Can't Fix Cupid

“I was thinking about it, yeah,” I answer honestly.

She straightens her long skirt that she opted to wear today around her ankles before leveling me with a look. “Your aura is sick.”

I blink at her and then tug out the tissues from my nose so that I can talk to her without it sounding like I’ve sucked on helium. “Why do you say that?” I ask.

Hum Judy’s bright eyes travel over me. “When I first met you, it shone like a million prisms. So many colors. So much reach,” she says with a flourish, causing her bracelets to jingle on her wrist. “And you got brighter and brighter every day. Until…” she trails off at my flinch, and she gives me a look of understanding. “These past few weeks, you’ve been waning. I can barely see it anymore,” she finishes sadly.

I swallow around a dry, rough tongue and pick at the fabric of my jeans. “Yeah. I’m kind of...broken. In more ways than one,” I confess quietly.

Hum Judy shakes her head, causing her puffy gray hair to shake with it, the feathers and beads getting tangled in the strands. “You’re not broken, girl. You just lost your thrive.”

I tilt my head and dry my eyes. “My thrive?”

Hum Judy nods. “It happens. And it can be different for everyone. For me, my thrive is this place,” she confesses, waving a hand towards the door. “It’s Hale and Rob. It’s this community I live in. But for some people, it could be their children. Their pets. Their jobs. It could be something as simple as reading or singing or painting. It could be a person. A place. It could be a feeling. We all have a thrive. And when we have it...life is good. We shine. We feel full. But when we lose it…”

Emotio

n coats my lashes. “We dim.”

She nods slowly, her eyes never leaving my face. “Go find your thrive, girl.” I watch her as she stands up, her knees popping as she straightens. “These old bones aren’t what they used to be,” she says with a smile. “Life goes by too fast, you know?”

Yeah. I know.

After Hum Judy leaves me, I peel myself off the floor and go back to Blue and Bea’s house. I trudge inside the bathroom and shower, letting the cool water ease my puffy eyes. When I come back out, dressed in some jeans and a t-shirt, Bea and Blue peer over at me from the loft railing, looking surprised to see me showered.

“How you doing, Trix?” Blue calls down.

I feel guilty and embarrassed for making her worry about me lately, so I try to plaster on a smile. “I’m good. Great. Two thumbs up,” I lie, popping both thumbs up to help sell it.

She just continues to look at me. Okay, so I guess I didn’t sell it.

“I’m going to head out for a little while.”

Blue and Bea share a look. Probably speaking telepathically with their twin powers or something, because then they both look back at me at the same time and nod. “Okay. Be careful. Let us know if you need anything,” they say at the same time.

Wow. Impressive.

“Will do,” I wave.

I carry Warren’s suit jacket with me as I head outdoors and down artist row. I spot just the man I’m looking for: Frank Sinatra.

The sculpture made up of recycled goods is finally complete, looking debonair as hell. But when I slip Warren’s suit jacket over it, it looks—

“Perfect!”

I whirl around to see Hank—the artist—with his schlong swinging free and a wrench tucked behind his ear. “See? What’d I tell ya? Frank looks damn good in that jacket,” he says.

I nod, forcing myself to let go and step away from it. “He does.”

I walk away before I can give myself a chance to steal it back and sniff it again, because I refuse to be that pitiful.

Hum Judy wants me to find my thrive, but I know exactly where it is. The problem is, one of my thrives doesn’t want me, and the other one just doesn’t fricken work. How’s that for luck?

Defeated, I trudge down the pathway, spotting a group of nudies participating in a body painting activity. It must be Friday.

I walk over to their spot on the tarp that they laid down over the sand. They’re not too far away from the music circle, so there’s a constant chorus of out-of-sync chanting and plucked guitar strings.

The nudies are happily painting one another, covering their skin with bright colors. One dude’s dick is painted like a measuring tape. I’m no mathematician, but I’m certain those measurements are a tad over-generous.