29. Taurus Season
TAURUS SEASON
Prepare for a seismic shift, Gemini, as the world will throw you a curveball challenging the very foundations of your belief system. This upheaval is uncomfortable but necessary; use its momentum to build new, stronger truths.
The next evening, my 5 p.m. flight to California is delayed by a couple of hours. Since the actual interview isn’t until tomorrow afternoon, I shouldn’t be worried. Even with the delay, the three-hour time difference means I’ll land in San Francisco well before midnight. Plenty of time to get a good night’s sleep and review my notes in the morning.
And I’m not worried . Not about the flight, or the interview.
I’m just… jittery. I have been all day, and I can’t quite figure out why. My brain has gone through every scenario, reassured me that everything is in order. But it feels a bit like logic is warring with instinct.
And instinct seems to be getting the edge, because the closer I get to my flight’s departure, the more I sense that something’s off .
Or maybe it’s just my horoscope. A seismic shift?
Really?
Right as I’m heading to a city located smack on the San Andreas Fault?
But of course my horoscope’s probably not talking about San Francisco’s dicey earthquake history. It’s talking about some other seismic shift, and I’ve had enough of those lately. I’m ready for stability.
I shift in the creaky, fake-leather chair outside my gate, but my legs feel restless, as though they’re itching to run away from the airport.
Or toward something.
I cross my legs and stubbornly refuse to allow so much as an idle foot waggle.
When my phone buzzes, I all but lunge for it, desperate for distraction. I don’t recognize the number, but I pick it up anyway.
“Hi, this is Miranda.”
My own greeting catches me off guard.
Where’s my usual, crisp Dr. Miranda Reed ?
“Miranda! Hi! This is Alyssa Upton. We met on New Year’s Eve?”
“Oh! Hi,” I say, setting both feet on the ugly airport carpet and sitting up a bit straighter.
“I know this is out of nowhere, but is this an okay time? I’d love to run something by you.”
“Um. Sure?” I say, though I can’t imagine in what part of the multiverse Alyssa and I would have anything to discuss.
Unless it’s about Archer.
In which case I will claim that my cell phone was stolen right out my hand and disconnect, because I am not having that conversation. Not with his… whatever they are.
Still, I glance at the screen with my flight information. It’s now three hours delayed. “Sure, I’ve got some time.”
“Okay, great ,” she says with the kind of warm enthusiasm that feels genuine, like I’ve just made her whole day by giving her a couple of minutes of my time.
This woman is really hard to dislike, and trust me, I’ve given it some effort.
“So, listen, at the risk of sounding stalkerish, I’ve totally been creeping on every corner of the internet and YouTube for every appearance you’ve ever done, and let me just say, Miranda—you’re fantastic.”
“Um. Thank you?”
“No, I mean it. You’re engaging, so smart but never condescending. You have a real knack for making even the most complicated concepts feel manageable. After watching you for hours, I felt like I was ready to give a TED Talk on black holes.”
Black holes aren’t exactly one of the brain busters of my area, but I can appreciate the point she’s trying to make. “Thanks. That’s really nice to hear. Especially since that particular part of my career seems to have dried up.”
“Yeah, about that,” she says. “So, I hope you don’t mind, but some of the producers you’ve worked with are in my black book, so to speak, and I got in touch. Were you aware that your university has been telling them you’re unavailable?”
Those. Assholes.
My lips part in genuine surprise. “I—no. No, I had no idea. I figured that they’d found someone to fill the science spot, because I haven’t heard about a single request.”
She makes an irritated noise. “Someone probably was hoping for their own moment in the spotlight. But they’re wasting their time. Honey, you’re a unicorn, and the people that make the decisions know it. Which is why I have to ask: Have you ever thought about doing that side of things full-time? The media thing?”
“No. Never,” I say in all honesty. “Even at my busiest, the demand for someone to talk about meteor showers or explain the latest discovery at CERN only came in a couple of times a month.”
“Right, oh my gosh, you’d be so bored if that’s all it was. But what if there was more out there… like, a lot more?”
“A lot more… interviews?” I’m not following at all.
“So, okay, this is a bad business move on my end, since I’m not officially representing you yet, and you could take this to another agent and I’d be screwed, but I happen to know a new game show, a new docuseries, and even a talk show that would all kill to have you as their host. And don’t even get me started on the opportunities that would open up if you had your own podcast. You could do the Bill Nye thing…”
“I… Wow.”
“It’s a lot, I know. And I’m so sorry to spring this on you, but Archer mentioned it to me like a month ago, but I just now got around to looking into the possibilities, and I got so excited—”
“Wait. Archer put you up to this?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, you know Archer. It was more command than request, and I only had about ten words to go on. But he seemed to think it might be something that you’d be open to at least exploring.”
“I’ve never… I’m actually pretty far along in the interview process for another academic position,” I tell her. “Could I do… both?”
I hear her take a sip of a drink, sensing that she’s considering my question seriously. “Honestly, I don’t think so. I mean, you can! You can keep doing what you’re doing, showing up whenever there’s a special harvest moon, or whatever. But the bigger gigs, the things that would make you fully a household name… those would require a lot more of your time than you’ll have if you’re a full-time professor.”
“I don’t care about being a household name.”
She lets out a laugh. “Archer said you’d say exactly that. And that I should tell you that it’s not about eyeballs. It’s about minds. Lots of them. Ready to be blown away by star stuff. But hold on—let me check my notes, because he told me to say something else… He said it would help you stay sharp on the cosmos?”
I laugh a little, because it’s the exact same awkward phrase I’d used in my failed attempt to flirt with Christian all that time ago. My laughter feels a little raw, however, because it’s uncomfortable to realize just how well Simon Archer knows me. How well he listens. How much he sees, even when I don’t see it myself.
Because listening to Alyssa talk about all these possibilities? Assuming she’s not blowing smoke?
They light something inside of me that the prospect of tenure at Stanford doesn’t.
That the prospect of tenure never did.
“I need some time to think all this over,” I say. Because it’s not like my whole personality has been a sham. I’m still rational at my core.
“Of course. Of course. Just… promise me I get first shot at putting my hat in the ring to be your agent.”
“Absolutely,” I agree, because I like Alyssa, even if I don’t particularly love the fact that she and Archer sleep together whenever it suits them.
Realizing that I haven’t expressed even a modicum of interest in whatever’s going on with Alyssa, I try to remember my manners and reciprocate conversationally. “How have things been with you? You and Archer do anything fun for his birthday?”
There’s a long pause. “His birthday. You mean back in December?”
“No.” My regard for her slips just slightly for not knowing his birthday. However casual they are, that seems like it should be on her radar. “It was just last week. April 10.”
An Aries.
Alyssa lets out a little laugh. “Sorry, babe, but I am one hundred percent sure it’s December 2. I’m positive , because the year before last he had to go get his license renewed and was grumpy about it.”
“Archer’s grumpy about everything,” I say distractedly, even as my brain tries to sort this out. “Why in the world would he lie to me about his birthday?”
“Not a clue,” she says breezily. “He and I stayed friendly after we broke up—I mean, the guy let me use his house for New Year’s Eve, for god’s sake. But we don’t chat as much as we used to.”
“You…” I’m too stunned to say anything else. Here’s the curveball my horoscope promised.
“You broke up?” I manage. “When?”
“Oh gosh. Forever ago,” she says, distracted, and I hear someone else trying to get her attention.
“ When? ” I press, and the instincts that have been crackling all day are on full alert now, screaming at me that this detail is important. Crucial.
She seems to sense my urgency, because I feel her attention snap back to me fully.
“Okay, well, let me think,” Alyssa says. “It must have been back in late August, maybe early September? I can’t remember exactly. He just said he needed to end our arrangement because something had changed for him. He never would tell me what.”
And there it is. My seismic shift.
That something that had changed for Archer?
It was me.