“I’m not being weird,” Phoenix says, which is exactly what someone says when they are being weird.
She flips it over as the card catches the candlelight. Nessa leans in immediately.
“Oh.”
“What?” Phoenix is already defensive.
“That’s a good one.”
“Aren’t they all good ones?” Asks Mack, attempting to keep her mask on.
“Not like that,” Nessa says.
Phoenix tips the card so we could see. A womanstanding alone, light around her, like she was stepping into something instead of waiting for it.
“That’s being seen. Stepping out, not hiding,” Nessa claims.
Phoenix huffs a laugh. “I’m not hiding.”
Mack finally looks up, one eyebrow raised, green mask half-set on her skin. “Do you want us to answer that honestly or …?”
Phoenix points at her. “Stay in your lane.”
“My lane is skincare and truth tonight,” Mack says, completely unbothered.
I press my lips together again, failing this time to hold back a laugh.
Nessa tilts her head. “What do you need then?”
Phoenix’s thumb drags along the edge of the card. Once. Twice. She looks up, a sad smile in place, softer than usual, less polished or forced.
“To be chosen,” she says. “I think.”
Vanessa blinks. “Chosen by who?”
Phoenix shrugs, but her fingers don’t leave the card. “Someone who doesn’t make it complicated.”
Nessa narrows her eyes. “Is this about your parents?” Nessa asks gently.
“It’s not,” Phoenix says quickly. Then, lighter, “You’re reading too much into it, remember this is all open to a crazy amount of interpretation.”
Phi had a complicated relationship with both of her parents growing up. There was a messy divorce, and neither prioritized her well-being. But somehow, I don’t think that is what she’s talking about. There’s something there. Not her old wound, this feels newer, like it would still bruise if you pressed it.
Phoenix drops the card back onto the table like it didn’tsay anything important. “Okay. Next.”
“We are circling back to that,” Nessa says.
“No, we’re not,” deadpans Phoenix.
“We absolutely are.”
I snort into my drink. Nessa slides the cards toward me. “Your turn.”
I hesitate for half a second, then reach out, fingers gliding over the spread before I pull one. A figure mid-step. Not fully in. Not fully out.
“Annoying,” I mutter.
“What?” Vanessa leans over.
