Chapter 2 Hazel #2
The cards are intricately painted in vibrant colors, depicting scenes with characters who look otherworldly. On this first card, a smiling woman in gold gestures toward a child. They’re surrounded by six vases filled with flowers.
“You carry a lot of responsibility,” Wendy says, her mouth turned down.
Is that a frown? “You have for a long time.” She holds my gaze for a few long seconds.
“You’re living too much in the past. You were happy then, but you were also sad.
You’re missing out on the present. Get in touch with your inner child. Play. Have fun.”
My throat goes dry. I don’t attempt to speak. Everything Wendy just said was eerily accurate. I cross my legs and my arms like I’m folding myself up. Usually, it comforts me, but right now, I can’t hide.
My responsibilities practically roll out in front of me, like a mental news ticker. They’re in no particular order because order would imply control, of which there is none. Bills. Student loans. Mortgage. Rent. Food. Health care. Money for Dad and Jerry.
Wendy analyzes the second card, which shows an older woman in flowing robes lifting her hands to a cobalt sky. Multiple swords fly above her, pointing somewhere off the card. I can’t tell if she’s defending herself, taking action against someone else, or practicing her skills.
“You’ll experience a loss soon,” Wendy states.
I huff out the last of the air in my lungs. Literally? Or does she mean that theoretically? This card is supposed to represent the present. I’ve already lost my bracelet, job, self-respect, hot water, and dim sum. I’d say I’ve lost enough today as it is.
“A loss? What loss?” I ask.
“It’s going to be a difficult time with the suddenness of it,” Wendy explains, her face neutral. “You may not understand or be ready to face your deeply buried wounds, but dealing with them will set you free.”
“Maybe it’s the dim sum, and it’s behind you now,” Logan says so genuinely I think he’s trying to help.
“It’s actually underneath me,” I retort. To Wendy, I say, “Going to be sounds like a future thing.”
“It’s a fluid timeframe. These cards are responses to your question, but this entire reading only lasts three to four months,” Wendy explains.
She unfolds my third card before I can ask more clarifying questions.
On it is a flying woman in a navy gown sending down what looks like lightning strikes at a building.
The scene looks bad. Like something is falling apart.
My life, obviously.
Wendy watches me closely. “There’s an event that will shake you.”
My heart races. “Didn’t that already happen? Isn’t that what the last card was?”
“This has yet to happen to you,” Wendy says, tapping her finger on the dark storm clouds before sliding over to the split-in-half structure. “It will be painful.”
“Painful?” I shriek, my voice climbing three octaves. So much for numbing myself. This is what I get for demanding answers. “I need more details than that. Why is there lightning?”
“That’s not always a bad thing. Nor is pain,” Wendy simply states. Easy for someone who isn’t about to experience pain to say. “Lightning can represent a breakthrough, a surge of insight, or a new perspective.”
“Yeah, like Zeus,” Logan contributes. “Maybe it means you’ll be coming into authority or power.”
I want to both laugh and cry at that. “Wasn’t lightning used as a weapon of punishment?” I ask. I’m getting distracted. “That’s not the point.”
The point is: I never should have come here. What’s worse, Logan is a witness to what my life has in store. Without him here, I could’ve played off these fortunes as a post-job loss overreaction. Now this moment is part of someone else’s memory.
The solution here is simple. I’ll just have to never see this guy again.
I’m lost in my thoughts for too long, and Wendy turns to Logan.
She asks him to state his name and birthdate.
As they move on to his fortunes, I can’t move on from mine.
Everything around me fades away as my head throbs.
All I hear, ringing clearly in my mind’s ear, are the fortunes I paid for with the last cash that I had:
I’m living too much in the past.
I’ll experience a loss soon.
There’s a painful event that will shake me.
A buzz from my phone distracts me from fully spiraling.
Aunt Alexis (9:31 PM): Hiya, Hazel. Sorry to bother you. Trying to get in touch with your dad. Did he get a new phone number again? I need him to call me back. Can you help?
Last time Aunt Alexis got in touch, Dad owed her money. I don’t get into the details with her. I pull up my thread with Dad and ask him to call his sister back. I toss my phone into my bag before I’m alerted to any new messages.
Outside the tent, the rain slows and then stops, leaving puddles behind. In them, I can see the strung lanterns, their colors brighter in the reflection.
I sense Logan shift in his seat next to me as Wendy taps on the last card, wrapping up whatever it is she’s saying. They’re done already? I missed everything she said.
Before I can ask Wendy to repeat Logan’s fortunes, she randomly stuffs the cards back into the boxes and gives her birds more rice. A line has formed. Wendy looks eager for us to leave.
We thank Wendy, Doc, and Marty. In one swooping, seamless hand motion, our fortune teller waves goodbye and welcomes the next customer willing to pay for a little bit of hope.
If only they knew. I’d warn the rest of them, but Wendy was nice enough. She has bills to pay, too.
“Well, bye,” I say to Logan and Toffee, taking a hard left down the sidewalk.
“Hey, wait up!” Logan calls out, catching up to me. Toffee trots quickly beside him.
“Let me pay you back for that,” he says. “Please. It’s the least I can do.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “I thought you didn’t have cash.”
“I don’t, but I have credit and debit cards. There’s a bodega on the corner. How about I buy you ten dollars’ worth of Band-Aids?” He nods at my scratched arm, where Toffee’s made his lasting mark.
I wave Logan off. “I’m fine, thanks. I can clean up when I get home.”
Then I remember there won’t be water to wash with.
“Seriously, I’d like to treat you to a first aid kit before that gets infected. Cat scratches can contain a lot of bacteria, and Toffee gets daily walks. It’s best not to think about what’s on these city streets,” Logan urges.
Something about him draws me in. Just like the damn birds.
He takes off his baseball cap and runs his hand through his sandy-blond hair, the damp strands brighter under an illuminated shop sign. Doesn’t he want to get home to dry off? Get warm? I don’t understand why this is so important to him.
But if Logan wants to pay me back in expensive New York City bodega medical supplies, so be it.
“Can we make it quick?” I ask, tossing the now-contaminated bag of leftovers in a trash can. “It’s been a day.”
The three of us head down the street together. It’s the opposite direction of home, but today has already gone off the rails.
Might as well get Mistake #4 out of the way.