“You have a strong life line,” the psychic says, digging into the lines of my hand.
“Um. Well, that’s good news.”
The psychic’s eyebrows are tattooed on, and I find myself momentarily mesmerized by the deep brown color and the few patches where real hair is still coming through. The pigment is so dark it looks red.
“There’s a strong maternal presence in your life.”
I nod in lieu of answering.
“There is also death.”
“Oh,” is all I can say.
Sometimes, in the middle of my day, I will be momentarily seized by the idea that my life is not my life. Something has gone wrong. I made one wrong turn somewhere along the road, and now I have ended up in this alternate universe where up is down and my boyfriend is in love with someone else and my dream job is ruined and Lottie isn’t around. I think if only I could retrace my steps, I might find that one faulty screw that shook everything loose. I could go back. I could fix it.
“You will have two great loves,” the psychic continues without pause. “One greater than the other, but both have a first name that starts with the letterH.”
I can hear pounding in my ears. My cheeks and teeth throb as if my heart is trying to escape through my head. Then, the psychic says the singularly most ominous thing anyone has ever uttered at a fundraiser for mental health:
“You are at a crossroads in your life.” The woman’s tone is grave. “Choose your next steps carefully.”
Chapter ElevenLily
June 10
I feel like I’m at a crossroads, you know?” I hear a teen boy say to his instructor. “Like with my tennis swing. I need to either bulk up and commit to my forehand, or work on getting better at doubles and my net game.”
A row of shiny rackets stares down at me with judgment from behind the desk I’m seated at: Wilson, Head, Babolat, Prince. All of which are available for demo. Their grips are wrapped in various shades of pastel. Little green hairs are stuck in the strings, almost imperceptible unless in direct sunlight.
It’s a week after the fundraiser and my first day at the job Theo helped me secure.
“We can work on both, but first, I think we need to nail down your serve,” says the instructor.
The interview for the position was seamless. The manager didn’t care much about who took over this role as long as they could show up on time, keep a schedule, and appear friendly. Theo is apparently a beloved instructor, so his recommendation meant a lot, too. It wasgenerous of him to put himself on the line like that for someone he barely knows. It makes me even more eager to impress everyone, to prove to them that his word carries weight.
I’m scheduled to work the morning shift on Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays for the rest of the summer.
The teen boy stands in his white shorts and athletic polo, apparently oblivious to the fact that his sneakers have tracked in clay on the hardwood floors. A steady trail of his green footsteps follows from the screen doors to the desk. I’ll have to grab a mop to clean them up as soon as he is gone.
“So, am I making varsity or what?”
The boy leans against the desk, almost into my face. I can smell an unpleasant combination of his sweat and shampoo, distinctly similar to baby powder.
He has the calm arrogance of someone who has been raised in beauty, good health, and wealth his entire life. I imagine his father as a stout bald man with a mean streak. Maybe he owns a hedge fund in Connecticut, like Henry’s family. His mother is probably one of the many professionally skinny blond women who frequent this place: their faces artificially preserved with Botox and whatever magic is in the green juice they suck down like it is a potion, just as God and Goop intended.
“We’ll see.” The instructor gives him a friendly shoulder slap. “I have a good feeling.”
I haven’t been officially introduced to the pro yet, but from what I’ve gathered from the other staffers, her name is Emily and she plays tennis at University of Georgia. Her family is from Hawaii originally.
Immediately, I recognize that she is beautiful. She has sun-kissed brown hair and the kind of collected coolness of someone who has spent a lifetime cultivating self-confidence. She leans against thecounter, swinging her racket back and forth, looking at ease in a world dominated by men.
I want to be her friend immediately.
I have loads of friends back in New York, but right now, they feel inaccessible. I have friends from the magazine, coworkers whom I now can’t bear to face. Jade is still angry at me for needing to move out and leaving her with a subletter she doesn’t know. Becca is busy with Henry’s circle, and although I know I could text her, too, I don’t want to hear more about the wedding.
Truthfully, with Rose working so much this week and missing dinners, it’s been a bit lonely.
“Well, we better hope so,” the boy says, spinning his racket in his left hand, copying Emily. “Or else we’ll have to see if you get that end-of-summer tip from good ol’ mom and pop.”
