3. August
AUGUST
My aunt’s inspiring speech aside, I had no intention of signing on for Daphne’s “follow my horoscope for a year” nonsense, though I did eventually decide to do the sabbatical, albeit with a compromise: I’d take the standard academic year off, but only after I finished the summer courses I’d committed to. Students had already filled the roster for those well ahead of my tenure rejection. I hadn’t wanted to punish them for my failure.
So today, two months into the summer session, I’d start the same way I have every workday this summer: waiting in line for my vanilla latte between classes.
But in the near future?
I’ll have a lot of time on my hands.
In the meantime?
I read my horoscope as I wait for my coffee.
Not because I’m going to turn it into a yearlong soul journey or anything.
And yet, a full four months after my conversation with Lillian and Daphne, I’ve found myself opening the Zodiac Zone app Daphne had suggested. Out of curiosity, and only curiosity, mind you.
I have to admit: the more often I read it, the more I understand it. Not believe it. But I find a certain comfort in feeling like there are some things planned for the day that are way out of my control.
And that all I have to do is follow some instructions on how to navigate my horoscope.
Thanks to Daphne and Google, I’ve learned the proper way to read one’s horoscope is by looking at your ascendant sign, also known as the rising sign. It’s the constellation that was rising on the eastern horizon at the exact time of your birth. For me, that’s Gemini.
If I may put on my scientist hat here for a moment? This sounds a bit like nonsense to me because it’s so very earth centric. It’s a big-ass universe out there, but astrologists would have us believe that our very destiny and personality is determined by what was happening on the eastern horizon on a single planet the moment we were born?
Still, I’ve since learned that the horoscope predictions Daphne had me read that night at Lillian’s house were in fact my rising sign horoscope. And it was more eerily accurate than I’d like to admit.
Even to myself.
Because here’s the thing with me and astrology. As a scientist, not only have I been trained to think such things are nonsense, I’ve preached it. I open the first day of every semester in all of my classes with a call for any and all questions. I make a point to clarify that none are too silly or far-fetched. And as a result, I have never had a single intro to astronomy or cosmos course in which someone hasn’t gathered the courage to ask—usually hopefully—if astrology is real.
To which I have without hesitation asserted:
No. Absolutely not.
I try to soften the blow to the hopeful student as best I can, explaining that thousands of years ago, astrology was absolutely understandable. Early humans would try to make sense of the world around them by what they could see and observe: the constellations and planets in our own solar system.
But we know so much more now. We know that our solar system is one of thousands in a galaxy that is one of hundreds of billions of galaxies. And that’s just in the observable universe.
So, does any part of me think that the location of the constellations and planets at the day and time of my birth have any bearing on the events of my life?
I just can’t believe that. I just can’t .
But sometimes? I want to. I want to be like Daphne, who believes not just in astrology, but in all the stuff. Numerology. Astral projection. The power of crystals.
And if you’re wondering how someone who believes in vortexes became best friends with someone who reads the Journal of Applied Physics … me, too.
But according to Daphne, our meeting was simply part of the universe’s master plan. We were twenty when we met. I’d been in the midst of getting my first doctorate, and Daphne had been putting herself through design school by waitressing at my favorite café studying spot. Somewhere between her slipping me free pieces of apple pie she knew I couldn’t resist and me giving input on her latest project, we’d just sort of felt meant for each other, in a sisterly kind of way. As though we each existed to plug a hole in the other person’s life.
Because I’d skipped ahead several years in school and had begun my undergrad at sixteen instead of the usual eighteen, I’d always been younger than my classmates, and thus didn’t have any solid, lasting friendships. Daphne’s closest childhood friend had recently relocated to Seattle, and as she’d put it, she missed having “a loved one’s life to meddle with.”
So she’d begun to meddle with mine. And even though this has meant that I now know way more about angel numbers and tarot than I ever thought possible, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
So here I am. Pulling up my horoscope.
Just for fun.
In matters of the heart, keep your senses sharp today, darling Gemini. A chance meeting with a charming stranger could lead to a romantic encounter beyond your wildest dreams. This person may seem like a knight in shining armor, ready to swoop in and save the day, even as they nudge your life in a new direction.
“Fantastic,” I mutter, slipping my phone back into my bag. “I’ll be sure and secure a wedding venue right away.”
“Morning, Dr. Reed,” says Eric, the smiling barista whose shift always aligns with my schedule. “Usual?”
“Please,” I say as I pay with my Starbucks app and add a tip.
Eric glances over his shoulder toward his fellow employees, then leans forward. “How about a cake pop? On the house.”
I blink. “Oh. Well. Sure. Do I look depressed or something?”
He grins. “Nah. Just sort of felt like offering.”
“Well, thanks. I feel like accepting.”
I’m taking the free treat when something occurs to me. “Hey, would you call this a knight-in-shining-armor situation?”
He tilts his head. “Sorry?”
“Nothing, never mind.” I shake my head.
Eric is handsome, in a cute-but- way -too-young-for-me kind of way. He’s also not a stranger.
Sorry, horoscope. I tried.
A couple of minutes later, I walk out of Starbucks with latte in hand. It’s started to rain, which I hadn’t counted on. I don’t have an umbrella or a hood, but I do have good crosswalk luck, and am able to cross Lafayette without having to stand in the rain. And as I approach Broadway, the light is again in my favor.
I’m just stepping into the crosswalk when I hear the blare of a car horn from way too close, and I turn my head to see a taxi barreling through a red light without slowing down. It’s hurtling toward me faster than I can move, but the same second I realize I’m about to get hit, I’m pulled backward with so much force my latte splatters to the ground.
“Hey! What an asshole !” a pedestrian yells.
I’m inclined to agree, but my heart’s beating too hard at the near catastrophe.
“You okay?” a male voice asks from directly behind me.
I turn toward him and realize two things at once: he must have been the one to pull me out of harm’s way, and he’s… perfect.
I’ve always liked to say that I don’t have a type, but I’ve been horribly wrong about that, or maybe I simply had to see my type to recognize it.
You know that strange sense you have when someone seems just made for you? Like they were created to check all your boxes?
This is him.
Tall without towering, strong without being brawny. His blue eyes are friendly, his face handsome if not quite symmetrical. His hair is not quite blond, but not brown, either. His smile is perfect and crooked and just a tiny bit shy.
And maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but I swear he’s looking at me with that same dazed it’s you that I’m feeling right now.
Just to be safe, I sneak a peek at his left finger, and my heart leaps to find it bare.
When my eyes return to his face, his gaze takes just a moment to snap back to mine, and somehow I just know that he’s done the same analysis of my left hand.
“You okay?” he asks again, dipping just slightly to bring his eyes more level with mine, as though needing to reassure himself.
“Yeah! Yep. Good. Very good. Yep.”
So eloquent, Miranda.
I’ve never been particularly adept at flirting, but usually I can hold my own in conversation and manage sentences longer than two words.
“Thank you,” I say, trying to sound more normal. “For… well, obvious reasons.” I wave at the intersection.
He shakes his head, disgusted. “It’s a miracle nobody was hurt. He could have killed someone.”
“Thankfully the only casualty was one tall, triple-shot vanilla oat milk latte,” I say as I bend down to pick up my now-empty cup and throw it away in a nearby trash can.
“I…” He hesitates. “Can I buy you another one?”
My heart leaps in joy, then sinks to my feet when I realize that I don’t have time for a second trip to Starbucks. “I wish. But I have a class starting in just a couple minutes that I’m likely to be late to.”
“Ah. Grad student?”
“Professor. Physics. Astronomy, specifically,” I blurt out.
“Oh. You’re kidding.” He lets out a startled laugh. “My daughter is completely obsessed with anything related to the night sky.”
Daughter.
Woof.
I mean, not that I don’t love kids, but a daughter obviously has a mother , which means…
I smile, trying to keep the disappointment off my face.
“I don’t suppose you do private tutoring?” he asks with a grin. “It would kill my ex to know I found Kylee an astronomy tutor before she did.”
Devastation makes a sharp reversal back to delight.
“I don’t currently,” I admit. “But I’ve always wanted to.”
So, this is a blatant lie. I have never in my life thought about private tutoring. But as far as lies go, this one isn’t going to keep me up at night, because I’m also not opposed to tutoring.
Especially daughters of really cute single dads.
“Amazing,” he says, reaching into the pocket of his suit. “Here’s my card. If you’re not just being polite because I very dashingly saved you from a horrible death, text me. Email. Call.”
I accept the card, obviously. Christian Hughes.
“?‘CFO of OmniLogic Solutions,’?” I read aloud. The company name seems vaguely familiar—they make computer chips, or some something like that. “Impressive.”
“Impressive enough to get your name?” he asks hopefully. Charmingly.
“Dr. Miranda Reed,” I say, extending a hand.
His palm closes over mine, warm and strong and perfect.
“It was really nice to meet you, Miranda. I would love to repeat it. Minus the whole near-death element.”
“I’d like that, too.”
He smiles and winks. “Then I’ll hear from you. I hope.”
I stare at him for a moment too long after he walks away, before jolting a little as I realize the time. I run the rest of the way to the Physics Department building, but even still, I’m late for class for the first time in years.
And the first time ever , my heart’s not in the lecture.
I’ve spent my entire life blindly, diligently obeying the laws of physics, the rules of nature, the strict prescriptions of scientific study.
And yet, today I find that my attention isn’t on science at all.
It’s about my horoscope’s prediction of a charming stranger. A knight in shining armor who saves the day.
And sends me in a new direction.
I’ve finally figured out what that new direction’s going to be.
The summer session is nearly over, and then it’s time to break all the rules. To reinvent myself.
To become someone other than Dr. Miranda Reed, scientist.
I’m going to take Daphne’s advice and Eat, Pray, Love by way of astrology.
I’m going to take my aunt’s suggestion.
I’m going to live .