This has less of the vibes of a tourist trap and more of someone who might read our palms and film it for social media.
“Hiiii!” A young woman, who looks to be in her early twenties, pops out from behind a pink curtain. “Sorry, I was wrapping a Live.”
By that, she must mean an Instagram Live, which only sounds familiar because Jerry had to once explain the difference between that and a Reel to me for one of the brand deals he had “in the works.”
“Welcome! I’m Fiona Lee, and this is my place!” she says, smiling brightly at us. “Well, my dad owns the gas station next door.”
“I’m… Zel, and this is Gan.”
Beside me, Logan laughs into his fist.
“You two are so cute. Can I get a high five?” she crosses over to me, her hand held up above her head. I awkwardly return the gesture. She turns to give one to Logan when she sees his cast and fist bumps him instead. She waves us both farther into the space. “Come! Let’s get those palms read. I promise, readings are quick because you’re at a gas station. Clearly, you’re on your way somewhere.”
A part of me is worried Fiona learned her knowledge of palmistry from social media and that this will be a huge waste of time and money. It might even throw us off course with everything we’ve tried. But I don’t want to judge Fiona by her neon signs and intense energy. She deserves a chance. And if it’s all nonsense, we’ll wipe our hands of it.
I’m laughing to myself about my pun when Logan takes me by the elbow and whispers, “Remind me why we’re doing this again?”
“We’re collecting data,” I whisper back. Admittedly, I’m also kind of curious to know what about our lives is already written on our bodies. I keep this one to myself.
Fiona guides us to a back room where there are pillow puffs and a low, wooden, antique table. Fairy lights drape across the ceiling with posters of hands covered in intricate lines layered over the walls. In the corner are stacks upon stacks of boxes of candy bars.
“My dad uses this place for storage,” Fiona says with an eye roll. “But I get the place for free, so I can’t complain. Please sit where you like.”
Logan and I sit on puffs next to each other. His knees knock mine as he crosses them, his long limbs pretzeling over each other on the ground. Fiona sets her phone on a charger behind her and sits across the table from us.
“Because the palm lines vary on each hand, I prefer to read both, but I see that won’t be possible for you,” Fiona says to Logan. “Are you both right-handed?”
We nod.
“Let’s focus on your dominant hands, then,” Fiona decides as she pumps sanitizer into her hands before offering it to us. “Readings are forty dollars each. I’m fast, but I’m good at what I do. That’s what you’re paying for. I’ve been doing this full-time for years. I have 1.2 million followers on my socials, and I was taught everything I know by my auntie, who’s a fortune teller in Taiwan. Does that help?”
Fiona’s got good intuition, I’ll give her that. Or my skepticism isn’t as subtle as I think.
I give it a second for regret to sink in. Surprisingly, I find that I trust Fiona, and not because she has over a million followers. I glance at Logan, who shrugs.
I nod to Fiona, and we begin.
Fiona reaches for my right hand and stretches it out. I stare at my palm that I’ve never paid much attention to, tracing the way the lines carve their own path in my skin.
Fiona runs a long, pink manicured nail over my palm. There are diamonds pressed onto her nails in the shape of arched lines. Like palm lines.
“Your hand lines reveal your personality and character traits. I focus on the five big ones: Life, Wisdom, Love, Marriage, and Fate,” she says, her bubbly voice surprisingly reassuring. “Ooh, clear palm lines. You’ve had good luck recently.”
Logan gives me a knowing look.
“You have a solid Life line,” Fiona says, pulling my attention back to her. “It’s long and deep. You have a strong life energy.”
“Are you able to tell how long I’ll live?” I ask curiously.
Or… wait. Do I even want to know that?
“Common misconception,” she replies. “That’s not what the line’s about.” She runs her nail horizontally across my palm, tracing another specific line. “Your Wisdom line overlaps a lot with your Life line. You’re careful, but you worry too much.”
Now I’m sweating.
On the next line, Fiona’s nail crosses from just below my middle finger to the edge of my hand, moving downward. It’s a particularly sensitive and more ticklish spot. “Your Love line is shorter. You’re a little irrational, a little narrow-minded.”
I take this in but don’t respond.
