“Storm, innit,” he says, nodding to the windows. Ahead, a distinct gray wall of cloud and rain is heading toward us menacingly. Ryan is off to get the second armchair as Samira arrives with popcorn.
“The pool is closed and Gerry’s not here,” she says to me curtly. “You can put down the work and back away slowly.”
“You are both going to sit here with popcorn and watch the storm?” I ask, craning my neck to see if Gerry really isn’t here.
“You bet,” says Ryan, jumping into his armchair and swiping a fistful of the popcorn from Samira. “Front-row seats. Reckon we’ll get ninety-kilometer gusts and the swell will be immense.”
“Who doesn’t love storms?” Samira asks. “Afterward we’ll need to clear the pool and we get a couple of days off.”
She and Ryan fist-bump.
“Why not invest in storm-surge protection?” I ask, although as I say it, I know the answer. It’s the answer I always get.Funding.But when I ask how we apply for it, they say Gerry oversees it. But when I offered to help Gerry apply for funding he said it’s under control. Yet here we are, watching the chalk cliffs melt into the ocean and take half the building with them, and everyone’s acting like we’re theTitanicband.
“It’s a big job, but anything is possible,” I say, shrugging.
“Mara has grand ideas for this place,” Samira explains to Ryan.
“I did,” I say, embarrassed by my initial enthusiasm.
“Gerry’s on it, isn’t he?” Ryan shouts while bending to retrieve loose popcorn from the floor.
“Gerry is not ‘on’ anything,” Samira says wryly, “unless you count Viagra and Marlboro Reds.”
“Viagra was invented in Kent,” Ryan says proudly.
“Why am I not surprised?” I murmur.
“Why are youhere, Mara?” Ryan asks now. “Why did you leave London to comehere?”
I don’t have an explanation that doesn’t sound like I gave up on London and followed my best friend across the country, so I try for a deflection. “Who wouldn’t leave London for all this?” I say, waving my arms around the office. It works: they both laugh.
Make new friends, I think to myself.
Samira and Ryan would be an easy start.
“So, how about I try to guess your star signs?” I say.
“I’m completely obvious, though,” says Samira, tucking a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. “Where do you read yours?”
“Oh,New York Mag, and I follow some good Instagram accounts. Do you know Chani Nicholas? I like AstroTwins for my rising sign, and Love Lanyadoo too, but I don’t follow them quite as much as I used to.”
Too much, Mara.I laugh, a high-pitched strangled shrill to make it seem like I’m joking, but neither of them seems very fazed.
“She also sees fortune-tellers,” Ryan says.
Samira is now nodding slowly at me. “You’re a witch. I knew there was a reason you were so... um, weird and reclusive.”
“Weird and reclusive. Put that in your Tinder bio!” shouts Ryan.
Weird and reclusive?I laugh. “No. No. No. Not a witch. I just find them so accurate and day-to-day helpful. But, like, if you ever need a ritualist sage burning to rid this place of its negative vibes, I could help.” I can feel my heart beating faster as I press forth with the chitchat, desperate to keep it light. “So, Samira, I am definitely thinking air sign for you.”
I see that she’s half smirking at me, her perfectly colored plum lips curling up at one side.
“Iaman air,” says Samira.
“It’s just, well, you’re always so stylish,” I say, feeling my cheeks redden, “and I’m wondering if... Libra?”
“My God,” she says, “how in the hell?”
