“You old people try to fit everyone in a box. Love is love and shouldn’t be labeled in one category. Most people out there haven’t found their soulmate. They’re too busy constricting themselves to preconceived ideas about what love is and who it should be with. You should probably date a woman. It will do wonders for your self-esteem.”
There’s no need to argue. I know she’s right on some level. The world would be a better place if love eclipsed hate.
“How was the parade?”
“It wasn’t a parade. It was a fair showcasing LGBTQ+ artists.”
She couldn’t celebrate with me last night. She and her fluid boyfriend went to New York for some gay pride event. Plus, she sells her art at fairs, and apparently, the event was a fair.
“Okay, so how’d it go?”
“Great.” She smiles and eyes the work she’s done on my face. “Okay, let’s go. We have an appointment with Madame Zelda.”
That stops me. “I did not agree to go see your psychic.”
“Why?” Ella asks before putting everything back into her bag, which could double as carry-on luggage. “I’ve told her all about you, and it’s part of your birthday gift.”
I want to roll my eyes, but she means well.
“Fine.” Besides, staying in another minute is depressing. With Ella as my shield, maybe I can survive an encounter with Joel.
But we don’t run into him. “I was hoping to see this hot neighbor of yours. I should come over more often.”
“Don’t make Rog jealous.” I waggle my eyebrows.
She laughs. “We don’t get jealous.”
I don’t bother to ask. I don’t want to know if they share or not.
We walk a few blocks, but we finally find a cab.
“Why didn’t you get Uber?” I whisper in the back seat after she gives our destination to the driver.
“Uber means planning. I wasn’t sure when we’d leave, and I hate to be confined to time.”
I don’t bother to mention that you don’t schedule an Uber or mention that according to her we had an appointment, which contradicted her words. Sometimes saying nothing to Ella is best. I let her hail a cab.
We arrive at a place in Old Towne Alexandria, across the water from where my sister’s loft is located in the revitalized Waterfront area in Southwest, Washington, D.C.
We walk upstairs and Ella opens the glass panel door, and we enter a room that has to be cliché of every stereotypical psychic’s workplace. The walls are a deep orange, and every surface is stacked with knickknacks of all things creepy. The place can easily be described as an organized hoarder’s mess.
“Welcome, Ella.”
My heart almost leaps from my chest. I’d been staring at a statue of a one-eyed monkey. Standing straight, I focus on the woman who looks like an older version of my mom. That should make me feel less weirded out, but it makes me feel more so.
Her gray hair is streaked with white, and she wears a long maroon skirt that covers her feet. An Indian styled orange shirt finishes the outfit.
“This is your sister.”
Ella already told me that she’d spoken to the woman about me. She extends a bony hand, which seems at odds at her rounded body. No judgment, but I didn’t expect it.
“Call me Madame Zelda.”
When I grasp her cold hand, Zelda’s whole body stiffens. At first, I wonder if the woman needs emergency assistance.
Ella sees my distress. “Don’t worry. She’s having a vision.”
I frown. Honestly, I don’t believe in this. When I pull my hand away, Zelda comes out of her trance.
“We should go sit.” Ella points to an opening in the back wall.
Zelda nods, and we follow her into a room past the beaded curtain, which is so cliché I stop myself from saying “Come on.”
The room we enter is so small the three of us barely fit. There is a tiny table in the center, lots of stuff on the walls, and shelves all around. Thank goodness there isn’t a crystal ball on the table or I might have accidentally rolled my eyes. Instead, I smile. It’s all in good fun. Zelda seems nice. Though my sister is obviously getting taken for money.
“Give me your hand, child,” Zelda says.
I might have lost the battle and rolled my eyes at Ella before extending my hand with a smile. I’m hit with a tiny jolt of static electricity and cry out in pain. Ella gives me a smug grin.
“This is about a man.” Zelda’s eyes are closed as if she’s channeling something from beyond.
Oh boy, I’m not sure how well my acting skills are going to hold up today.
“Isn’t it always?” I mutter.
Ella kicks my shin under the table. In turn, I give her the stink eye. Thankfully, Zelda’s are closed as she divines—or rather guesses—at my romantic future.
“This man is tall, with dark hair, and handsome.” The older woman speaks slowly, and it comes off like a bad horror movie in the making.