Luna

There is a mystic standing outside of Luna’s Crystals and Tarot.

Newport in hand, backlit in purple LEDs. 

The subway traffic is tapering. Young professionals in their earmuffs and fancy coats retreating back to place.

She tries her hand at a lottery ticket, but the universe is unwilling. She lets the scratcher drop, lets herself slouch against the brick.

Bonnie’s calling. “These people think the world is ending,” Bonnie says, and noise pounds through the phone. “As if this didn’t happen last year too.”

“Sounds like you got all of my customers.” The mystic slings her bag over her shoulder and falls into stride with the commuters. 

Bonnie’s raising her voice now. “Still? Jesus- if I hear the Stop & Shop jingle one more time, I might just off myself.”

The mystic nods and listens. She advises Bonnie to write her stresses on a piece of paper and burn it. Bonnie tells her that she always knows what to say.

That’s the gist of the way these phone calls go. Often redundant, and usually sufficient. She lets Bonnie go- wishes her good luck on her shift. “I’ve reached my place. Don’t let the crowd mow you over.”

Past the creaky gate, through the teal door, she lets her handful of keys jangle in announcement. 

Her dad’s watching TV in the living room. “It might not be worth opening tomorrow. It looks like they won’t have the snow plows running in time.”

She stuffs her gloves into her pockets and throws her coat on the hanger. “I heard. Bonnie said everyone’s panic buying again. Maybe we can take a crack at one of your puzzles and treat it like a snowday.” 

“That sounds like a plan to me,” he says. “Any stories from today?”

She’s smudging some of her eye makeup in the hallway mirror. Where’d she put her chapstick?

“Nothing today. I’m supposed to have a couple aura readings tomorrow morning- did I leave any of my makeup out?”

Her dad chuckles, and then he acts like this is a one-off occasion. “I didn’t see anything. Did you check by the buddhas?”

“I wouldn’t have touched the altar,” the mystic waves off the idea, but makes sure to scan over her side table just in case. “It’s seven, isn’t it?”

And it is seven. And two minutes later, Tom arrives.

A knock sounds at the door. Her dad looks to her in a silent I’ll follow your lead.

She’d met Tom out dancing. She’d actually begun moving in step with him before her mind could catch up- her body alongside him, thoughtless. She’d liked that idea: choosing without thinking to. And he’d only tripped on her feet twice.

“Come on in, Tom,” she says, propping the teal door open.

He’s standing on the porch in a black button up and blue jeans.

Tom shakes her dad’s hand. “Good to meet you, sir. Do you mind where I put this?” 

It’s a bottle of red wine. “Red’s our favorite. Thank you. I’ll put this in the kitchen unless either of you-?” Her dad gestures to the bottle.

One glass before dinner sounds fine. She hears the cabinet doors open and close the next room over.

Tom lowers his voice. “You didn’t tell me this is what your place was like.”

“I don’t know, it’s where I grew up,” the mystic says. 

“It would take me five minutes to walk from your front door to your kitchen,” Tom says.

“It wouldn’t take five,” she says, shaking her head.

“I found your chapstick,” her dad calls. He appears with glasses in hand, “By the fridge again.”

She and Tom enjoy a sip or two and a couple of pleasantries before excusing themselves to the front porch. The air feels like a cooling cloth on her skin, and the moon acts as a ceiling light.

Tom takes a seat on the top step and leans back. “Your dad was nice.”

She smiles to herself, “Yeah, he’s pretty special.”

“I never know what’s right for things like this. I thought about bringing something else, but I didn’t want to overthink it,” Tom says.

“The wine? No, that was great. We love reds.” 

The mystic fiddles with her bag. Her fingers instinctively trace the Newports, and then still. 

The two of them finish their glasses and stare at the sky. Tom tells funny jokes and it’s easy to remember that first night when they danced.

The two go to dinner, and it’s a fine time.

When she gets home, the teal door opens with added gusto. She may have gained impressive strength in the past hour, or she may have had two more glasses. 

She breezes past the buddhas and up the stairs to her room. She slips into her robe and looks out of the window for a while.

The snow has begun to fall. 

She turns to the laptop on her comforter, opens it and clicks to her bookmarked sites.

Online Tarot: Pick a card and navigate your fate.

She hits the random card generator.

The Lovers.

She exhales, shuts it, and goes to sleep.