Mostly, I just end up feeling angry. The anger is so easy, I let it bloom in my chest like a flower. He loves me, he loves me not. Screw you both, with your casual attractions. You did this to me, you made me this way.
How can I ever trust Logan if he wants someone else? How can I trust anyone ever again, if they can turn on a dime like this? Then comes the scariest cycle in this repeating track: How can I ever trust myself if I didn’t see this coming? I keep writing in my journal, like dumping my thoughts in there and locking them up will make it all go away. I keep rereading the lessons and quotes I keep copied in my personal bible section, but all the words feel hollow.
This is when I descend into the darkest pit, because this doesn’t feel like something I’ll recover from. This feels like it will leave a permanent, ugly scar. Suddenly every song I’ve ever heard makes more sense, like I’ve been let into this great human club of heartbreak. So I sit here like so many before me, tangled up, pining over the glossy photos of a boy I’ll never truly have. Who I’ll never truly be.
I’ll always just be me. Critical, riddled Chase.
“You look as bad as I feel.”
Amelia speaks from the doorway, indeed looking equally terrible. Of course, now all I can think is that Logan would know what to do next. He’d know what to say to make Amelia feel better. But what can I say, aside from welcoming her to the business of misery? I’d love the company.
“Chase, what’s that?”
Amelia points to the center of the table in front of me. Shifting my gaze, I find a plain white piece of paper there, folded neatly in three.
“I don’t know,” I answer, hating myself. Of course I was too absorbed by my thoughts to notice the letter sitting right in front of my face. I’m so terrified that if I stop moving, I’ll unravel. I’m a tightly wound ball of twine—tensing up and rolling along is the only way I’ll stay in one piece.
Amelia rushes to the table, with Cleo following close behind. She opens the letter, and I don’t need Amelia to say a word to know it’s from Anwar. So we all read together:
Amelia, this letter is much less than you deserve, but I had to leave something behind. Some explanation that would maybe excuse the inexcusable thing I’ve done.
My mom is sick. We have no money. We live near Los Olivos because my mom cleans rich people’s houses off the books. She and I, we live in a trailer—which is why I didn’t want you to see it. Mom can’t work anymore and I don’t know how we’re going to pay for her treatments. So when I found out how much your deck is worth from Lady Azure… Well, I think you know what I’ve done by now.
I tried to sell the deck to Page Zain, but in such a short time, I could only find someone online who claimed to know them: Rosa Resfriado, owner of Chills Coven Shop. As collateral, I gave her the clues on the Empress and Hanged Man cards to open some compartment, because she already knew where the King of Pentacles was hidden. By the time you read this I’ll have also sold her the deck. I know she’s not giving me as much as I could get if I kept it to sell to Page Zain directly, but the money she promised me will buy us a few months. Besides, I think I was afraid if I held onto the deck, I’d come to my senses and return it to you, like a good guy would. And maybe part of me wanted to sell it somewhere you’d have a shot to get it back.
I’m telling you this so maybe you can go to Chills Coven. I never told Rosa anything about you, so she won’t see you coming. Maybe you can take back your grandmother’s deck, because I know it really belongs with you.
Just like I know what I did is wrong. I wish I had another choice.
Amelia, you have to know, what we had together, the things I said to you—I wasn’t faking that. I promise. I came along with you, knowing nothing about your deck at first. But once I found out what it was worth, I knew what I had to do. And I knew you and I couldn’t last, afterward. I just really wish it could be different, because you’re every bit as amazing as I’d hoped.
Anwar
I look up at Amelia’s face to find it shattered—and torn. I understand.
How do you hate someone who did the wrong thing for the maybe-right reason? And if you can’t bring yourself to hate someone who broke your heart, where does that leave you? I want to say these things to Amelia, but I don’t say anything at all. Part of me is afraid of breathing reality into any of this. The other part of me is just too tired.
“Anwar asked me if I thought I’d be better off without the deck,” Amelia says, still clutching the letter like a lifeline. “I think he was trying to convince himself he was doing me a favor. Like the deck was a burden he was relieving me of.”
“Amelia, this isn’t your fault,” Cleo says, speaking through clenched teeth. “I wasn’t exactly a fan of Anwar, but I didn’t think he’d do something like this.”
“How could he…” Amelia tries. “Anwar obviously knew he was going to do this last night. He wrote this letter sometime before today. And he still…”
“Why leave the letter at all?” Cleo asks, their words practically quaking.
“Because no one wants to think of themself as a bad person,” I answer. “Even when they’re doing something they know is terrible. This letter is a justification. It’s a window in the cell where Anwar belongs.”
Cleo opens their mouth to say something else, but pauses a moment before doing so.
“Maybe this is a sign or something,” Cleo finally offers. “This trip stopped being fun the second Logan left, if I’m being honest. Maybe we let it go and cut our losses?”
Amelia sighs, seeming to actually consider Cleo’s suggestion.
Well, I won’t entertain it for one second. The only thing that feels more unbearable than our current situation is the idea of quitting while we’re behind.
“Amelia, you have every right to feel discouraged and frozen. Trust me, I understand,” I begin.
“But Anwar did leave us clear tools for a solution. Can we really walk away when we still have a chance to recover the deck, this missing piece Gran Flo left us?”
Click here
“But think about what Gran Flo would say. If we’re at the part of the journey that’s the hardest, then we’re also about to learn more than ever before.”
Click here
“Just think about The Hanged Man in the Major Arcana journey,” I continue. When all else fails, Amelia and I have always relied on the tarot to make sense of the senseless. “It’s the place where trials come to test our strength and knowledge.”
“Yeah, but then we also have to think about The Hanged Man’s reversal,” Amelia counters. “Needing to be right. Embracing old ways. Feeling the universe owes you something.”
Listening to Amelia’s argument, my rusted brain begins to stir. All of a sudden it feels good to have some seeds of motivation planted in me again.
“Sure, but what did Gran Flo always say about trust?” I counter right back. “If you can’t trust a person, then you can at least trust in understanding their motivations. If you can figure out what someone wants, then they become predictable. I don’t think we can close ourselves off from possibility because someone did us wrong. That just means we learn to be smarter for next time.”
Amelia raises one eyebrow at me. I can’t blame her—this must sound hypocritical coming from me, human-sized off-switch I’ve become.
“If nothing else, we can try to turn this betrayal into wisdom?” I try. “Besides, if we know now we can’t trust any new people on this trip—hell, if we know we can’t even trust our own emotions—then maybe that’s the exact mindset we need to get the deck back and find the King of Pentacles?”
I feel exhausted from delivering even just this little speech, but maybe that’s because I also feel like maybe I’ve just broken through some internal wall? Unfortunately, Amelia still appears stuck on the other side. Cleo too. Suddenly I feel stupid. Exposed.
Without thinking, I react.
“Fine, whatever. I’m going to this Chills Coven place with or without you.”
“Or maybe I’m wrong? Maybe we should learn our lesson and not repeat our mistakes by going down the same road?”
Click here
Amelia still looks unsure. And why shouldn’t she? I’m not exactly in a place to be offering advice. Still, when all else fails, Amelia and I have always relied on the tarot to make sense of the senseless.
“Okay, then think of the step in the journey that comes after The Hanged Man,” I try. “Think of Death, the card Gran Flo always said was the most misunderstood figure in the entire Major Arcana.”
I take a deep breath, trying to recall the seeds of passion Gran Flo always sowed into her own take on this seemingly ominous card. It feels good scraping off some of the rust collecting on my tin brain.
“If Death is about loss, then it’s about what you lose when your old self dies. If Death represents the end of an era, then its sacrifice might be what’s necessary to bring about a brighter era. Death reminds us that we’re meant to flow into challenges. Forcing against them only keeps us stuck in one place. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to stay stuck in this place. I need to get some closure on something. Anything.”
I feel exhausted from delivering even just this little speech, but maybe that’s because I also feel like maybe I’ve just broken through some internal wall? Unfortunately, Amelia still appears stuck on the other side. Cleo too. Suddenly I feel stupid. Exposed.
Without thinking, I react.
“I’m trying here, Amelia. If I can push through, then you can, too.”
Click here
“I don’t know, maybe I’m just running full speed ahead to keep myself distracted? So I don’t have to stop and face reality?”
Click here
The moment I say these words, I realize how insensitive they are.
“For someone who hasn’t spoken for two days, you suddenly have an awful lot to say,” Amelia snaps back. “And for someone whose feelings we’ve been very sensitive around, you’re being pretty freaking selfish right now. Can you just give me a damn minute?”
“I’m always giving you a minute, Amelia,” I respond on impulse, without thinking. Another half-truth, another insensitivity.
“Like you gave Logan a minute?” Amelia fires. “I’m sorry if my emotions are too messy for you, or if I trust too big and get myself in trouble. But I’ll take that any day over being cold. Over shutting down like a robot.”
Suddenly my emotions wither. I can’t control it. I know I’m about to spew carelessness, like wind rattling the dying leaves off a tree.
Click here
I mean to sound thoughtful, but as soon as the words leave my lips, I can tell they only sound unsure. Insecure.
“Which one is it, Chase?” Amelia sighs, her eyes closing. “Are you going to retreat into yourself or are you going to tell me what’s best? Which is most convenient in Chase’s world right now?”
These words shift something in me, like plates scraping.
“Do you have a problem?” I ask. “Because I’ve only tried to support you this entire trip.”
“Support me or manage me? I can make my own decisions, you know.”
“Yes,” I spit, a crater opening in my chest. “We can see where that’s gotten us.”
Amelia takes my words like a bullet. I hate myself even more for it.
“Well, I’m sorry I know what I want and go for it without apology,” Amelia then fires. “But maybe if you got out of your own head for two minutes, Logan wouldn’t have left either.”
Hearing this, my brain cracks. It’s like a tree trunk snapping in half, buckling under the weight of my collected thoughts. Then, for a furious moment, it’s not just myself I hate.
Click here
“Well, maybe I wouldn’t need to consider everything or make myself small if my best friend didn’t always take up all the air.”
The second I unleash these words, I regret them. I don’t even mean them, not really. At least I don’t think I do. But Amelia doesn’t deserve this, especially with her panic stuff. The last thing I want is to add to her anxiety or push her into an attack. I just feel so… everything, all at once. It’s too much.
“Amelia, I didn’t mean that,” I say quickly. “Really, I just… I’m so messed up over Logan, I can’t see straight.”
“I didn’t mean what I said either,” Amelia offers, her eyes on the floor.
“Well, I was about to tell you both to stop projecting, but it sounds like I don’t need to,” Cleo adds. “The enemy isn’t in this room, that’s for sure. And honestly, I changed my mind. I think Chase has a point.”
Cleo places a hand on Amelia’s shoulder. “We can’t quit now, not when we’ve come this far. So let’s just pack up and get the hell out of here.”
Without thinking, I stand up and hug Cleo. Coming from them, this means the world. Amelia then stands and hugs me, too. We both know we just got caught in the crossfire because we’re the ones here, the ones who showed up, the ones who stayed. I know we took it out on each other because we love each other, not the other way around.
Still, our hug feels a little stiff. Maybe because I don’t think what either Amelia or I said was completely wrong? I don’t know what that means for us moving forward, but moving forward is all I can think to do right now. So once Amelia releases me, I run up to my room.
I begin to pack on autopilot, my mind still numbed and racing at the same time. Thoughts populate themselves, sprouting like weeds as my hands move. Until I touch something that finally stops me cold in my tracks. I don’t know how I didn’t find it earlier, but there it is, tucked in a side pocket of my duffel bag…
Logan’s fidget spinner. His externalized mantra, the piece of him he carries with him everywhere he goes—until now. He must have put it in my bag before he left.
It’s only one small thing, the spinner I now hold in my hand, but it contains a multitude of meanings. Just like that first day in Maggie’s shop, I feel overwhelmed by the emotional weight of the object. Finding this token of Logan might be a single crack, but it’s enough to shatter me.
I cry then, for the first time since Logan left.
I don’t stop until I am emptied of everything that had been brimming over. It aches through my body, but when it’s done, when my eyes sting and my throat feels raw, I realize that’s the thing about being empty. Something in me may have just died…
But maybe that just means I’m due for a rebirth?
It’s a short drive, but by the time we pull up in front of Chills Coven, Logan is already back on my mind. I thought my little breakdown and breakthrough would extend the relief, but being back inside the familiar walls of Charvan, it’s like I can feel Logan’s presence in the driver’s seat. The thought that I might never get to press my nose into Logan’s neck again, might never touch his skin again, it makes my lungs close up. The thought of someone else getting to do all that instead…
It’s still a notion too painful to touch. I can only test its limits, like probing a fresh cut. I suppose it’s true that healing isn’t linear, that it happens in fits and bursts. At least the difference, after today, is the radical notion that I might actually be able to heal over time. Still, I know I need to try my best to tuck all of this away for now, because the obsessing isn’t helping. And now I’m not the only one traveling with a broken heart.
So as we park Charvan, I let my fingers run over Logan’s fidget spinner, which I stashed in my pocket. Feeling its corners, I let myself pretend I am a boy fully healed. After all, we decided that if we had any shot of recovering the deck here, we couldn’t reveal our true selves. On the drive over, we actually all discussed our ideal aliases. Cleo immediately went with Janelle, their pansexual, nonbinary, and impeccably styled idol. Amelia went with Jamie-Lee, the reigning queen of Halloween horror. As usual, I couldn’t settle on something straightforward. Eventually I decided on Apollo, the Greek god of knowledge and the protector of the young, but also the god of disease and heali
ng. The name stands for an entire contradictory spectrum—just like my brain.
Getting out of Charvan, Amelia and I turn to each other to steal one last private moment. We nod knowingly, probably thinking the same thing: This is a perfect day to pretend we’re not ourselves.
“How’s your panic doing?” I ask. I know Amelia normally hates when I do, because drawing attention to it doesn’t usually help. But I’d say our current circumstances qualify as extenuating.
“I’m fine,” she answers as we enter Chills Coven. “Let’s just get this done.”
“Um, is it just me,” Cleo begins, “or is this place kind of amazing?”
I take in the space myself, and I can’t argue. We found the Monterey location for Chills Coven online, but we weren’t sure what to expect. What we find is something that looks like one part trendy coworking space, one part cozy coffee shop, and one part botanical garden. In the back there’s a neon script sign that reads: WHERE SCIENCE MEETS SPELLCRAFT.
The Coven is clearly set up to be multifunctional and accommodate lots of patrons, but this early afternoon only three people are present, all huddled together around a long table. They are occupied by a rolling chalkboard, which contains all kinds of numbers and lists—and one phrase written at the top.
The King of Pentacles. Bingo.
“We have customers,” one of the three says, breaking their concentration. The other two look our way, and they all stand to greet us.
“Sorry, it’s been a slow day,” says the first to arrive, a young woman with flowers tucked into her long black hair. “I’m Supriya, and this is Sherwin and Rowe.”
Major Detours Page 18