Chapter 23
The office is a little quiet on the Monday after our event. This is normal—everyone needs to decompress after big events. The young people have partied hard and are unusually taciturn as they drink their giant beverages.
I’m exhausted, too. The Park women barged over last night and demanded all the Daniel deets.
“May I help you?” I asked when they stampeded inside.
“Don’t pretend like you don’t know why we’re here,” Sunny said with a tsk. “Give us the dirt.”
Emoni rolled her eyes. “You are too much, Sunny.”
“What? Like you’re not thinking the same!”
Both of them had also met Daniel at the mixer and had been way less cool about it than Halmoni.
Emoni literally stroked his arm and said, “So exquisite.” Nonetheless, I don’t think he suspected anything, nor did he find it annoying.
He, in fact, seemed charmed by my family.
They were, of course, utterly charmed by him.
“You two just look so right together,” Emoni said dreamily. “Very good-looking couple.”
“Yes, and in a less-superficial observation, you seemed so comfortable around each other already,” Sunny added. “It was like you’ve known each other forever.” She paused. “Which I guess you have, in a way.”
It did feel comfortable with Daniel. There seems to be this shorthand for us getting to know each other.
Maybe it’s just because we’re around the same age—we cut through the bullshit.
We also have many of the same pop culture references—I discovered that as we walked through the gallery and both made Friends jokes when we overheard security tell someone to “pivot away from the art.” And even though we hadn’t met under romantic circumstances originally, I know we’re on the same page about this.
Other than Brooke, Daniel didn’t speak to any other women that night, and when I had to go back to work, he left the event.
“We had a nice time,” I said, aware that I was being annoying and cryptic. But the entire situation was so heavy with expectation that I found myself treating it with care. At the moment, anyway. “I think it’s clear that he came to the event for me and is interested.”
“Of course he’s interested,” Emoni said heatedly. “Look at you! Our perfect girl.”
“Oh my god,” I said with a laugh. “Please refrain from that kind of sweet but delusional talk around Daniel.”
Halmoni waved a hand in the air. “This is all going well. Did you make plans to see each other again?”
I hesitated. “Well, kind of? It was implied…”
Everyone groaned and I stood up. “Okay! That’s enough girl talk, ladies! I have to go to sleep—good night you pushy broads!” They left, but Halmoni gave me one final death stare to make it clear to me that I needed to follow up with Daniel.
And I will. After work.
My first appointment today is with a man in his fifties who lost his husband two years ago, Lawrence. He’s got thinning red hair and a beard. His nose is strong and high-bridged, and his eyes are deep-set and sorrowful.
Hairline: A thinker. Intelligent.
Eyes: An emotional open book. It makes you both vulnerable and open to good fortune, as well.
Nose: Ambition and generosity.
I like Lawrence. I want to find Lawrence’s fated. “Look over my shoulder at the bird charm, please.” His eyes shift and I concentrate my entire being into finding his fated.
In a few seconds I am in one of his past lives—a rural village.
The hills are verdant and rolling, sheep dotting the landscape.
Two men walk by, wearing furs and wool, heavily bearded.
Northern Europe? I catch an exchange of words and the region is confirmed, although I can’t make out the language.
I’ve done this hundreds of times and it’s still not enough to place European countries fast enough.
I look closely at their clothing, too. Maybe medieval? Early Enlightenment?
Honestly, who cares. I’m here to find Lawrence. As the men reach a dwelling with a thatched roof and simple wood structure, the front door flies open and a man’s standing there, cheeks ruddy with a huge grin. I can smell woodsmoke and meat. Feel the warmth of the building through the crisp air.
Lawrence. Perfect. Which one of these men is the one?
Within seconds, the red thread unspools from him to one of the men carrying fur—a tall one with a blond beard and sparkling green eyes.
The two exchange a secret smile and I see the longing in the blond man’s face before I’m brought back to present day.
After I set the name of Lawrence’s match in his drawer, I go to Halmoni’s office, where she’s writing something down in a notebook. She looks up with a smile. “Did you want to have lunch today?”
I sit down in a chair. “Oh, actually I’m meeting Mar today. I came in to talk to you about something else.”
She puts her pen down. “Okay, what?”
I’m nervous about this talk, but I know what makes Halmoni happy, when to approach her with big asks.
And now that I’ve found Daniel, she should be the happiest she’s been in a long time.
“So, while we did great for the summer event, we still need to drum up more interest so that we can increase our prices. I think we need to seriously expand our reach.”
“I don’t know, Cassia.”
I pull out my phone. “Look. I told Matteo and Lila to create an Instagram account to start. We already have one thousand followers from them doing a couple weeks’ work.”
“Really?” She puts on her readers to look. Her eyes skim the screen and then she takes off her glasses, looking weary. “I just worry that this will put us at risk.”
“Halmoni, no one in the whole wide world would believe us even if we told them!” I wave at the cupboard. “ ‘We see past lives and a magical thread spells out your past love’s name’? We’d be laughed off the internet.”
She rests her chin on her clasped hands. “You’re probably right. It’s just…a lifetime of habit.”
“I know,” I say, and I mean it. It’s been drilled into our family—a trauma that’s been passed down since the days women in our families were persecuted for their practices. “But maybe change will help us create more love stories, and isn’t that ultimately what we’re here for?”
She eventually nods and says, “You’re right. I just hope it doesn’t change what we’ve worked so hard to build.”
I reassure her it won’t, but I feel a bit uneasy making promises I’m not sure I can keep.
—
Marcella meets me later at one of our favorite lunch spots—Little Dom’s.
We grab a table on the sidewalk under a striped awning, the best spot for people watching.
You’re always guaranteed good celeb spotting here, and not B-list reality-TV-show types—for-real movie stars.
I once saw all the hobbits gathered in a booth together.
She digs for every detail about hanging out with Daniel while we start on our deep-fried rice balls.
“So, did you guys kiss?” she asks after I give her a literal beat-by-beat breakdown of the night.
Our arugula salad arrives and I heap some onto my plate. “Bro. No! Way too soon and it wasn’t even officially a date. It felt like we were dipping a toe into the water, feeling things out. Not saying the thing out loud.”
“Probably because of Ellis,” she says with a mouthful of greens. “My poor little cutie.”
I roll my eyes. “Poor little guy will forever mourn the loss of the middle-aged lady who fell off her bike.”
“To him, the story is: This babe he was into dumped him. And then he discovered that his older, polished, successful boss stole her from under his nose.” She shakes her head. “God, I love this, let’s be honest.”
I laugh as I pour more sparkling water into both our glasses. “Get out. Listen, I don’t feel great about it. But I feel confident knowing he’ll be just fine.”
“I’m kidding.” Marcella puts her hand on mine across the table. “He’s probably fucking someone against a loft wall right now.”
The couple next to us hears and their conversation comes to a complete halt.
I bite back my laughter. “Hey, so how’s the construction going?
” I need to switch topics before we get kicked out of here.
And I really don’t want to imagine Ellis doing anything with anyone. It hits me in a way I won’t examine.
She groans and her aviators reflect the sunshine. “A nightmare. Ninety-two percent of being an adult is complaining about contractors,” she says. “My memoir will be called: Don’t Even Get Me Started on Reliable Contractors.”
“It’s going to be a hit.”
Marcella grins briefly. “Yeah, it’s going terribly terrible and probably going to push back the opening by a couple months.”
“I’m sorry, dude,” I say. “But no one in L.A. will expect a new restaurant to actually open when they say it will. It’s like traffic. You need to pad on timing for reality.”
“I know. But I’d love to get this done before winter when the kids will be home half the time because of some plague or another.”
“Remember my evergreen babysitting offer.”
“Ooh, yes!” Mar gets animated. “Speaking of. Very last minute, but can you take them this weekend? Logan and I were taken off the waitlist at our fave hotel in Los Alamos, after we couldn’t get in for our anniversary.
” Los Alamos is just a couple hours north of us and is wine country for Southern California.
It’s gorgeous this time of year, everything green and lush.
“Sure,” I say, taking a bite of salad. “And since it’s not the season of hellish cold and flu, hopefully I won’t get norovirus from them again.” I have been babysitting these kids since they were born, and I have yet to have a winter without projectile vomiting since Mica started preschool.
“God, every year we come out of it alive I’m shocked. Luckily, they’re old enough to just turn into TV zombies on sick days,” she says. “I just wish I could plan ahead, know exactly which days they’ll be sick.”
“You’d just get a monthly email from the future telling you which days to plan for, right?” I say as our pizza arrives—a Margherita piled high with prosciutto and fat dollops of ricotta. “Dear Marcella, Please plan to be entirely fucked from the twelfth through fifteenth. Sincerely, Future.”
She pushes her sunglasses up. “You kid, but that’s because you know the future.”
“I do not.” I pull a slice and the cheese stretches enticingly. I motion for Mar to give me her plate and place the slice on there. “I know how to find your fated.”
“Isn’t that knowing the future?” she asks. “You are the most laid-back person I know because of this. What’s it like not to be haunted by the specter of anxiety?”
“I get anxiety!”
She makes a pfft sound. “Being controlling and type A doesn’t mean you have anxiety.”
“Rude. What about my insomnia?”
“You drink espressos after dinner. Your fault.”
The cheese on my pizza burns the roof of my mouth. But it’s worth it—salty and hot, delicious. “You know I’ve been worried about finding Daniel for a long time.”
“Of course. But you knew the ending ahead of time. What a gift.” Marcella seems to catch herself. “Not a gift, sorry. I know it’s been stressful. Like, you can’t even bone a hot guy before your fated shows up ruining the whole thing.”
“That is real,” I say holding up my water. “Rest in peace, careless banging.”
“God, I might cry,” she says.
“But in all seriousness,” I say. “I think now the stress has moved from where is he to am I really doing the right thing here?”
“Versus what? Dating Ellis?” The skepticism is high; I see Mar struggle not to sound judgmental.
“Not Ellis, necessarily, although yeah. More like…I don’t know. Now that he’s here I guess I might be having second thoughts?”
She nods. “I hear you. That’s normal. It’s like, once Logan and I got engaged, suddenly I was like, Wait—for real? The choice feels like it’s taken away from you.”
“Yes, that!”
Her red lips scrunch to the side, thinking for a beat before saying, “The thing is, that is the choice. You made the ultimate choice. Nothing is taken away; the world has actually opened up.”
I’m silent for a second. “Wow, bitch, that got deep.”
She laughs and throws a piece of bread at me. “Shut up.”
When I get back to the office after lunch, I see a message waiting for me on my desk:
Daniel Nam called.
The ball is now firmly in my court. I don’t bother figuring out how long to wait until I text him. I type it out before I can think:
Hi, it’s Cassia.
Immediately:
Ooh, a text message in response to a phone call. You ARE younger than me.
I smile.
I work in an office with my family. It’s like calling a boy on your family landline in the kitchen.
A boy, huh?
There’s a goofy smile on my face as I type back:
I could pretend you’re my best friend calling about math homework
Wow, intense flashback to algebra right now.
I’m sorry. Unless you liked math?
I hated it but joke’s on me—architecture requires maths.
Sad.
There’s a brief pause. He types back:
I called because I wanted to ask you out.
My hands hover over my keyboard, heart pounding. When I say yes, this will be real. I push back feelings about Ellis, about his enthusiastic and awed touch when we slept together. His face when I told him my mom died on my eighth birthday.
This is my future opening up for me, like Mar said. I type quickly:
Do it, then.
Another pause, and I wonder if I was being a bit too much. But he responds:
Dinner this weekend?
I’m babysitting my friends’ kids all weekend. Maybe Sunday night?
Or I can help?
It’s very sweet but I’m not sure that’s a great idea.
Very unromantic first date. Let’s keep to Sunday?
Sure. Should I steer us or do you have a spot you want to try?
There is just something so incredibly nice about a man who just makes a plan and follows through.
I love all food. You pick.
Okay. Will send you details EOD. Looking forward to it.
I heart the message and leave it at that.