“Ugh. That dick.”
“Well, you don’t have to be psychic to figure that out.”
Lucy’s laugh poured out again, a deep, rich sound that struck Emmy as confident and somehow sexual. She wondered if Lucy practiced it in the mirror every day.
“Are you going to test me, then?”
“What do you mean?” Emmy asked, trying not to let it show that she’d literally just been thinking about doing that.
“You don’t think I’m psychic. I think I am. Don’t you want to see which one of us is right?”
Damn it, she was really good at this. But Emmy wouldn’t be taken in by some cold reading and fancy guesswork.
“Yeah, alright. You going to give me a sexy Tarot reading?”
“If that’s what you want. Have a seat.”
“How much?”
Lucy cast an amused glance her way. “Free of charge, just like it is for all my first-time customers. You’re welcome to browse the retail section when we’re done, but that’s your choice.” She swept over to the table and pulled out a chair. Raised an eyebrow in silent challenge.
In for a penny, in for a pound. Emmy sat down across from her. Lucy had the deck of cards on the table already. She laid a hand over them—displaying a manicure with deep blue nails dotted with specks of yellow and pink—and met Emmy’s gaze. Her expression was surprisingly sober, showing none of the jocular attitude from a moment ago.
“I’m going to have you take this stack of cards and mix them up. Use your non-dominant hand, and try to keep your mind relaxed. Sometimes we start with a question, but in this case, I think I want to do a basic three-card draw. Past, present, and future. Let’s see where you were, where you’re at, and where you’re going. Sound good?”
Emmy swallowed and nodded. It was hard to react with derision when the woman who sat opposite from her was acting so serious. There was also something in her eyes, something like sympathy, and it made Emmy uncomfortable. What did Lucy the Sex Psychic know of her? What right did she have to pity her? Still, Emmy wouldn’t back away from this. When Lucy told her to, she knocked the stack of cards over, began mixing them with her right hand. There was something hypnotic about watching them twist and turn, spinning, diving under one another, slipping across the table.
“Stop when it feels right,” Lucy murmured. “Then draw the first card that catches your eye and turn it over.”
Emmy stopped a moment later, went with the obvious and turned over the card that was on top of the mass. The woman on the card was upside down, but unmistakably a bride. Her hand-drawn dress had just the right amount
of froth on the skirt, a tight bodice, a sweetheart neckline. She held an eclectic bouquet of flowers. Roses and daisies and daffodils, a few sprigs dotted with what might have been bluebells. There was no veil, and her hair cascaded down her back in a sweep of waves that flowed like a waterfall.
“The Bride,” Lucy said quietly. “Reversed.” Without warning, she reached out and took Emmy’s hand, held firm but not tight. Her eyes were on the table, not the card, her gaze a little unfocused like she was trying to remember something she’d forgotten. “It was a bad breakup. Harder on you than him. It was a game for him, a diversion. Every time you tried to get him to commit, he dodged and evaded, but in a way that turned it around on you. It was never a relationship, not in any way that counted. When it ended, you came to see that, and it broke your heart that you had allowed it to be real for you.”
Emmy wanted to slap away the hand that held hers. She wanted to leave right then and there. Had May really told this woman so much? Why? Had Lucy pushed for information on the off-chance Emmy would come in to see her? Was she preparing all along for this exact moment? The reminder of everything that had gone wrong with Andrew—or, The Asshole—was an arrow that hit its mark with painful precision. She’d had no time to build up adefense. But she didn’t want to let Lucy win. She forced herself to sit and breathe through it.
“What did he do?” Lucy asked, meeting Emmy’s eyes again. “There’s something there. Something big, but I can’t get at anything specific.”
“Didn’t May already tell you?” Emmy snapped.
Lucy shook her head slowly, sadly. “Ask her. When we’re done here, before you tell her anything else, ask her how much we talked about you when she was here.”
“Believe me, I will.”
“Do you want to stop?”
“No. This is just a game. I don’t run from games.”
“Okay then,” Lucy said, setting The Bride aside. “The next card is your present. Pick one.”
Emmy didn’t look. Didn’t think. She pulled a card and flipped it. An arrangement of four condom packets with an upside-down number 4 in the middle. She wanted to laugh, but there was no room for humor in the moment.
“The Four of Condoms. I’m not surprised.” Lucy ignored Emmy’s eyeroll and continued. “You’re shutting everyone else out. Friends and family are kept at a distance. Deliberately or unconsciously, I’m not sure. Certainly you’re making sure to avoid romantic entanglements. Avoid the topic, avoid men. There’s too much fear in you right now that you’ll repeat past mistakes, and you’re not ready to be vulnerable like that again. No shame in it. But I’ll tell you this: your loved ones might begin to worry when they notice they’re at arm’s length. It could hurt them if you don’t let them in, especially if they’re used to being let in. It seems to me like part of you is resisting the good for fear of the bad. Yes, you could get hurt again, but there could besomething beautiful just out of reach, too. It’s right there, but you won’t take it.” When Emmy said nothing to this, Lucy gestured at the cards. “Pick your future.”
It was all or nothing now. What would be the point in stopping? Emmy reached out for a card. When she flipped it, she saw two others beneath that were also face up. With the card in her hand out of the way, the other two were visible. Lucy’s eyebrows rose.
“Let’s see them all, if that’s what they want.”
