They both look at me.
Even when I can’t see well, I can see that they’re looking at me.
“He distrusts the world… It has been cruel to him…”
Ah, she’s not referencing me.
She must be referencing someone else.
I don’t distrust the world. Merely several parts of it. And it’s been no more cruel to me than it has to other people.
I daresay it’s been worse to Bea.
Especially lately.
“What’s his sign?” Bea asks.
I nearly choke again, but this time, for trying not to laugh at her dry delivery.
She’s quite funny, this one.
But Madame Petty doesn’t hesitate with her answer. “He is a Scorpio.”
Again, they both look at me.
As though they are aware that my birthday is in early November and assume that it must be me.
Actually, it’s likely that Bea would know my birthday if she knew I was lactose intolerant. “Fully eight percent of the population must be Scorpio, if my maths are correct.”
“It’s closer to ten percent,” Bea says. “Scorpios are born nine months after Valentine’s Day, so it’s one of the most prevalent astrological signs.”
I did not need to think about when my parents might have conceived me.
Given how much they dislike one another and their penchant for having affairs, I’ve decided I’m not even biologically related to my father.
The idea gives me peace.
Most of the time.
“You’re a Capricorn, are you not, Bea?” Madame Petty says.
“No idea,” Bea replies.
“You know the most common astrological sign but not your own?”
“I’m complicated like that.”
She’s amusing is what she is. Amusing, and quick-witted, and utterly lovely.
“I sense that youarea Capricorn,” Madame Petty says.
“You could just ask me what my birthday is.”
“It’s more enjoyable to guess based on your aura. And your aura says Capricorn.”
“I’ve always wanted to identify as a Leo though. I love the idea of being a lioness.”
Before I can agree that she’d make the best lioness, Madame Petty is speaking again.
