Chapter 1
HAZEL
It’s the fortune teller’s bird that first catches my eye.
It looks like a sparrow, its coloring so white it practically glows. A second bird sits behind the first as they wait in their wooden cage.
“I need my fortune read, please,” I say to the fortune teller sitting behind her table.
As soon as the words come out, the dark sky cracks open, releasing a heavy sheet of rain. With a newly burst pipe in my apartment building, I should take advantage of the free water. This rainstorm is probably my only chance for a shower for the night. Or the week.
Instead of walking the fifteen minutes home from Chinatown to the Lower East Side, I duck under the fortune teller’s tent illuminated by bistro string lights. I sit in one of the chairs opposite her and place my purse, leftovers, and folder on the table.
The fortune teller introduces herself as Wendy. She has curly, chin-length gray hair, bright red lips, and a calm demeanor. She points to the sign behind her. “Fluent English. Fortune Reading. $10/reading. Cash only.”
Conveniently, I carry cash. Credit cards aren’t always reliable, and paying with cash sometimes means discounts. I give her my last twenty-dollar bill. Wendy hands ten dollars back and redirects me to the birds.
This close, I notice the faint red rings around their eyes. I’m both intrigued and intimidated by the alleged power they hold. They’re like small, bird-shaped snowballs, their bodies measuring no more than five inches in length.
They remind me of the time a bird flew into our house when I was in first grade. It was round and soft-looking, with light brown on its feathers and a splash of yellow right between its eyes. I only remember because then, just like now, the bird looked right at me.
“A sparrow,” Dad had said excitedly to Mom. “How auspicious. We should keep going. Happiness is just around the corner. This is our sign.”
“Keep going” didn’t apply to all of us. Mom died later that year. The “happiness” that was supposed to be around the corner? Well. It was less of a corner and more of a wall.
So much for auspicious.
“Do I look at you, or…?” I ask Wendy, wanting to make sure I don’t mess up my first-ever fortune reading.
“Everything should pass through the sparrows,” Wendy says, confirming my assumption. She explains that I’m supposed to ask the birds a question and that they’ll pull three cards from the two boxes on the table. She’ll interpret what the cards mean. “The first card represents our past, which influences our present. The second represents your current state. The third card gives us an idea of what lies ahead.”
What my future holds.
Instinctively, I reach for Mom’s charm bracelet on my left arm. The one I never intentionally remove. The one that somehow broke off without me realizing. Gone is the bracelet with the strawberry charm (her favorite fruit), her July birthstone (ruby), a dove (Dad’s nickname for her), and a croissant (her childhood dog’s name).
I swallow thickly at having lost what feels like a piece of her. At least there’s still the lake house.
I eye the red and orange cards tucked away neatly in their individual boxes.
“What are you wondering about right now?” Wendy asks.
“I’d like to know my future.”
She eyes me. “Anything in particular you want to know?”
“Everything. I want to know all of it.” I fold up the sleeves of my sweater just so I can give my hands something to do.
Wendy simply nods and points to each bird. “This one’s Doc, and that’s Marty, if you’d like to personalize your ask. Make sure to include your name and birthdate.”
“My birthday? Why?” I ask, knowing this personally identifiable information isn’t for these two innocent-looking, warm-blooded vertebrates but for Wendy, who will use the information to guide her fortunes. Or who knows what else.
“It helps me calculate your future,” she states plainly. “I want to give you the most accurate reading.”
Today was already bad enough. Do I really need to know how tomorrow and the next day—and every day after that—are going to be worse?
This impromptu reading was probably a mistake. And impulses have gotten me nothing but regret.
I glance around nervously, looking for an out from being yet another Yen family member about to make a reckless decision. The slick street is lit up by glowing store signs and food stall lights. Round red, pink, and orange lanterns dangle from one side of the street to the other. Through the downpour just outside the tent, I spot others huddled under stalls with signs advertising dumplings and mooncakes and with gold-painted trinkets for sale. Above all that, a large sign reads in blocky font “Good Fortune Fair.”
