Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
“Never underestimate the power of carbs,” Daphne says. “But that’s not actually what I had in mind. Can I show you something?”
To my surprise, it’s not a rhetorical question. She sits and waits patiently for my answer, which is a bit un-Daphne-like.
It tells me that whatever idea she has, she’s very serious about it. And it has me reluctantly intrigued, so I nod.
“Okay,” Daphne says, picking up her phone. “Remember how the only thing I wanted for my birthday a couple years ago was your birth date and time so I could read your natal chart? I wanted the practice?”
I manage to refrain from rolling my eyes. “I remember.” That was when Daphne had been at the height of her astrology phase, before she moved into her crystals phase (the witchy phase is relatively new).
“Okay, so you still remember your sun sign, your moon sign, and your ascendant sign?”
“Am I supposed to know what that means?” I ask warily.
“We’ll get to the Big Three later,” Daphne says excitedly. “For now, just read this. Just the first sentence.”
She hands me her phone, and I pick it up, reading aloud for Aunt Lillian’s benefit. “ ‘A dramatic curveball is headed your way today, the kind that will destroy something you thought you wanted and send you careening, perhaps wildly, in a new direction.’ ”
I look up. “What is this?”
“Zodiac Zone.”
I shake my head, not following.
“It’s a horoscope app. You just read yours.” Daphne pauses dramatically. “From Monday.”
I look back at her phone. “The day…”
“The day that a dramatic curveball took away something you thought you wanted?” Lillian says gently.
I narrow my eyes. “Not thought I wanted. I did want tenure. I still do.”
My aunt and best friend exchange a glance that I don’t like one bit, mostly because I have no idea what it means, and I loathe things I can’t understand.
“Hold on, one more,” Daphne says, taking her phone back, flicking her finger on the screen before handing it back. “Now read this sentence.”
I sigh but once again, I read aloud. “ ‘Today’s celestial alignment suggests a dramatic and surprise shift in your romantic sphere. Embrace the change with grace and confidence, and trust this person was meant to be released from your life.’ ”
“That is from the day Daniel told you he accepted that Google job,” Daphne says.
“Okay,” I say slowly. “I get it. A fun coincidence. But you can’t tell me that every Virgo was fired and dumped on those precise days. Whoever writes those things is bound to get lucky once in a while. It’s called statistics, not fate.”
My aunt squints at the cheese board and then cuts off a generous chunk of something blue and funky-looking.
“What’s this?” I ask, giving it a sniff.
“Stilton. The bargaining cheese.”
I narrow my eyes. “What is it that you think I’m bargaining?”
My aunt only smiles and takes a good, long pull on her cigarillo.
Daphne gives me a reassuring smile. “All I’m suggesting is that maybe you take this sabbatical to explore a brand-new field of study.”
“Astrology,” I say, unable to keep the thick layer of derisive skepticism out of my voice. “You want me to take a year, of reading my horoscope and… what exactly?”
“Not just reading your horoscope,” Daphne says, practically bouncing with excitement. “Living by its prescriptions. It tells you to go dancing, you go dancing. It tells you to flirt with a handsome stranger, you buy the hot guy at Starbucks his latte. Stuff like that.”
I hand back Daphne’s phone, not wanting to admit that I feel the tiniest bit unnerved at the horoscopes’ accuracy.
“But what would be my hypothesis?” I say, looking between her and Lillian. “Even if I went with a null hypothesis, there’s no empirical data to work with. The very nature of astrology is that it’s completely subjective. So what would be the point?”
“I think the point, my dear girl”—Aunt Lillian pats my hand fondly—“is that life isn’t meant to be hypothesized.”
I frown, not liking that one bit. “What’s life meant for, then?”
Aunt Lillian smiles. “To be lived.”
AUGUST
My aunt’s inspiring speech aside, I had no intention of signing on for Daphne’s “follow my horoscope for a year” nonsense, though I did eventually decide to do the sabbatical, albeit with a compromise: I’d take the standard academic year off, but only after I finished the summer courses I’d committed to. Students had already filled the roster for those well ahead of my tenure rejection. I hadn’t wanted to punish them for my failure.
So today, two months into the summer session, I’d start the same way I have every workday this summer: waiting in line for my vanilla latte between classes.
But in the near future?
I’ll have a lot of time on my hands.
In the meantime?
I read my horoscope as I wait for my coffee.
Not because I’m going to turn it into a yearlong soul journey or anything.