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)
His eyes narrow in warning, but I ignore it, because suddenly I see him. I see so clearly what’s been right in front of me.
“You got hurt,” I say. “Your fiancée hurt you. But instead of admitting that—even to yourself—instead of owning it and healing, you use it as an excuse to shut down, to pretend like nothing matters to you.
“You think your relationship with Alyssa is casual?” I continue. “It’s not casual. It’s not some modern, adult relationship, Archer. It’s cowardice, plain and simple. It’s so you don’t have to go all in on another human being who might hurt you like Willow hurt you. I may play by a rule book, but at least I’m in the game!”
My outburst ends on a shout, my heart hammering hard in my chest.
Archer doesn’t move, aside from clenching and unclenching his jaw, as we stare at each other in anger and frustration for several long, emotionally charged moments.
“You done?” he asks finally, his voice low.
I swallow and nod because my throat aches with the threat of impending tears. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m done.”
“Good. Because you and me. This. We’re done.”
I have a halfhearted impulse to point out there is no we. That there’s nothing to end because nothing ever started.
But I know it isn’t true.
Whatever’s developed between Archer and me these past few months may not have a name, but it’s the most real thing I’ve ever experienced with another person.
The most intense.
The most rewarding.
The most painful.
“Good luck with the interview, Randy,” he says. “I hope you find everything you’re looking for.”
Archer walks away then, and I let him, because while I don’t agree with his entire assessment, he’s not wrong about me being on a path that doesn’t include him. I know what my next few years will entail. I’ll have to work harder than ever to prove myself after a failed tenure bid. From another state. In another time zone.
I don’t need my horoscope or our incompatible natal charts to know that Archer and I aren’t meant to be. Were never meant to be.
But after his door has shut with a slam, after he’s gone, I slowly lower to the cold iron chair on the roof and finally let the tears fall.
Because I can’t shake the feeling that everything I’m looking for?
Just walked away for good.
ARIES SEASON
You’ll be feeling the Full Moon in Scorpio tonight. It may be time to let go of a grudge or baggage that hasn’t been serving you. Make room for new beginnings.
You guys really didn’t have to come see me off,” I tell my family, still in a bit of shock at their unexpected arrival. I leave for California tomorrow for my Stanford interview and had planned on a quiet night of packing.
Not just for the trip. But packing packing. Because if all goes well, I have a cross-country move ahead of me. And even if it doesn’t go well, I still plan to move back to the city to resume a lecture position at Nova. Win-win.
But just as I’d been debating between ordering pizza and making scrambled eggs for dinner, my family had shown up at Lillian’s front door in a scene right out of a movie finale. They have since whisked me away for a good-luck dinner at an Italian restaurant on the Upper East Side.
“Don’t get too excited. It was only an hour-long flight,” my brother Brian says, not looking up from his menu.
I smile as my mother swats him on the back of his head, a gesture I haven’t seen since we were kids.
“Seriously?!” Brian says, rubbing the back of his head. “What the f—”
He catches her glare, then gives me an apologizing smile. “We were happy to make the trip, however long, sis.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, though I smile back. “But seriously, you guys. I really appreciate the support.”
“We know. You cried,” Jamie says, smart enough to dodge when my mom’s hand comes for his head.
“Okay, in my defense, the entire family has never come to New York. Ever. I mean, I’m grateful, but—”
“We were afraid you’d tell us not to come,” Mom says. “Especially after Christmas.”
I reach out and squeeze her hand with a reassuring smile. “I’m thrilled that you’re all here. It really… it means a lot.”
Jamie waggles his eyebrows. “You nervous?”
“So nervous,” I confide, and I can tell from the quick glances between my parents that they’re surprised by my admission. We Reeds don’t do nervous, we don’t do doubt, we don’t do… vulnerability. At least not externally.
But while I may not have much time for reading my horoscope in the future, or assessing potential boyfriends’ natal charts, I can’t deny that this past year—shedding the scientist cape, entering the whimsical world of astrology—has changed me.
It’s allowed me to accept that there are facets of my personality, of my person, of my very soul that can’t be explained or rationalized.