Chapter 2
Two
Bailey
TWO MONTHS LATER
I look around, admiring my handiwork. I may have gone a little overboard on the decorations and snacks. The pink and purple ribbons are giving ‘girls’ night.’ Hosting Cassie’s bachelorette party may mean a lot of cleanup afterward, but it’s the least I can do for my best friend right before she gets married to the love of her life.
I sigh gently. Cassie lucked out when she met Troy backpacking across Europe three years ago. They couldn’t be more perfect together, and he’s a great guy. And here I am, alone, having just escaped the shittiest relationship of my life. I spent nearly two years with a narcissistic pig who I recently discovered was cheating on me every single time he went out of town for a work function.
What. A. Douchebag.
I push thoughts of Zach from my mind as I finish setting out the trays of fruits and veggies I cut earlier. Everything is in order, just in time, as a loud knock on the door signals Cassie’s arrival. She doesn’t wait for me to open it, barging in with a small suitcase and several reusable grocery bags in tow .
“Oh my gosh, Bay! Look at this place! You did all this by yourself? How did you even hang those that high?” She shoves the door closed with a hip and kicks her shoes off before waltzing over to the kitchen island and setting all her bags down.
“I’ve got a ladder in the shed out back. You’re cutting it pretty close, aren’t you? Everyone else is supposed to be here?—”
“I’ll get it!” Cassie yells as someone rings the bell, bounding across the open room. I envy how happy and carefree she always looks, squealing excitedly as all of our girlfriends start showing up.
The night is in full swing within the hour. Everyone arrived safely despite my cabin being in a tricky, rural location. Drinks have been had, snacks intermittently enjoyed, and it’s almost time for the surprise event I booked for Cassie. I grin wildly when the doorbell rings, and Cassie shoots me a curious look.
“Tell me those are male strippers,” she says, expression deadpan.
I roll my eyes. “Please. First, I wasn’t about to ask Troy how he’d feel about that. Secondly, you actually think I can afford that on my salary as a grocery store clerk? I wish.”
“Who is it then?” She demands.
“You’ll seeeee,” I coo, the warm buzz of alcohol flowing through my words. I sprint to the door and open it to see a middle-aged woman standing there. She’s pretty, with red lipstick and a purple cloak that looks like something out of a movie.
“Hello, dear. You must be Bailey,” she says, holding out a tattooed hand which I happily shake.
“Hey! Yes, come in!” I close the door behind her. “You find the place okay?”
“I knew exactly where I needed to go,” she says cryptically.
“Cool!” Cassie gushes, jumping up from the couch to greet the tarot reader. “Who are you?”
“Agatha Nicholson, dear. Bailey hired me to do a tarot reading. She says you’re getting married.”
“I am! Aww, Bailey! You didn’t tell me you hired a psychic!”
“I’m not a psychic,” Agatha says flatly. She heads over to the living area and sits on the rug at one end of the coffee table. The rest of the girls look on curiously as Cassie and I join them. “Is here alright?” Agatha asks.
“Sure,” I say. “Cassie, do you wanna?—”
“Why don’t I do a reading for you first?” Agatha says.
“Well, I thought Cassie?—”
“Please,” Agatha interjects, “I insist. It’s tradition for the person who contacted the reader to go first. The person who reached out often needs a reading most of all, regardless of the reason for contacting me.”
I look at Cassie, and she shrugs. “Go for it, Bailey,” she says.
“Alright,” I agree, taking a seat.
Agatha pulls a black velvet bag from an inner pocket on her cloak, opening its drawstring and pulling out the deck of cards within. She begins shuffling the deck, her eyes locked on mine. “Now, I want you to think about what’s missing from your life, dear. What do you desire? What would complete it?”
“I—”
“Shh, don’t tell us!” Agatha cries, and the rest of the ladies giggle. “Just … think about it. Picture it. What do you lack?”
My bruised heart can’t help picturing the last good memory I have of Zach and me together before I discovered the lies and betrayal. The two of us went to Hawaii six months ago. It seemed perfect then, except my naive-ass was disappointed he didn’t propose to me.
In hindsight? Thank god.
Agatha fans the cards across the table, their backs beautifully decorated with ornate symbols. “Choose,” she says firmly.
I look at the row of cards, debating whether to pick from an end or more central. I go to grab one from the left but can’t ignore the pull that sends my hand right to the second-last card. I flip it over and set it in front of me, admiring the gold-embossed picture of an upside-down wheel.
Agatha’s smile is so wide I can see her unnaturally white teeth. “I knew it,” she hisses under her breath .
“Excuse me?” I say, unable to stifle a giggle. “Is this rigged?”
The look on Agatha’s face has me shrinking back, her eyes alight with a glimmer of madness in her offense. “You don’t rig tarot, Miss Dennis. And the cards don’t lie. Ever.”
I clear my throat, glancing at Cassie and the other girls as they stare awkwardly. The room has grown uncomfortably silent, the air stuffy with tension. “Okay, so what does this card mean?”
Agatha’s solemn look rattles me. “The wheel signifies change and an inevitable fate … but you’ve pulled it in reverse.”
“Okay.” I stare at the card, refusing to let the piece of glorified cardboard wig me out. “And what does that mean?”
“It represents a lack of control. Trying to cling to control. The card tells you that change is coming your way, and you must be willing to sacrifice some control and allow things to come to you.” She places a hand on the card, nodding knowingly as she hums. “Yes, I see a fated mate coming your way. A shifter. Someone you very strongly need to be open to.”
Cassie bursts out laughing. “What? A shifter? You mean like a werewolf? That’s ridiculous. Where did you find this woman, Bailey?”
Agatha scoops all the cards off the table with an inhumanly expeditious swipe. “I can’t help those that aren’t open to the tarot’s teachings. Good luck with the wedding, Ms. Hewitt.” She bags the cards and returns them to their spot in her pocket, then turns to me with narrowed eyes as she stands. “I suggest you become much more open to possibilities, Miss Dennis, lest you scramble the fate the tarot has in place for you and find yourself in a bad predicament.” And with that, she storms out, slamming the door behind her.
The girls and I sit in shock for a moment. Then, the entire gang bursts into giggles.
“What a weirdo!” Cassie cries. “Seriously, Bay, where did you find her?”
I shrug. “I saw an ad online; I thought it sounded cool! I’m sorry, Cass. You didn’t even get to do a reading. ”
“That’s okay,” she says, strolling into the kitchen. “But that was weird. I need another drink. Anyone else?”
A loud cheer erupts, and the rest of the girls join her to mix fresh drinks.
I down the rest of my cup, sad the tarot experience didn’t go better … and wondering how Agatha knew Cass’s last name when I’m sure I didn’t include it in our emails.