May’s sigh came through loud and clear. “Maybe you need to do something like this for, you know… closure. A symbolic gesture to prove you’re really done with The Asshole. It could be… cleansing.”
Emmy highly doubted that, but she decided this wasn’t worth an argument. She didn’t have to go. Though she didn’t make a habit of lying to her sister, she could easily say she went, make up a story about how her dream dude was right around the corner with an engagement ring and an enormous box of chocolates. That would make May happy and save her the gas money it would take to drive all the way into Minneapolis.
“Fine. I’ll go on Monday.”
“Yes! Thank you! I love you!”
“Yeah yeah.”
After they hung up, Emmy brushed her teeth, then grabbed a book off her nightstand. It was a romantic thriller she’d read before, but sometimes she just needed to escape into a world where good was guaranteed to prevail over evil. Reading novels where characters existed in a wholly just world, where evil got its comeuppance and heroes ended upmarried… Well, it made her understand why Shakespeare’s comedies had been so successful. The formula still worked.
She fell asleep reading, as she often did, and dreamed of ridiculous nonsense that successfully wiped all thoughts of romance and happily ever afters—or lack thereof—from her mind.
Two
The impulse to stalk her ex on social media was usually fleeting. But it was a slow day at the hotel, and as her lunch break crept closer, Emmy kept looking at her phone. It was past eleven, so checkout time was good and done. She gave in to temptation and tapped on the app, typed her ex’s name into the search bar. Her face immediately went hot from shame she wished she didn’t feel; he didn’t deserve that emotion from her. Maybe “humiliation” was a better descriptor. There he was, toasting the camera with one hand while holding his phone out with the other. Leaning into the selfie with him was the woman he’d started seeing a suspiciously short time after Emmy had broken up with him. The woman he felt comfortable taking home to meet his family. So white she looked like she could get a sunburn from a sunny-side-up egg.
The photo was captioned only with #loveofmylife.
Before she could think about it, she was looking up directions from her apartment to Meet Cute. It wasn’t such a long drive. And she shouldn’t lie to May about somethingthat would be easy enough to accomplish without subterfuge. May had said she needed closure, and it was starting to feel like her sister was right. She tapped the button to save the route and decided she’d go in the morning, if only to make sure Lucy the “psychic” was as harmless as May had made her out to be.
*
The trip into the Cities went by easily as Emmy spent the time listening to a true crime podcast that Sarah had gotten her addicted to—not everything could be a sugary story with a happy, righteous ending. She found the little shop after a bit of searching. She’d expected a garish facade with pictures of crystal balls and/or genitalia. Instead, she walked right by the place before checking her phone and noting her mistake.
The storefront was simple. Understated, even. Through the window she could see a bookshelf lined with romance novels—if the passionately entwined cover models were any indication—and a few precisely arranged displays of sex toys. Before too many people could see her peering into the window of a sex shop, she pushed her way inside and let the door close behind her. She smelled jasmine and, beneath that, a hint of an earthy smell that reminded her of reading an old, well-loved book. There didn’t appear to be anyone else in the store, which would have felt unsettling in any other kind of retail establishment, but in this case, she didn’t mind being alone and unobserved. It was easy to tell where the psychic readings took place. There was a wooden table in the corner with ladderback chairs on either side. The table runner had an astrologicalmotif, and there were candles on a little wall-mounted shelf behind the whole setup. Since the candles were lit, Emmy assumed they were most likely responsible for the jasmine smell.
“Oof, what did he do?”
Emmy jumped and turned to see a woman approaching her from around one of the bookshelves. Though May had never described the psychic, Emmy knew she was looking at Lucy. She was gorgeous. Olive skin, full lips, long lashes. Her hair was dyed bright red and cut close to her scalp. Other than a colorful dress and a few bangles on her wrist, she didn’t look like the clichéd image Emmy had formed in her mind. The woman looked at her expectantly, and it was at that point that Emmy remembered she’d asked a question.
“What did who do?”
“The ex. I’m sensing a guy. He must have done something pretty shitty to make you come here when you never would have set foot in here otherwise.”
Emmy felt goosebumps break out on her arms and cursed her nerves for daring to be spooked by the comment. She steeled her resolve—psychics didnotexist—and narrowed her eyes.
“Did May call you?”
“May? Oh! You must be Emmy! She told me so much about you.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet she did.”
Lucy laughed. “Notthatmuch, chickadee. But it’s okay to be skeptical. How is May?”
Emmy didn’t want to answer. Worse, she wanted to lie. She wanted to tell this woman that May was fed up withwaiting for the mystery man she’d been promised and was currently sitting at home eating her way through the frozen dairy section of Trader Joe’s. But the thought of saying anything like that weighed too heavily on her conscience, so she had no choice but to tell the truth.
“She’s getting married this coming Saturday.”
“Yes!” Lucy actually did a fist pump, making her bracelets jingle cheerfully. “I was hoping it would happen for her. She was such a sweetheart. I hope she comes back to tell me about him.”
“I’m sure she will.”
“So, what brings you here?”
Another chance to lie was mentally waved away. Emmy figured she might as well test the woman’s so-called powers.
“My ex posted a selfie with the white girl he’s ready to take home to Mommy and Daddy.”
