Miranda in Retrograde

21. Capricorn Season

CAPRICORN SEASON

Today brings forward a pivotal decision that demands both courage and self-awareness. A second opinion will be helpful, but ultimately, you’ll need to trust your own instincts.

The next afternoon, I’m at Daphne’s apartment in Murray Hill for our long-standing tradition of New Year’s Day chili and a Friends marathon.

Only this time, our favorite sitcom is a mere backdrop to the topic at hand:

The Kiss.

“Okay, so how long would you say the kiss lasted?” Daphne asks as she tops her chili with a very generous handful of cheddar cheese.

“The first or the second?” I ask, adding a scoop of sour cream to my bowl. The chili is actually Daphne’s family’s tradition, started by her grandfather. But every January 1, every member of the Cabbot family follows the same secret family recipe, though Daphne has been known to omit the meat from hers when she’s on a vegetarian kick.

This year is apparently not one of those kicks, because the thick stew is meaty, spicy, and delicious.

“Both. Both kisses,” she clarifies before shoving a generous spoonful into her mouth.

“Um.” I blow on my spoon. “I’d say like, two seconds and… twenty seconds? So I’m overthinking it, right?” I ask a little desperately. “It was just a standard New Year’s kiss?”

“Could have been,” she admits. “I’ve had kisses with strangers on New Year’s Eve that lasted longer than that, and one memorable kiss a few years ago with a bit of tongue.” She pauses, reminiscing. “That was hot . Still regretting not getting his number.” She shakes her head. “But back to last night… I don’t think the duration of the kiss is the most pertinent factor here. It was the quantity. One kiss at midnight is simply tradition. Two is…”

“Is what?” I ask, when she pauses, trying and failing to keep the desperation out of my voice.

Instead of answering, she takes a sip of diet soda, and narrows her eyes slightly. “Did you tell Christian?”

I groan at the mention of his name. “No. He was all giddy from champagne and meeting his football idol and some actress whose name I’ve already forgotten. Apparently they shared a midnight smooch that would have blown teenage Christian’s head clean off.”

That last bit had gone a long way to make me feel better. Not all the way better, but… a little less guilty.

“So you two didn’t… after?” Daphne makes a childish gesture with her hands.

I shake my head. “He took an Uber home after the party as planned.”

But I had not gone to sleep immediately after. I’d spent half the night tossing and turning, replaying the feel of Archer’s mouth on mine. The other half of the night had been spent trying to block out the hurt that it had apparently meant nothing.

He could not have been more clear about that.

“Christian didn’t notice you were gone at midnight?”

“He did, but he didn’t seem to mind,” I admit. “Like I said, the champagne was flowing, and he was starstruck by the guest list.”

“See, so maybe the whole thing is nothing to stress about. New Year’s Eve is just one of those weird little hall pass moments. And it only happens once a year. Didn’t mean a thing.”

I give a distracted nod.

“Wait.” Daphne studies my face very carefully. “Did you want the kiss to mean something?”

“No,” I answer quickly. “Why, do you think it did?”

“Sweetie, it’s not what I think about last night. It’s what you think. You were there. Feeling the feelings.”

“But I’m bad at this stuff.”

“What stuff ?” she says, adding more cheese to her bowl.

“Understanding men. Understanding… moments.”

“So it was a moment?” She watches me carefully.

“It sure felt like… something,” I say, staring down at my chili. “But you should have seen his face when he told me to go find Christian. Ordered me to, really. It was like he thought he’d made a fatal error and was desperate to strike it from the record.”

“Hmm.” Daphne chews, looking thoughtful. “So what are you going to do?”

I push my chili around in my bowl. “I’m going to give Archer exactly what he wants and pretend it never happened.”

Daphne sets her bowl aside and exhales. “Okay, I can’t even believe I’m throwing this out there, but… you’re not shutting out Archer because of astrological incompatibility, right?”

“Complete incompatibility,” I say. “Literally everything about our charts points to disaster.”

Based on last night, I’d have to say the stars had gotten it right here.

My best friend’s eyes narrow ever so slightly. “And you’re sure that’s not just an excuse? Something to hide behind so you don’t have to face pesky feelings.”

I take a huge bite of chili so I don’t have to acknowledge this. Aloud or in my own thoughts.

Daphne sighs. “I know that face.”

“What face?”

“Your stubborn one. The expression you get when you’re determined to use your head and only your head because it’s easier.”

“Easier than what?”

She gives me a patient look. “Listening to your heart.”