She sits down and sets it in front of me.
“It’s a special mix, made of entirely natural ingredients,” she tells me. “You must drink every last drop.”
I raise my eyebrows. “It won’t affect the baby, will it?”
She laughs. “Esmita, it’s only tea,” she says. “I need you to drink it so I can read the patterns in your tea leaves.”
“Oh,” I stammer. “Right.” My cheeks color a little as I accept the tea and take a sip.
It’s sweet, with a few slightly bitter notes, but it tastes comforting and I finish the cup in a few minutes. Aracelia watches me the whole time. Unmoving, unblinking.
She reminds me an awful lot of the tabby cat.
When I hand the mug back to Aracelia, she snatches it out of my hands and brings it right up to her eyes. She turns it this way and that, frowning and muttering to herself every few seconds.
“Hmm, interesting, very interesting.”
To be honest, the overall effect is a little cheesy. Like she learned how to be a psychic from watching bad infomercials.
But that itch that made me say yes to her offer in the first place hasn’t gone away. If anything, it’s intensified.
I lean in, trying to figure out what she’s seeing, but the cup is tilted up towards her.
I have to stifle a shriek when she slams the china cup back down and turns her huge gaze on me.
“You’ve had a strange life,” Aracelia announces.
It’s a pretty general deduction to make. I refuse to be so easily impressed.
I shrug. “Some might say that.”
“You’ve felt trapped in your past life,” Aracelia continues, unperturbed by my less-than-enthusiastic reaction. “You’ve dreamed of escape.”
That’s a little less general, but still in the same ballpark.
But I pay a little more attention as she went back to studying my tea leaves.
“You’ve suffered great losses in your life,” Aracelia intones. She hasn’t broken eye contact since she set the teacup down. “A sibling. A parent—no, both parents.”
She’s right about that.
Mama to cancer, just after I was born.
Papa to his own greed.
Cesar to the man I married.
Maybe she’s not so nutty after all.
“Violence has plagued your past,” the woman continues. “And according to these leaves, it will continue to plague your future.”
Those words make me stop short. I stare at Aracelia, wondering if maybe I’d misheard her.
Actually, it’s more like I’m hoping I misheard her.
“What did you say?”
“Your leaves are chaotic,” Aracelia repeats. “I sense that the path you’ve chosen is not an easy one. There will be many challenges ahead for you.”
“What kind of challenges?” I ask.
I’m leaning in, mouth hanging open in desperation, despite the fact that I told myself at the start of this reading that it didn’t mean a thing.
“It’s hard to say,” Aracelia replies. “But I can see you coming to a crossroads soon.”
“A crossroads?”
“You will have to make a hard decision at some point in the near future. It will not be easy, but trust your instincts and you might yet find happiness.”
My heart is beating fast, but I try and tamp down the panic.
This is ridiculous. This woman is just a low-rent psychic. None of this is specific and she’s just guessing. She doesn’t have a clue what she’s talking about.
I start to rise from my seat. “Um, gracias,” I say. “I appreciate the reading, but I should be going home now.”
She pounces forward and seizes my forearm in her two hands. “Your husband is promising you things he cannot give you.”
I freeze for the briefest of moments with something like horror surging in the pit of my stomach.
Then I rip my hand away from her.
“Right,” I say. “That’s enough. My hus… um, I just have to get home now.”
Aracelia says something else to me, but I don’t hear it or bother to make her repeat herself. I just want to get out of her house and back to my own.
She stays perfectly still, perfectly upright in her seat. She doesn’t blink. Just follows me with those huge eyes as I stumble to the front door and out of the house.
I drive a little too fast back through the town. In my haste, I almost forget that I need to pick up some groceries.
I turn back around and head to the grocery store. As I move along the isles, picking up milk and carrots, I feel the panic ebb slightly.
Surrounded by the normalcy of a town that now feels familiar to me, clarity sets in. I start to feel silly.
She hadn’t told me anything very specific. It was all glossy generalizations that could have fit into anyone’s life. I’m giving it too much power over me.
Instantly, I feel myself relax. I finish the rest of my shopping, then I get back into the car and drive back up the winding slopes towards the cabin.
Home is safe.
Home is okay.
Home is where Artem is.
Artem is sitting out on the porch when I drive up.
I can tell by his expression that he was starting to get anxious. The relief is evident on his face when I slam the door shut and stride right into his arms.
“Hey, handsome,” I say. “Missed me?”
“Of course,” he nods. “How could I not? Successful trip?”
“I got everything we need for the next two days,” I tell him. “And… well I had a little adventure too.”
His eyebrows go up. I can tell he’s bracing himself to hear something he figures he probably won’t like.
But when I tell him about Aracelia and her amazingly bizarre fashion sense, Artem bursts out laughing. His laughter is just the tonic I need to wipe out the lingering remnants of worry.
“I can’t believe you went to a psychic.”
I shrug. “I thought it’d be a laugh.”
“And was it?” he asks.
I pause. “It was. Mostly in hindsight.”
He laughs again and kisses the top of my head. “Well, did she tell you anything note-worthy?”
I’m about to let her warning slip, but at the last moment I hold it in. I wish I knew
