After Nina and Nils leave, the house is joltingly quiet. We’ve had so much snow in the past few days that it almost feels as though we’re living underground. Carl plows our driveway, thank goodness, so we’re not officially snowed in. But still, it feels like my father and I are the last two people on earth—two voles curled up for the winter, hoping we survive until spring begins to crack and chirp around us. For now, it’s just the resounding silence of snowfall.
The day after Boxing Day, I am sitting by the fire, wrestling with the fonts on Paula’s website, a task that would be simple if Dominic weren’t laying across the keyboard. I have pushed him off several times, but he persists. Just as his toes graze the keys and entergggggghghhkjl//??LK??mmm,into the text field I’m working on, I notice a new email in my inbox.
Subj: self-care
Hey lady,
I know this is last-minute, but I’m taking a spontaneous trip to Le Refuge for New Year’s. I think it’s near you? I totally get that you’re not in a position to come back and work at Actualize, and I respect the boundary you’ve drawn. I really do. But I’m going through some personal stuff, and I’d like to have a session with The Oracle himself. Would January 2nd work? Let me know the address. I’m traveling with a friend who will just hang while I meet with The Oracle.
xoxox
Gemma
Her vacillating tone—deferential one moment, commanding the next—brings me right back to what it was like to work for her. She’s manipulative, I remind myself, but I’m no longer in her thrall. And after weathering Nina’s skepticism all week, I am refreshed by Gemma’s open-mindedness about my father’s visions. This is the perfect opportunity to test his skills in a new way, and Le Refuge is only an hour from here. Of course that’s her destination of choice—it’s an absurdly expensive resort that lures big spenders and celebrities with the promise of rustic-chic luxury and uncompromised privacy.
For a moment, I hear Nina’s naysaying voice in my head, but I silence it by telling myself this has nothing to do with Seth. If anything, this is an opportunity to clear the slate and tread new mental territory with my father. No channeling the dead—just some lighthearted prophesying.
In replying to Gemma’s email, I do my best to echo her tone—friendly but firm—while letting her know she’ll have to play by my rules.
Gemma,
Great to hear from you. We have an incredibly busy schedule at the moment, but we would be happy to make room for you at 2pm on January the 2nd. I hope that works for you. Just a note that you will absolutely need snow tires to get up our road. If you need a place to stay in town, the Locust Inn is your best option. Looking forward to catching up with you!
Sincerely,
Cricket
I hit send and feel a jolt of exhilaration. I know from my years as her assistant that Gemma has tried nearly every wellness remedy under the sun (and moon). She once flew to a spa in the Italian Alps to have her colon blasted with mineral water. I can’t compete with her usual haunts, but I don’t need to. I just have to create an experience she isn’t expecting, and I think we can offer something she rarely sees: simplicity, humility, austerity, an ego-less container in which she willhave to face the most profound thing of all—herself. Yes, I can do this, as long as my dad is on board.
I hear clanging in the kitchen, and Dominic hops from my lap to investigate. I follow him and find my father standing in front of the open refrigerator.
“Everything okay in here?” I ask.
He turns, wielding a cucumber, and wonders, “What shall we do with this pepperoni?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s a cucumber.”
He looks at the object in his hand for a long moment. I can see him realize I am right—of course it’s a cucumber!—but I can also sense that he still thinks it might be a pepperoni. He had been so sure of it a moment before.
“Oh, yes,” he says without full conviction, mentally caught somewhere between the cucumber and the pepperoni. “Well, what shall we do with it?”
“We should make lunch,” I say. Who cares if he thinks it’s a pepperoni? Maybe it’s possible to be two opposing things at once: a cucumber and a pepperoni; a child and an adult; a tragedy and a triumph; a heartbreak and a healing. Things can be both. We can be both.
A while later, as we crunch our pepperoni salad, I ask my father if he is amenable to having visitors.
“Always,” he says cheerfully.
“And they may ask you for advice while they’re here,” I say. “They’re looking for some guidance, some wisdom.”
“Happy to give it,” he says without skipping a beat. In fact, he sounds confident.
When he goes to sleep that night, I begin my preparations in earnest. First, I turn to my old friend Google to research protocol at the Temple of Apollo at Delphi. I am reassured to learn that the actual prophesizing was only a small part of the fanfare. Just as important was the pilgrimage, the arrival, the welcome experience, and the meditation that took place before visitors actually conferred with the oracle. By then, they were primed to have their minds blown, no matter what she said.
My research suggests that the entryway at the original temple at Delphi was inscribed with three maxims, which have been roughly interpreted as:
KNOW THYSELF.
NOTHING IN EXCESS.
