by Kristi Rose
“I hear this woman is the best.”
“Oh yeah? Who’s the reliable source? The internet?”
“Jayne.” I reach for the front door, but he beats me to it and opens it, gesturing for me to precede him.
The house has not been renovated to become an office but instead still holds the original layout. The door opens into a large foyer with stairs and a large desk that sits across the hallway, blocking anyone from trespassing into the back space. Two rooms sit parallel from each other, one is open with seating, and the other is closed off by sliding wood doors.
A hipster-looking guy sits at the front desk. He puts the paperback he’s reading aside and beams at me through his thick-lensed, black-rimmed glasses. Well, at my chest. “Can I help you?” he asks my breasts.
“Yes, we both want a reading. Can you schedule that?”
“Yes,” he says without looking away. “Madame Monica will be available in a few moments. Let me get some information from you. Like your name and phone number.” He pulls a pen from the desk drawer, his smile never wavering.
“I’m Josie and this is Brinn—”
“And why do you need our number?” Brinn steps up behind me and places a territorial hand around my waist.
“Oh...ah...I...well, in case you wanted to step out and get a coffee, I’d then be able to call you when Madame Monica is free.” His eyes go large behind his lenses as he looks between us.
“We’ll wait here. You said it would only be a few minutes anyway, right?” Suddenly, Brinn’s in charge.
He nods.
“Might as well not take the chance by leaving and maybe missing our opportunity with Madame Monica.” He steers me from the front desk with an arm still around my waist and pulls me down onto the love seat, forgoing the large couch and individual chairs.
I bump him with my shoulder and arch a brow. “Something bother you, McRae?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says while continuing to stare down the hipster.
Across the hall, the double sliding doors come open with a bang and a woman with crazy curly hair stands in the opening. I assume she’s Madame Monica. She’s not dressed as I imagined a psychic would be; I suppose I expected flowy clothes and several bracelets clanging together with her every movement. Instead, she wears jeans so tight they accentuate her front butt, a leopard print tank top, and sneakers. She’s older and overly tanned.
One might think she’d have known to avoid the sun, as a psychic, but then maybe she knows something the rest of us don’t. The skin around her lips wrinkles in a perpetual pucker, already anticipating the next draw from a cigarette. As if reading my mind, she lifts an electronic cigarette, inhales long and slow before she blows out a puff of vapor smoke that smells like peach Schnapps.
“You two, in here.” With the flick of her long, fleshy index finger, she commands us into action.
My heart leaps into my throat. I really didn’t think this through. What if she sees something I have no business knowing? For the first time in a long while, I’m glad I’m not alone.
Blindly, I reach for Brinn’s hand. Only when mine’s cradled in his do I stand.
“What’s the matter, Ms. Fearless?” he whispers in my ear. “Afraid to know what tomorrow holds?”
“Who wouldn’t be?” I suck it up and tug him toward the room.
After closing the sliding doors with another resounding boom, Madame Monica gestures for us to sit at the cushioned dining chairs, which flank the only other piece of furniture in the room. Cigarette burns scar the large round table and I wonder which the table has seen more of, dinner or the future. The lighting is low and has a yellowish glow.
“So we can do a tarot card reading, I can look at your palm, or I can try to get a spiritual reading. You can also have all three if you want. Who wants to go first?” Madame Monica lights an incense cone and waves the smoke around with her hand. She sits across the table and waits for us to answer.
“Him.” I point.
“Made you come, did she?” Madame Monica’s voice is rough from years of smoking. “I’ll make this as painless as possible for ya.” She grabs Brinn’s right hand and holds it in both of hers.
“For you, we’ll just try and get a simple reading. Just some basic questions, nothing more, and we’ll stay within the limits you’re comfortable. What’s your name?” She closes her eyes and massages her thumbs into his palm.
“Brinn.” He clears his throat.
“Brinn. Yes.” She takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out. She does this two more times.
“Brinn,” she says. “It’s not been easy for you but you should be proud of yourself. Damn proud.” She opens her eyes and looks at him. He shifts in his seat.
She continues, “There’ll be little you’ll not be able to overcome. But life will get much easier with the right partner.” She closes her eyes and takes in more deep breaths in the series of three.
Brinn gives me a sideways glance followed by a short-lived smirk.
“Brinn,” she says again as if we wouldn’t know who she is talking too if she doesn’t say his name. “You’re at a fork in the road. Both paths look appealing and rewarding. I see that you’re hoping to be able to do both and use one as a safety net.” She shakes her head. “But what you don’t see is that there is a third path, and if you can find your way to that path, you’ll find all of your dreams will come true. You’ve paid the price with your childhood and the rewards wait for you now. If you choose correctly.”
“Young Jedi.” I finish for her.
She opens her eyes and levels a stare at me. “I beg your pardon?”
“If you choose correctly, young Jedi.” I make my smile megawatt. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist.”
Following the smallest of glares, she returns her attention to Brinn and his hand. “I see an office and on the wall are pictures. Pictures of lots of planes. I see your name on the door and no one else’s.” She gives him a twisted little smile, drops his hand and then pulls out her cigarette, takes a puff, and blows the smoke over her shoulder.
She leans toward him, squints, and says, “It’s OK to show the world what’s written on your heart. Oh, and happy birthday, son.” She squints, her way of smiling I suppose, and pats his hand three times.
I toss back my head and laugh. I couldn’t have scripted a better reading. Unable to resist, I grab his forearm, lean across, and kiss his cheek.
“That was wonderful. I swear I didn’t mention it to anyone that it’s your birthday. My turn, please. My name’s Josie.” I offer up my hand.
Madame Monica stares at me, clearly still displeased with my Jedi comment. Finally she picks up my hand and does the three-breath ritual, her thumbs digging into my palm.
She sits back. “Wow. So much. I’m not quite sure where to start with you because the question isn’t as obvious as it was for your friend.” Again with the breaths before she continues. “Time is irrelevant. You should not put off what is your heart’s truest desire because you think the timing isn’t right.” Madame Monica tilts her head and closes her eyes tighter. There is no sound but our breathing then the psychic sighs heavily and shakes her head.
“I’m sorry. I can’t pick one thing. There’s too much. It’s beautiful and heartbreaking. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing to be worried about, but I’m unable to pinpoint down one specific area to get a good read.” She opens her eyes and stares at me. Inadvertently, I sit up straighter and think of my brother.
“Ah, there it is.” Madame Monica smiles. “This is your path. But know that things are not as they seem. Don’t be like...like a....” Madame Monica tilts her head. “Like a...bunny.” She pats my hand three times and lets go.
“A bunny?” Is she fucking kidding with this shit?
“Yes, a bunny. Rabbit.”
Brinn and I exchange a look. I’m about to ask Madame Monica for further explanation when she takes three long drags fro
m her electric cigarette and blows them out in a puff of rings.
“That is, I think, about all you two can handle. Enjoy your birthday.” She gestures for us to get out.
We say our thanks and are at the door when she says, “And Josie, call your momma. All your questions could be answered. She’s no longer mad.”
“As if,” I say. “If that were true then she can call me.” I pivot and exit the room. After paying hipster doofus at the desk, I grab Brinn’s hand and we walk out.
Chapter 15
Our hands fit together like meant-to-be-coupled puzzle pieces. Everything about being with this guy is easy. For the first time I wonder what staying in Daytona would look like.
“Want to walk the strip before we leave?” I gesture to the surrounding stores.
“Sure.” He shrugs.
With my other hand, I take a puff from my imaginary cigarette and raise one brow. “But which way? There’s a fork in the road but there are three paths.” He steers me toward the stores closest to us.
“Do you see anything in my future about bunnies?” He waves his hands in front of his face, pretending to whisk away the imaginary smoke.
I drop the act. “What the hell does that mean? Stop being a bunny? What a crock of shit.”
“Were you thinking of posing for Playboy?”
“No.” I let go of his hand to swat his arm. “Maybe it means I should stop having sex.” I purse my lips, trying to hold back the laughter.
“That’s just wrong.” He shakes his head emphatically. “She’s stupid. No one should ever stop having sex and certainly not you. Ever. And never stop having sex with me.”
“Maybe I’m going to use up all of my sex drive and ten years from now when I’ll really need it, I’ll be flat broke. Washed up. Dried up.” I try to sound panicky for added emphasis.
“I think she didn’t know what to say there at the end. She made that up.”
“Maybe she’s crazy? What was that business about showing the world what’s written on your heart?” I throw the fake cigarette to the ground and grind it with my toe. Brinn laughs and wraps an arm around my shoulder as we cross the street.
“I have no idea. What about calling your mom?” he asks as we peer into the window of a bookstore.
I slide my arm around his waist. “I haven’t spoken to my mom in about a year.” Why bother pussyfooting around it? Bring on the questions.
“Really? Why not.”
I move to stand in front of him. “You see...I ....” How do I say it? “Twice now I was headed for the altar and bailed. The second guy she didn’t like or, should I say, approve of. You think she’d just be relieved that I didn’t go through with it, but not my mom. My mom is angry that I left Max at the altar. She’s upset that I got engaged to this artist, she’s angry that she found out because my brother saw it on Facebook, and really fucking pissed off that I made a spectacle of our family name, once again, by dumping him on the way to Vegas a few days before the event.” I watch the questions cross Brinn’s face. His eyebrows shoot up higher with each incident until they nearly reach his hairline.
“You’d actually get married in Vegas?” He smiles.
I laugh. “I like you. You’re all right.” I know he wants to ask more but he doesn’t and I appreciate that. It’s not a story for the sidewalk in a tourist town.
“Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.” He leans forward, gently swiping his lips across mine. It’s spontaneous and sweet and makes me want him more.
“Even though I have a potty mouth?” I say, using my sassiest two-snaps-girlfriend tone and bobbing my head for emphasis.
“It’s shocking sometimes. But hell, watching you take a guy out is too, so there’s that.” He shrugs.
“So guys are the only ones who are supposed to cuss? Like there’s a language for women and language for men? Language discrimination.”
We walk along the sidewalk, purposefully bumping each other every few steps.
“I know it’s a gender bias. I get that. But sometimes men like to have some things to themselves.”
“So you want curse words? You have a penis. We don’t have penises. That’s not enough?” I drag him into a shop of stones and crystals.
“Dammit, I dunno, and I’ve a feeling this conversation is gonna get me in trouble with the bunny in you.”
I laugh. “Seriously, what is it though?”
“Maybe the Neanderthal in me doesn’t like it. It can be unattractive.”
“So because I have a potty mouth, the attraction you feel for me is somehow diminished?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” He rubs his brow with the palm of his hand and shakes his head.
“What?” I ask as I step into his space.
He leans closer to me, his face mere inches from mine. His breath on my lips. “Can you imagine? What if my attraction is diminished somewhat? What would our sex be like if that wasn’t the case?” He’s wearing a shit-eating grin. “Just think of all the things I could make happen for you. Like multiple orgasms. Oh, wait. I’ve already done that.”
We stare into each other’s eyes. I’m reliving every single touch and in those seconds they cumulate into a rush of sweet and unlocked desire. My knees threaten to buckle as I watch his eyes turn a darker green and his pupils dilate. I know he’s thinking of us together. When I place my hand on his chest, his body vibrates beneath my palm.
“I suppose in the interest of science I should consider giving up naughty words for a few weeks. See what happens,” I whisper.
“Science would be appreciative, though I bet there’re some ‘naughty’ words that would be OK.”
His lips brush against mine, lightly at first and then again with more urgency. I grab his shirt and kiss him hard and fast, our tongues entwined. I push him away with the same force and step out of his space. Throwing him down in a store is not on my list of planned events.
“Mm.” I lick my lips then scan the counter for a lifeline. My gaze settles on onyx colored stones. “I should also grab some of these.” I scoop up a handful of loose hematite stones because they’re supposed to stimulate sexual energy. “In case this flame fades. Maybe they’ll help preserve some of my sexual energy for the future, just in case I bunny it all out now.” I want to crawl into this man’s skin and stay there until I’ve had my fill.
“Jesus,” he whispers. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Oh no, you don’t. I’ve got plans for us.”
“I do too, and I bet mine would make us both feel real good. Nice and relaxed.” He steps toward me but I step back.
“No, we’re sticking to the plan. It’s not every day you have a birthday.”
He shakes his head and scrubs his palms down his face. “I’ll meet you outside.” Before turning to leave, he tugs at his shorts. I quickly pay and find him leaning against my car.
We drive back to Daytona and spend the afternoon on the boardwalk playing arcade games like skeet ball, trying to squelch our current of sexual desire. Instead, we channel it into the competitive streak we discover we each have, get roped into a few games of beach volleyball outside the Deck, and walk along the beach enjoying the warm ocean water. We avoid talking about the psychic and spend the energy on more enlightening conversation such as our favorite foods and movies. To my relief, I find he doesn’t have a shellfish allergy and, with what I hope is a covert text to Jayne, move forward with my plans for the evening.
I drive him to my place where, thanks to Jayne, a picnic awaits us, including a birthday cake. The hurricane lamps glow, and the kaleidoscope colors of the setting sun are our backdrop.
Jayne’s placed a beautiful linen cloth and the tableware from my kitchen on the table. Two candles, a bucket of chilling champagne, and two covered dishes are out. She’s pulled it off better than I imagined. I probably owe her my kidney or something, but it’s a nice way to cap off his birthday. We’ve done something silly that he would never do, a fun day playing
games—the dream of any kid—and the adult nice dinner out.
Brinn looks down at a side table that holds the cake. “You got me an airplane shaped cake?” Amazement and joy cover his face.
“Mmm. I wasn’t sure if you like chocolate or vanilla, so it’s strawberry. I’m told a Publix buttercream cake can’t be beat.” Apparently the grocery chain is famous for their frosting.
“It can’t. Wait until you try it.” His eyes are alight with pleasure as he looks from me to the cake.
“Well then, by all means, let’s eat so we can get down to the cake.” I gesture to the table with our food.
I light the candles before I lift the covers from the dishes. The full yet subtle aroma of creamy sauce and lobster greets us.
“That smells good. Lobster, right? Is that what all the shellfish questions were about?” He helps me into my chair and as he pushes my chair in, his hand grazes mine, leaving my skin tingling from the touch.
“Mainly yes, but it was nice getting to know you better. Like yesterday at the bar, I wasn’t sure what you would want to drink. You ordered a pilsner the first time I saw you and a Guinness last night, but that might have been a one-time thing. I like learning about you.”
“What were you going to serve if I had a shellfish allergy?” He’s done with his lobster and already eyeballing mine.
“I don’t know, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? I was leaving that part to Jayne. She’s the one that helped me set this up.”
A quiet moment passes between us. He lightly places the utensils across his plate before clearing his throat.
He asks softly, “Is it hard?”
I’m caught off guard and I look around, wondering what he’s referring to.
“I’m sorry?”
“Leaving. Making friends with people and purposefully leaving. Is it hard?”
Unsure of my answer, I take a sip of my wine instead and roll the question over, revisiting the memories of the last two years.