I consider this. “Sure, but if we grow the lump sum amount at a better rate than what’s estimated with the annuity, we can make more money in the future.”
“You sound like Wendy,” Hazel retorts, pushing her fingertip into the flower design of her mooncake half.
“And then we can go buy something totally unnecessary and lavish, like a yacht. It’s cliché, but hey. How often do you win the lottery?” I ask, half seriously.
“You’re hilarious,” she says, her face unchanging. “After the win, I was curious, so I worked out what we could end up with.” She scrolls down her phone, showing me rows of numbers. “The annuity gives us enough money every year to cover what we need without having to worry about…” She trails off. “Without having to worry.”
It’s lesswhatHazel’s saying and morehowshe’s saying it that gives me pause. I recall her short-lived enthusiasm after winning. How she finally accepted the money but is still seemingly tentative about it.
This then makes me think about how my father would warn my siblings and me that showing off money makes you more of a target. That we needed to be careful of being taken advantage of.
“On the other hand,” I say slowly, “having more money upfront means having more money for people to want.”
Hazel blinks up at me like she’s relieved she didn’t have to say the words herself. “Yes, exactly. And I appreciate you considering the hospital bills, but the annuity payment we’d get this year would more than cover them. Was there something you needed the lump sum for? I don’t want to mess up your plans.”
I don’t need to think about it. I shake my head no. “There isn’t. I’ve got what I need. Let’s do the annuity.”
Landing on this resolution was surprisingly painless. When my parents had different ideas on how to invest or spend money, it was never this conflict-free. My father would always get his way, and Mom would put on a smile and go with it. This, though, feels more like an understanding than a surrendering.
Hazel takes a small bite of her mooncake. “You want the rest? I honestly don’t love these.”
“Why did you get it then?” I ask before finishing off her half.
“Well, it’s tradition. And because I’ve gifted it to you, that’s me expressing best wishes,” she says, smiling. “You know, for all the luck you apparently lost.”
I smirk. “That’s what we’re here to find out. Come on.”
We walk farther down the street and find a fortune teller not occupied with anyone. Signs around his booth tell me that this man specializes in tea leaf reading. My curiosity gets the best of me as I approach him.
“Logan, what are you doing?” Hazel reaches for my hand and pulls me toward her. “We are not getting our fortunes read again. And I’m definitely not drinking some random man’s tea.”
I look down at our hands and smile. “I’m sure it’ll all be fine, but I just want to know if our fortunes got mixed up that day. Maybe we did get each other’s cards. Or maybe Wendy read the cards wrong. I have to confirm I’m not imagining everything. Let’s just see.”
Hazel pulls her hand away, her eyebrows wrinkled in concern. “I can’t sit through another reading where I’m told how bad my future looks. I already spend my life waiting for bad things to happen.” Her arms are crossed firmly over her chest. “Even though it’s all nonsense anyway.”
“If it was nonsense, why were you doing it to begin with?”
“I shouldn’t have been. Now it’s written,” she says slightly sarcastically. “I could’ve lived in ignorant bliss.”
I dip my head. “You can tell me.”
She bites her lip. “Their methods sound charming at first, but I know how fortune tellers really work. They take your money. Tell you a mixture of what they think you want to hear, sprinkling in something ominous for effect. You know why fortunes only last for three to four months? To keep you coming back.”
“Or to help you in your immediate future,” I offer.
“Why do people even want to know the future?” Hazel asks. “It’s not like it’s some mystery.”
“You don’t think the future… is a mystery?” I ask, confused.
“Ultimately, things don’t work out. Even when they’re good, everything bottoms out at some point,” she says. There’s a deep layer of sadness in her statement. “Wendy probably took one look at me and thought I was helpless.”
As she says this, drummers and the lion dancers come twirling past.
“Hopeless?” I ask, cupping my hand behind my ear.
“That, too!” she shouts back.
We wait for the performers to move down the block. “What if there is truth to it, though? What then?” I ask.
