by Tara Wylde
It’s him, it’s Nick, from two nights ago. Bad, not good, so not good! He must’ve followed me, and how weird is—
“Hey, there.”
Nope. No way. Shutting this down. I stick out my chin and cross my arms across my chest. “What do you want?”
He gives me a smile he probably thinks is disarming. “Ah...borscht?”
Ugh. “It’s borshch. And you can’t have it. The soup of the day’s kislye shchi.”
“You’ve got me at rather a—“
“It’s sour cabbage. Want it?” He can flash me that butter-wouldn’t-melt smile all he wants. This shit is stalking. How’d he even—
He’s holding up my coat.
Oh.
Egg on my face. But a little on his face, too: who just shows up?
“Sorry,” he says. “I know this looks strange. But I figured you might need this, and the address was in your pocket....”
Right. Okay. Still.... “You could’ve called.” Too harsh? He is kinda doing me a favor. “You’re...kind of lacking elbow awareness right now.”
He holds up his hands. His eyes are twinkling, like he’s holding back a laugh. “To be fair, I did try calling. Some angry guy slammed the phone down so hard my ear’s still ringing. Guess you didn’t get the message?”
That...does sound like Vanya. Fine. This might not be totally creepy. “You should have the pelmeni.” I try a conciliatory smile. “It’s basically ravioli. Really popular.”
“Sit with me. Just for a second.”
So, this guy was never a waiter. “I’ve got six other tables.”
“Meet me after, then. When’d you get off?”
“Four, but I’ve class right after.” I glance over my shoulder. No-one’s trying to get my attention yet. “Look, I’m not blowing you off. It’s just, y’know, lunch rush, and... You really caught me by surprise. I have kind of a history with guys showing up unannounced.”
“Yeah, I might not have thought this all the way through.” He at least has the grace to look sheepish. “What about tomorrow? I’ll come to you. Wherever you want.”
Tomorrow—Joey’s got a checkup in the morning, and I need to get to the bank at some point, but.... “The Aquatic House at the Botanic Garden. I can be there at one.”
Nick breaks out in a genuine smile. “Oh, I’ve been wanting to check that out. Orchids, right?”
“Water lilies too.”
“It’s a date.” He ventures a wink. I’m not sure whether to be charmed or irritated. His confidence certainly appealed to me in the back of his car. And I can’t say he seems threatening.
“A date, then.” I finally take my coat. “Thanks for bringing this back. I looked pretty stupid rocking three cardigans on the bus this morning.”
“Hey, I have it from a reliable source that women’s clothing is all about layering.”
“Yeah....” My look of disapproval’s somehow twisted itself into a grin. “I’ll be back with your lunch.”
I catch myself wiggling my ass just a little, as I walk away.
The rest of the day drags like nobody’s business: having something to look forward to makes it worse, not better. I keep spacing out, having to write down orders I’ve taken a million times before. Vanya yells at me twice. Threatens to report my woolgathering to my mother. She had to go and marry him.
Class is no better: all I can think about is whether Nick meant a date-date, or if it’ll end up being the “So...that was a horrible mistake” conversation.
It wasn’t... Was it?
Nick could’ve let me down easy right there in the dining room, returned my coat and walked out of my life. He wouldn’t have to see me again if there weren’t...more.
I think I want there to be more.
I’m still mulling over the possibilities when I stumble home after sunset. Joey’s already in his PJs, and the babysitter’s crashed out on the stack of cushions where our couch used to be. I’ve already paid her and sent her on her way when I notice the thermostat’s cranked to seventy-two. What is this, a sauna? I’ll have to talk to her about that.
“Joey, honey?”
“Yeah, Mommy?”
“Have a good time with Maria?”
“We made hand turkeys and watched TV on her phone.”
Not sure I like the sound of that. “What’d you watch?”
“Difficult People.”
Are you kidding me?
“It was boring.” Joey starts going through my purse. Doesn’t take him long to find the Junior Mints I left him. “Can I have these?”
“Yes—but next time Maria wants to watch TV, you find something else to do, okay?”
“Yeah...can I get a 3DS?”
At, what, $200 a pop? Ha, ha...ugh. “Those things are bad for your eyes. How about...a coloring book?”
“No....”
“One of those piano things like Emin’s got?”
“Yeah!” He mimes banging on a keyboard...with a fair bit of force. Maybe not the quietest idea. Hopefully, he’ll forget I offered.
“Okay—Mommy’ll see what she can do. Don’t eat all those mints before bed.”
“How many can I eat?”
“Five. You can have the rest tomorrow, after you’ve been a good boy for the doctor.”
I stretch out on the warm spot Maria left on the cushions. Feels great to get off my feet. Joey climbs all over me and feeds me a Junior Mint. Wish I had that kind of energy.
I find myself drifting in and out of sleep. Joey’s heavy in my arms. Someone’s playing country music a floor below us. It’s still too warm. I feel like a lizard on a rock, sleepy and sunlogged. When I come to my senses, Joey’s dribbled chocolate goo down the front of my Griboyedov Café uniform.
Add laundry to my to-do list.
I manage to get Joey’s teeth brushed and tuck him into bed without waking him up all the way. He barely manages a sleepy “’Night, Mommy,” when I turn off the light.
I’d like to hit the sack myself, but I spend the next hour and a half on the fire escape with a toothbrush and a bottle of white wine vinegar, scrubbing the rust off Joey’s bike. Most of the original paintjob comes with it. I pack it in when my fingers are too numb to hold the brush. Few more nights of this, I’ll be ready to paint. Then, I just need to keep Joey from peeking out the window till Christmas.
I’m just congratulating myself when I see it: a tiny orange light on the stove.
Fuck. Holy shitting motherhumping fuckfuckfuck.
The lower right element’s on—barely on, like I must’ve spun it just shy of the click—but on nonetheless.
No wonder it’s so hot in here. How long...when’d I last...? This morning? Last night? How’s the place still standing?
I creep up like the hot element’s going to jump up and burn me. The snap of it finally switching off seems impossibly loud: how did I not notice its absence?
I sink to the floor and sit with my head in my hands, listening to the ticks and creaks of the cooling element. This is what happens when I get distracted. This is what happens when I let myself drift, even for a second. Joey doesn’t have anyone else. I can’t be...can’t be—
“Gotta do better.”
I spend the time I’d meant to spend studying going over the kitchen, the bathroom, the child locks, looking for anything out of place, anything that could be a problem. I find a loose nail under the sink, a carton of expired milk in the fridge, and half a bottle of antifreeze I don’t remember buying. It’s on a high shelf, but I toss it anyway.
I go to bed feeling like shit. No, worse: like a terrible mother.
I’m standing Nick up tomorrow. He’s one more luxury I can’t afford.
Nick
Go in. Talk to her.
She’s serving heaping plates of—beef stroganoff?—to an elderly couple dripping with Old World elegance. They’re laughing, definitely at something she’s said. She’s smiling too. Relaxed. In her element.
C’mon. It’s not like she really stood you up.
She had to work. She didn’t have your number. She’s probably hoping you’ll show up.
Lina leans in conspiratorially and says something that has the geezers in hysterics. The old lady’s still snickering into her handkerchief long after Lina’s retreated to the kitchen.
She was never like that with me—never that effortless, at ease.
She’s got a life, and I’m horning in on it. Kidding myself. The other night, that was—hell, maybe she was having a bad day too. Maybe we were both after any port in a storm, and now she’s waiting for me to figure it out and fuck off. Well, this is me. Fucking off. Off I fuck.
My feet aren’t moving.
Lina comes out of the kitchen again. She’s got a tray of glasses brim-full of some kind of bright red drink. It’s not even sloshing as she walks. Bet she’s an amazing dancer. We could’ve—
I spin on my heel. The longer I linger, the harder it’ll be to walk away.
I make it all the way to the end of the block. There’s a weird, narrow storefront I didn’t notice before, hung with carpets and sparkling crystals, screening off whatever’s inside. Got to be some kind of New Age joint: there’s a sandwich board chained out front, with a crystal ball and tarot cards painted on it. There’s one word underneath, printed in stark block letters: FATE.
If that’s not a sign, what is?
I don’t believe in signs.
I turn around anyway. Fate, desire, loneliness—who cares? Worst she can do is kick me out. Or have that angry guy do it, I suppose. Whatever. I can take rejection.
Lina spots me right away this time. I’d hoped her expression would tell me everything I need to know, but she’s flashing me the customer-service smile. At least she comes right over.
“Nick! I’d ask what I can get you, but I guess that’d be an explanation.”
Well, she’s not outright hostile this time. That’s an improvement. I slap on my best confident grin. “Think I got that covered: like an idiot, I didn’t give you my number, so you couldn’t call and cancel when you had to cover this shift.” I add a little brow-waggle. “Somewhere in the ballpark?”
She nods. “Couldn’t have put it better myself. Still, I do feel bad enough to feed you on the house. You can even have that borshch today.”
Admitting I’m not a hundred percent sure what borshch even is, that it’s the only Russian dish I could name off the top of my head, doesn’t seem like a great idea. Besides, I’ll probably like it. The thing I had yesterday was great. “Yeah, sure—let’s have that. And a raincheck? After your shift? Probably too late for the gardens, but we could still....”
Lina’s brow furrows. Here it comes: the awkward brushoff, made worse by the fact that I’ve now committed to lunch. “Uh...can I get back to you on that when I bring out your food? Gotta check with my—check how late they need me.”
“Oh, yeah. Definitely. Take your time.”
The borshch proves to be a thick red soup with a dollop of sour cream swirled in. Not bad at all. Comfort food for a cold day. And the raincheck’s a go—even better.
She meets me outside at quarter past four. She’s changed out of her uniform, into a long-sleeved green dress that looks so warm I’m tempted to go in for a hug. But something tells me to use my words. Feels like there might be an elephant or two haunting the room.
“So, the other night....”
Lina shakes her head. “Could we save that for later? I thought... Let’s do something fun first. On me.”
“What’d you have in mind?”
She looks around. “Well, you’ve already eaten, so....” Her gaze lights on the fortune teller’s sign. “You know, I’ve been working here three years, walking by that place every day, and never gone in. Wanna get our palms read, or our cards, or whatever?”
Got to admit I’m curious. “Sure.”
I’m pleasantly surprised when she slips her hand into mine for the short walk. It had crossed my mind she might’ve said yes to avoid having to serve me after turning me down—but no one holds hands to be polite.
The fortune teller’s shop’s pretty much what I expected: kind of musty and Halloweeny, with shelves upon shelves of woo-woo nonsense. There are crystals and brass bells, animal skeletons, shriveled things in jars, books that look like they might’ve been new when the printing press came out, and more carpets and beads hanging from every wall and rafter. A massive crystal ball dominates the room. It’s lit from below, presumably to give it a magical air.
Lina nudges me, jerking her head to one side. I turn to look, and come face to face with—
“Shit! Is that...?”
“Hope not!”
Because... It looks like a shrunken head.
“It’s gotta be fake.” Lina’s shrinking against me, like she doesn’t want to be anywhere near it.
Bells tinkle in the depths of the store. A sweet-looking middle-aged lady comes out. Apart from the rings weighing down every single one of her fingers, she’s dressed kind of boringly, for the surroundings. “Ah—admiring Horace?”
She named the thing?
“It’s really....” Lina catches my eye, like, a little help?
“Fascinating,” I finish.
The lady takes a seat at the table, and starts shuffling a deck of cards. “Couples reading?”
We exchange glances.
“Sounds good,” I say. A second later, it hits me—what if she gives us a terrible reading? Even if Lina doesn’t believe in this stuff any more than I do, that kind of thing tends to stick. Like when you meet someone with a doofy name, and forever think of them as a dork or a goofoff, no matter how serious they are.
“So, what do we do?” Lina’s already taken her seat. Nothing to do but follow suit.
“Shuffle the cards three times each. Think of a question, but keep it to yourself.”
Right. Sounds simple enough. While Lina’s concentrating on the deck, I shoot the fortune-teller a look, like make it a good one, or else! She stares back impassively. Fantastic.
It occurs to me to try to stack the deck, somehow—at least keep the Death card out of the mix. I’ve read enough horror books to know it’s in there somewhere, biding its time, getting ready to laugh in my face.
Before I can so much as sneak a peek at the top card, the deck’s being snatched from my hands. Maybe it’s not too late to grab Lina’s hand, run out of here—would that look totally psycho?
Okay, stall. Say something. “What’s your name?”
“Floria.” She lays out five cards in an X shape, face down.
“Oh, is that—“
“Ssh.” Floria turns over the first two cards. No Death. Well, that’s—
“The Five and the Nine of Pentacles.” She points at Lina, then at me. “You’ve lost everything. You’ve built everything from nothing.”
That cannot be what it says.
“You—“ She’s on Lina again. “You thought you’d found everything you could want, only to see it revealed as illusion. Your burden is great. Debt and obligation stoop your shoulders. You can only see the light at the end of the tunnel when the sun is up... And for you, it’s been a long, long night.”
Maybe I can derail this with a joke. “What about moonlight?”
Floria stabs her finger at me. “And you! You’ve fed your hunger, but you can’t forget what it’s like to starve. You should be on top of the world, but all your passion, all your self-denial, have only got you nine-tenths of the way. There’s a void at the heart of it all.”
She’s...not totally wrong.
“Next card!” She flips it over with a thwip. “This one’s for both of you: the Seven of Swords. So much unsaid between you! Everyone has their dark places, but you—what do you think you’re protecting? Grasp the nettle, or see the weight of those secrets break your backs!”
“Hey, now! That’s—“
“And your last two cards represent the keys to
your future. Turn them over yourselves.”
I’m tempted to refuse, but Lina’s already flipped hers. There it is: the fucking Death card, like my obsession summoned it to the top of the deck. Mine shows a hand holding a sword.
“Death, and the Ace of Swords, reversed. Transformation or chaos; a new beginning or a confusing end. It’s quite clear: if you don’t know what you want, you won’t stand a chance of getting it. You can confront your secrets and stride forth together, or go round in circles and lose your spark. And it is quite a spark; that would be a shame.”
“Wait—was Death the good card, out of those two?”
“It signifies unavoidable change—the shedding of the superficial, the unnecessary, that which is holding you back.”
“And the other one?”
Floria waggles her finger at both of us. Her rings sparkle in the glow of the crystal ball. “Lack of clarity. Forty dollars.”
The shift in subject’s so abrupt I don’t think to go for my wallet till I see Lina fishing out a couple of bills.
“No—forty dollars from you.” Floria’s looking me dead in the eye. “Weren’t the cards clear enough?”
I feel myself turning bright red. I was going to pay! Worst fortune-teller ever! Couldn’t she have said we’d have two kids, a Golden Retriever, and a house by a stream? Would that’ve been so hard?
Lina seems to be finding the whole thing hysterical. She’s barely reining in her laughter as she ducks under the hanging beads in the doorway. “Tell us something we didn’t know, eh?”
“Huh?” I’m glad she’s not taking it hard, but I’m still kind of reeling.
“Well, I mean, she went straight for the low-hanging fruit, didn’t she?” She ticks the points off on her fingers. “One—my coat was nice when I bought it, but it’s seen better days. Yours is a new Brioni. So my star’s falling; yours is rising. Two—we had to look at each other before we agreed to a couples reading. So we don’t know each other that well. Obviously, there’s going to be secrets. We haven’t had time to tell each other much of anything, let alone everything. So—shocker!—we should see more of each other. What’s that, cold reading 101?”
Can’t argue with any of that. “Still. I felt judged. Didn’t you feel judged?”