“You look different,” May said.
She was standing on one side of the large kitchen island, watching George dart around, opening drawers and cabinets, avoiding eye contact.
Zac was opposite her, at the sink on the rear wall, washing and prepping their bounty from the previous day’s excursion. He glanced over his shoulder slightly, in case she was addressing him, then returned to his work.
She just got here, George thought.Uncanny.
“Well, somebody talk!” She slung her bag up onto the stainless steel work surface. “I haven’t seen you since your blind date Saturday and you obviously have news. I’m picking up the vibes. Speak.”
George looked at her, shrugging. “I switched bar soaps.”
She studied him, scrutinizing. “That settles it. I’m reading your cards.”
She rummaged in her bag, removing a deck of over-sized cards from a small box, and began shuffling.
“Since when do you wear a headscarf?”
“It’s cold outside.”
“And big earrings?”
“Don’t change the subject, mister.”
“OK. Let me fill you in on Saturday night. I think enough time has gone by that I can keep my voice down. The date was a bust. I will never go out on a blind date again. I’m not blaming you because I know you had good intentions, but it was weird, awkward, and aggravating. I don’t care to ever go through it again.”
Zac began shifting large colanders of the clean fruit and vegetables from the sink to the island next to May and across from George. He kept his head down, silent, focusing on work and happily keeping tertiary status.
“Fair enough,” May said, snagging an apple and taking a big bite, crunching loudly. “So, who did you sleep with then?”
“I didn’t sleep with anyone,” George said. Truth.
“You’ve had sex, George. I can tell by your complexion.”
Zac snickered, immediately stifling it—a nervous, involuntary utterance. Neither May nor George paid him any mind.
“Not true,” said George. “I haven’t had sex with anyone.”
“Well, we’ll just look at the cards then. I’m sure the answer is there. Cut these.”
She slid the deck toward him. He reached and divided them in half. May finished for him, collecting the halves and dealing, laying them out in a line like solitaire only face up.
George removed a peeler from the drawer and began with the parsnips. He had considered telling her everything the night before. It hadn’t been late when she came home and, if there was anyone in the world he would have confided in, it was her. But Mikey was the third slice in this pie-chart—part of both their lives now, daily and professionally. George simply wasn’t comfortable betraying that trust, at least not until he and Mikey knew each other better.
So, he had feigned sleep and left early that morning, avoiding her altogether. The guilt of that was ever-present.
No wonder she thinks something is off.
“Look, May, let’s just—”
“Ah, ha!” she said, standing back. She gestured to the cards. “See for yourself.”
She had been backstroking into the colorful waters of astrology ever since he had spoken of Mikey’s zodiac inquiry. First, dipping a toe in with the cards, but soon diving deep with lifestyle, music, and wardrobe. George had witnessed this compulsive behavior in her before with trendy obsessions—veganism, Pilates, Feng Shui—and they never seemed to last, so he wasn’t worried. But it was a little disconcerting being a passenger on a plane where your flight attendant is a cross between Steven Tyler and Rhoda Morgenstern.
“I don’t know how to read tarot cards. You’re Sylvia Browne. You tell me.”
“Uh, I’m more Walter Mercado, but thank you for engaging the powerful spirits of my predecessors.”
“You’re welcome... I think.”
