Chapter One #2
But I’ve kept my secret for years. Meera’s glare flashes before my eyes, and I push the image away. I did the right thing cutting her out of my life. Maybe it hurt her, but I had no choice. I couldn’t risk anyone finding out.
There are only four people in Madre Maria who are queer and out, and my mom hates them all.
Two of them are Meera’s dads, and the other two are seniors who are just as eager as me, no doubt, to leave this place behind as soon as they graduate.
The people of Madre Maria aren’t openly bigoted or anything—not even my mom, whose discomfort around people of color or queer people is hard to sense unless you know her like I do.
It’s just…people talk, and being queer is unfortunately fodder for “hot gossip.” And I’d rather they gossip about my taste in designer clothing and my very cute, very serious relationship with my boyfriend, instead of the fact that I might be—
“Anyway,” Natalie says, bringing me back to the present moment, “I hope things work out for you. You deserve the kind of life you want.”
I smile. “Yeah. A new life with Sushant in New York is exactly what I want.”
Natalie doesn’t know my secret. She thinks I want to get out of here because New York is where the publishing industry is. Which, in my defense, is sort of true. But I also need to leave Madre Maria and be far away from Meera for the sake of my sanity.
As much as I love my mother and appreciate how hard she works to provide for us as a single parent, being the daughter of a divorced Christian life coach for Jesus-loving moms—yes, that is a thing, apparently—is not fun.
At all. I’m not religious anymore, but I tolerate going to church every Sunday because that’s the only real face time I get with my mom.
Once she was done mourning the most serious relationship she’d ever had, she made use of her psychology degree and became a fiercely passionate life coach.
Although she tries her best to maintain a work-life balance, her calendar is booked out and busy with client calls every day of the week.
It’s funny: Mom got custody of me after the divorce, but my dad is the one who has more time on his hands to talk to me.
Not that I bother picking up his calls. If he wanted to be a part of my life, he should have just…
stayed. Nine-year-old me will never forgive him.
During lunch, Sushant shows me a list he’s made of the best restaurants in New York, from a French restaurant next to a bookstore to a gourmet Korean barbecue place with dishes I’ve only ever read about on food blogs.
My heart skips a beat at how much this boy loves me, at all the things he does for me unprompted and how eager he is to begin our next chapter in New York.
Sometimes I’m so overcome with affection and love for him that I forget I only started dating him to keep my secret.
My initial plan was to end things after a few weeks, once Meera stopped talking to me for good.
But then things changed, and somehow, Sushant became the boy I wanted to spend all my days with.
Now he is undoubtedly my favorite person in the world, and I know I’m his.
“So?” Sushant’s eyes flicker with excitement as he watches me flip through the photos. “Where should we do our first NYC date night?”
I set the phone aside, graze the side of his stubbly dark jaw with my fingers, and peck him on the lips. “I love you for making these plans already, but we both need to get into college there first.”
He takes my hand in his and kisses my fingers. “We will. You’re a shoo-in with your grades and essay, and as for me”—he shrugs—“Coach is talking to a bunch of scouts from New York, and he’s really optimistic.”
“He is?”
“Yeah. I mean, if Berkeley wanted me, other schools will too. Hopefully Syracuse.”
“That’s still four hours away from New York City,” I say, my shoulders sinking.
“Hey.” He smiles at me. “I’ll make the drive every weekend to meet you at your dorm. We’ll figure this out.”
“Thank you.” I squeeze his hand as a warm feeling swells in my chest: love, an emotion I never thought I’d feel again.
This love is calmer, softer, sweeter than the passion for Meera that once drove me crazy.
My breath hitches at the thought of my ex–best friend.
Tears prick my eyes, and I blink them away and take a bite of my salad, hoping a change of topic is in order.
Thankfully, one of the other guys on the football team brings up the game next week, and the conversation shifts.
Later, like almost every day after school, Sushant heads off to football practice after kissing me once on the nose, twice on the cheeks, and thrice on the lips: our own little tradition.
Natalie gushes about how cute we are, and then she and I head to Café Kismat for our caffeine fix.
I used to go to Meera’s parents’ café so often when we were besties, and I’ve kept the habit going despite our friendship breakup.
Nobody else in town makes iced coffee like Mr. George, while Mr. Rao’s tarot readings are always spot-on.
Besides, Meera knows when I drop by, and she avoids the after-school shift like her life depends on it.
Most casual dining places in town are either macrobiotic, vegan, paleo, or somehow all three.
Café Kismat, thankfully, is none of those.
The problem is, the café has probably never seen a busy day because of Madre Maria’s obsession with extreme fad diets that you’d wish would go out of style.
I mean, Natalie’s cat is vegan, for God’s sake.
I once tried explaining to Mrs. Copps that it’s important for Buttons to have meat, since he is, you know, a cat, but she only laughed it off and promised me she knows what’s best for her fur baby.
I pull up in front of Café Kismat in my Honda, park on the street, and then lead the way inside. The refreshing aroma of coffee beans and something floral and spicy coupled with the cool blast of air-conditioning are heaven to my senses.
The café is dimly lit by only twinkling yellow fairy lights and a few low-hanging orange bulbs.
Incense sticks burn beside the counter, and an aromatherapy diffuser emitting rosy fumes changes colors from blue to green and back again near the toilets.
The music is the same as always: instrumental versions of Bollywood songs.
I recall that the song currently playing is from Meera’s favorite Shah Rukh Khan movie about reincarnated lovers.
That was the first Bollywood movie we ever watched together, soon after my dad moved out, on one of our countless sleepovers over the years.
She’d told me that same night that Sushant reminded her of SRK with his dimples and messy hair, which was why she’d crushed on him so hard.
I wonder if she still likes Sushant.
My stomach twists in that familiar knot spurred by guilt, anxiety, and shame.
Don’t go there. You did what you had to do to push her away, and it led to you falling in love with the boy you’re going to end up with.
It’s okay. I exhale softly through my teeth and sidle up to the counter with a forced smile, hoping my anxiety lets go of me for once. “Hi, Mr. George. How are you today?”
Mr. George pushes his thick rectangular glasses up his pointy nose and grins down at us. “I’m lovely, sweetheart. The usual, I’m guessing?”
I nod, and Natalie clears her throat. “Please make sure mine’s—”
“Almond milk, no sugar. I remember.” Mr. George’s eyes are bright as he scribbles our orders onto two cups and passes them to the lone barista on duty. “Why don’t you kids take a seat?”
Natalie and I claim our favorite table in the center of the café, where you get the best view of not just the floor-to-ceiling glass windows but also the little TV behind the counter, where a rerun of a cricket match is always playing.
When Sushant and I first started dating, I knew nothing about cricket, but his whole family is obsessed with it, so I’ve started paying attention to the sport.
The barista calls out our names a few minutes later.
I bring our drinks over: a large iced ginger turmeric chai latte for me and a medium iced coffee with almond milk for her.
I wish Natalie didn’t feel the need to stick to this difficult vegan/no-processed-sugar diet when away from her mother’s prying eyes.
But as we both know, nothing ever stays hidden in Madre Maria.
We sip our coffees while Natalie scrolls TikTok and I read a book from my vast collection of Jane Austen retellings—our usual routine once we get to the café.
As I turn over to the next page of the romance novel, I spot Mr. Rao at his little spiritual abode in the corner where he sometimes holds mindfulness classes or reads tarot for customers.
He notices us and waves us over. There’s nobody else in the café besides us—seriously, how do they make profits or break even?
—so we get up from our seats, leaving our stuff on the table, and walk over to the tarot corner, to Mr. Rao.
“When was the last time I drew cards for you both?” he demands as he expertly shuffles a deck of pink tarot cards.
“Last week?” I guess.
Mr. Rao chuckles, his mustache twitching.
“A reading is well overdue, in that case.” He has at least twenty different tarot decks in his collection, and the one he’s using for today’s reading is pale pink with gold edges.
This entire corner of the café is lined with huge chunks of raw crystals on display, including amethyst, rose quartz, citrine, and a few others that are pretty but I can’t name.
Natalie and I carefully sidestep the crystals and sit cross-legged in front of Mr. Rao.
“So, Natalie,” he says, sorting the cards in his hands as the orange light from the bulb above our heads shines onto his bald spot, “what’s on your mind today?”
Natalie sneaks a look at me and then tugs on her lower lip. “I want to know what life is going to look like for me after graduation. When Lucy’s gone.”
I press my hand into hers and let out a sad smile.
We grew close shortly after I realized it would be impossible to hide my secret if I stayed best friends with Meera.
Natalie had always been chatty with me since middle school, when we bonded over our love for floral-print clothing, so I decided to befriend her during camp the summer before my big fight with Meera.
Natalie, who was already popular, got me onto the cheerleading team and made me who I am today. I’ll forever be grateful for her.
Mr. Rao shuffles the deck one last time and lets a card fall out onto the blue velvet–carpeted floor. He turns it over and grins. “The Star!” The card pictures a woman clad in pink clothing raising her arms to the sky with a giant gold star peeking out from behind her.
Natalie claps her hands. “That sounds like a good card, right?”
“One of the most favorable cards in the deck, I’d say.” Mr. Rao closes his eyes briefly, then says, “I feel like you’re really afraid of what the future holds for you.”
She bows her head and runs her finger along the floral pattern on the carpet. “I am. Like, I don’t have any dreams, you know? I don’t have a real passion. I don’t know where I’m meant to go, unlike Lucy.”
“No matter what you believe about yourself, putta,” Mr. Rao says, using that South Indian nickname he loves to use for kids and teens, “this card is telling me the Universe has your back. Inspiration is coming in divine time. You’ll know what you’re meant for when you’re ready, and then you’ll be unstoppable. ”
Natalie squeals loudly and dances around in place. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear! Thank you, Mr. Rao!”
With a grin, he turns to me. “And you, Lucy? What question do you want answered?”
I ponder his question for a moment. I already know where I’m going and who I want to go there with. But what happens before that? Graduation is still months away. “What’s in store for me during the rest of senior year?” I ask finally.
Mr. Rao shuffles the deck vigorously, mumbling under his breath, “What have you got for Lucy, cards? What is coming up for Lucy this school year?”
A card flies out of the deck and into my lap. I turn it over and gasp.
The Tower.
Natalie and I exchange glances. Even with our little knowledge of tarot, we both know the Tower is not the happiest card. I mean, one look at it tells you it’s scary: a large tower being struck by lightning with fire blazing out from the windows.
“Ah.” Mr. Rao’s eyes glint. “This year is going to be liberating, putta.”
I scan his face to see if he’s joking. “I thought the Tower is about things going to ruin. Things ending. Going from hero to zero.”
“Indeed.” His eyes glaze over, a ghost of a smile on his face. “But you must remember: A phoenix can only rise from the ashes, renewed and reborn, after first burning to nothing. A year from today, you’re going to be grateful for this card and everything it holds for you.”
I gulp, taking the card, which feels surprisingly heavy in my hand. The golden edges catch the light and shimmer. Mr. Rao has never been wrong, not with a single reading, in the six years since the café opened.
This time, I hope he’s only half right. I want to be liberated. From Meera, from this town, from this false persona I’ve adopted. But I do not want to burn to the ground and then rise up. I want to soar without having to fall first.
And if there’s anything the past year has taught me, it’s that I am luckier than most. Good things just happen to me. I get everything I want without having to work too hard for it—the grades, the accolades, the boyfriend.
One tarot reading cannot change that. I won’t let it.