“Nothing,” Rose says curtly.
“I thought we didn’t keep secrets.”
Without looking up, continuing to break the ice, Rose says, “That rule is for you, not me.”
“Wow.”
Rose finally looks into my eyes. Her pupils are wide as sand dollars. “Look,” she says. “I got in a disagreement with Josephine. It’s not a big deal.”
“About what?”
“I don’t need your judgment, Lil. Don’t worry about it.”
“When am I judgy?” Rose gives me an incredulous look. “Okay,” I amend. “I won’t be judgy right now.”
This makes Rose laugh a little, but then almost immediately, her face crumples back into despair. “I asked her to check with her brother and see if we can get Tommy—I mean, Thomas,” she corrects herself, “out of our place, ASAP.”
“And what? Leave him homeless?”
“He wouldn’t be homeless. I’ve been doing some research on him and I can assure you that he will be very much okay. After his service, he went on to study engineering and sold a start-up company a few years ago. He made enough money to retire at forty-eight. He doesn’t need you worrying about him.”
I ignore the admission of Google stalking. “But it’s so mean.”
My mom shoots me a pointed look. Rose is now breaking the ice apart with a metal rod, using too much force.
“Sorry, sorry, not being judgy. I just feel bad for him is all. I mean, it was so long ago, and he seems like a nice guy now. Also, we could use the money for your new practice. What would you do without the rental income?”
“Time.” Rose snaps her fingers in the air. “Went by just like that. It doesn’t matter how long ago it was. But Josie’s brother assured me there’s nothing I can do to break the real estate contract now. We’re stuck with him. Josie said I was overreacting.”
“Did you tell her why you wanted him out?”
“No, of course not,” says Mom. “That would be humiliating.”
“Well, if it means so much to you, maybe it’s worth it.”
Rose pushes her shiny red hair from her face. She’s sweating slightly around the temples.
“It’s too late,” she says. “Just drop it. Okay?”
There’s an uncharacteristic tone to her voice. It sours her expression like she’s bitten into something rotten and foul. It’s such an unusual sight on my mom’s delicate face that I decide to let the argument go.
For the rest of the night, I help my mom with the event: wrapping up items that have been sold, pouring drinks, carrying plants and paintings into waiting cars, throwing out discarded napkins with multicolored stains in the corners, whatever is needed.
When the sky darkens and the twinkly lights turn on above, I finally muster enough courage to approach Marie, and to my surprise, it actually goes well. She offers to take a look at my résumé, says they may be hiring someone soon for an associate role at the gallery. By “associate role,” what she means is a glorified receptionist, but I’m thrilled. I write down her email in my phone. When I do so, I see a text from Theo, the bartender from the other night.
Hiya, it reads.I talked to my boss today and they said you can come in for an interview tomorrow between 12pm and 3pm if you’re free.
My chest is warm and light. I haven’t been sleeping well in the last few days since I discovered that Henry is engaged. My stomach has been tied up in a constant state of nausea, unsettled, but now, it rests. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe everything will be okay.
It’s with this good fortune buoying me that I decide to approach the psychic who has been eyeing me all night. Walking away from Marie, I feel strangely invincible, ready to address my fate, my future, head-on.
There’s an undeniable magnetism that has been drawing me closer all night, some mystical aura to the garden with the deep denim-blue sky and the setting sun and the yellow lights reflecting off the greenhouse. Now or never.
“Hi,” I say to the psychic. “I’d like to do a tarot card reading, please.”
“No need for that.” The psychic smiles. It has an eerie effect on her face, like the moon’s shadow crossing over the sun. “I already know what I need to tell you. Give me your hand.”
I take a hesitant seat on the hard wooden stool. The psychic grabs me a little too roughly, tugging my arm across the booth. She bends my fingers back, pressing her thumb into my palm. Her skin is shockingly cool to the touch, and her nails are sharp and unpainted.
