Merc smiles. “Weekly meeting, cuz.”
My brows pull together and I check my phone, perplexed it’s already the end of the day but happy because that means in an hour, I can leave this place and not worry about it till Monday.
“How’s Uncle B?” Merc asks.
“Fine,” I say, not offering anymore because I don’t know much about my father’s well-being, other than some photos he’s sent.
Our walk to the soundproof, all-glass conference room in the middle of the office is made longer because Merc pauses to answer every question or comment fromCupid’s Bowstaffers on our way. I might not love working here, but my cousin, with their constant communication and friendly demeanor, is a great Mercury. I’ll give them that.
I unlock my phone to show Merc the picture my dad posted online from Lagos two weeks ago. His dark skin is glowing in the bright sun and his blue shirt perfectly matches the ocean. The picture has no caption. Good to know silence is still his MO even across continents.
“He looks good,” Merc says, and I agree. He hasn’t aged a day since he left, and he’s still very active. Why he decided to leave his beloved life behind and take me from my cozy software engineering life, I’ll never understand.
“Yeah, he should be here,” I say.
Merc pauses and places a hand on my shoulder. I look at their perfect manicure, confused by the gesture. “Trust me, you’re the one who’s supposed to be here.”
I shrug off their hand, moving away from their pitying gaze. Despite the algorithm working well, I haven’t fallen in love with being Saturn the way everyone else has with their roles.
Words from my childhood post-Mom come back to me.
You can’t keep up the legacy like this. This is all I have to give to you. Dad’s voice always got loud and shaky, his eyes enlarged by a dangerous mix of passion and fear, whenever he talked about my future and our “legacy.” So much so, it turned me off. The old Niyi, previously proud and dedicated to astrology, faded away with each raised voice. Until it was time to leave for college and hatred occupied most of the space in my heart dedicated to my father.
Except a tiny portion. The part of me that still answers his calls and stares at his pictures for minutes at a time. My inner child, who simply wanted to be enough for his dad.
Theclick-clackof heels drags me out of my pitiful thoughts, and I put my phone away just in time for Vee’s entrance. Her bouncy Afro is pulled back into one puff, and she’s dressed in her signature purple.
“Niyi!” she squeals, using my given name after I sternly told her and Merc that calling me Saturn wouldn’t fly, and runs to hug me. Her jasmine scent washes over me, providing much-needed calm.
Mercury is the people-person atCupid’s Bowin terms of communication; Venus is the people-person in terms of personality. Anything material, physical—heck, even emotional—Venus is right there, ensuring things are good for all parties. The both of them in charge of a dating app makes a lot of sense. After all, what’s love without communication? The part that still confuses me is my involvement, both personally and in the grand scheme of things as Saturn. Saturn is known for rigidity, hardship, and time; it doesn’t make sense to be roped in with the love crew.
“Sweet Vee,” I mutter into my cousin’s hair.
She pulls back and gives me an award-winning smile.
“How was your trip?” I ask. While Mercury is the CEO who keeps the business afloat on the human side of things—working with the board, keeping investors happy, that sort of thing—Venus, in addition to matchmaking, keeps us afloat on the celestial front. She travels across the world,keeping in touch with the other families that have been blessed (or cursed) with power like ours.
“Sun is always a riot,” she laughs, and I nod. I haven’t had the chance to visit Lagos as an adult and party with the matriarch, but it’s one of my goals.
“Any word of her retirement?” Merc asks as they pull up the slides. A lot of the time, our weekly meetings are spent reviewing the chart pairings we can’t decipher alone. In my first month here, the charts in question were mainly mine. But since implementing my trusty new algorithm method, I haven’t brought a single confusing potential chart-pairing to the group.
“Sun’s not ready to give it up,” Vee says. I wish I could relate. Aside from The Sight, everyone talks about their powers giving them a newfound appreciation for life. For some gods, it creates a buzz in their blood they never want to relinquish. That happened to Merc’s dad, who needed a lot of convincing to pass on his seat. Vee’s mom gave up her seat at fifty, saying she wanted to live the second half of her life with her own beauty, instead of focusing on others. As for my dad? I’m not sure of his motive for abdicating Saturn.
Everyone in our family has turning points in their terms. Moments of reflection before their planet’s next orbit where they can decide to either pave the way for the next generation or keep going. Except for Sun. As the center of the universe, the choice to let go is always present. Unlike the rest of us, Sun can abdicate without fear of illness or rapid aging because she doesn’t have a specific orbit. I suspect, like the previous Sun, she will pass by natural causes and the next Sun will emerge from her bloodline.
Vee’s next words bring me back to the moment. “I saw your dad.” Her voice softens and pity transforms her playful tone into a melancholic lull.
“The life of the party?” I ask, even though the answer will annoy me.
“Not touching Sun, but close.”
I take a deep breath, trying to ignore the urge to rationalize my father’s illogical actions. The man didn’t have time for his family when it mattered most.
Merc taps on the table. The rough sound forces me out of my thoughts. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
“I don’t think so.” Merc squints at the overlapping astrological charts, their pink-and-blue Corgi socks on the dark oak desk.
Vee, with her fingers deep in a bag of gummy worms, says, “I think the pair can work. The Scorpio Sun person did mention wanting something transformative.”
