didn’t even have a choice?
Desmond Moreau, a name I Googled many times. A name I searched on Facebook, Twitter, IG and TikTok. I searched that name too many times to count, and there was no man’s face that matched the man I saw in my dream.
“Hey.” Brooklyn’s voice softened as she caught my expression. She leaned in close, her lips nearly touching my ear to be heard over the music. “I know what you’re thinking. Stop it. Tonight is about you, about fun.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. Brooklyn was right. Six years of birthdays without a mother. Six years of my daddy trying his best to fill the gap with his awkward birthday presents and off-key birthday songs. I deserved one night without the weight of her absence crushing me. Fuck Theia!
“Come on!” Brooklyn tugged me toward the dance floor. “These shoes were expensive, and I’m going to get my wear out of them.”
