Charming Falls Apart

by Angela Terry

  After he explains the details of my chart, which I only half understand, my soul reader/psychic then tells me the general traits of a Taurus—how I’m the most responsible and grounded of the signs, especially with being an earth sign. I’m not sure of this since, as of late, the ground has shifted under my feet. Perhaps the earth has given up on me.

  “People born on your day are risk-takers,” he tells me. “Though they usually do not find their true life work until later in their lives.”

  Considering that I’ve never taken any risks, which has probably led me to my current circumstances, I’m doubtful about the rest of this hour. But his last statement appeals to me, and so I try to keep an open mind.

  “You’re also a nurturer. I bet that you do a lot for others and that you don’t always take care of your own needs. Is that true?” He points his fingers like a steeple under his chin as he awaits my response.

  “I’m not sure.” I don’t feel like much of a nurturer—I don’t have kids, or pets, or even plants.

  “You must always remember to take care of your own needs and health before you can take on others’ needs.”

  “Oh, I do. I work out and eat healthy and try to get enough sleep.” I don’t know why I want to please this person, but I do.

  “But your heart, too, Allison. You also need to take care of that.”

  I nod in response, wondering if he knows how spot on his comment is.

  “Do you have any questions for me?”

  “Yes. So, you’re psychic?” I ask.

  “Yes. That’s part of the reading. I look at your astrological chart, but then I also dream about you the night before our appointment so I can advise you.”

  “Have you always done this?”

  “Been a psychic? Yes. It’s something I was born with.”

  “No, sorry, I meant this job.”

  “Oh. Well, I’m also a magician.”

  “You’re kidding? Where do you perform?”

  The astrologer-psychic-magician laughs and shakes his finger at me. “No, no, Allison. We’re here to focus on you. This is your hour and you’re not to spend it asking about me. Such a Taurus trait.” He shakes his head, chuckling this last bit to himself.

  “Okay. …” I start. I’m sick of talking about myself these days, but this is an hour that I paid for to do just that. “So what do I do with this information?”

  “I’m getting the sense that your life is in turmoil.”

  Maybe Jordan is right—rather than dreaming about me, I’m wondering if he Googled me and found a canceled wedding and my recent updates on LinkedIn.

  “You’re right.” I tell him about Neil and Stacey and losing my job. “So I guess what I want to know is where do I go from here?” I pause and then forge ahead. “And whether this is all my fault.”

  He shakes his head. “He wasn’t right for you. He was not your soul mate. The universe doesn’t want you to contort your soul and your life around someone for the sake of being loved. The universe taught you this lesson, and now those two gave you the gift of freedom to find your true soul mate.”

  “Will I find him?”

  “Yes. You just have to recognize him.”

  “Or, couldn’t you just tell me who he is?”

  If this guy’s psychic abilities are for real, then he must know already, right? And if he can’t give me a specific name, then perhaps he can at least give me a visual. Eric’s face briefly pops into my mind.

  The astrologer simply smiles serenely and shakes his head, and the vision of Eric disappears.

  “And, no, it was not your fault,” he continues. “It was a learning experience. And you have learned not to give so much or change who you are to the detriment of your soul. As for your career, don’t worry. People born on your day tend to be late bloomers. You’re going to make a life change that will bring you more success and happiness than you ever thought possible.”

  “Really? What’s that?”

  “It will be in line with your values and your ideal self, who you really are.”

  While this is interesting and all, I’m starting to think that I could have saved my money and consulted with a fortune cookie instead. But I’m determined to be open-minded and positive, especially after reading about the law of attraction. No negative thoughts allowed.

  “Okay. One more question: Will I have children?” I hold my breath as I brace myself for the answer.

  “There are children in your future,” he says definitively.

  I allow myself to exhale. “Thank you.”

  “So, Miss Allison, my parting advice to you is to pay more attention to your needs. Don’t worry about your image so much. And, remember, you’re a risk taker!” He produces a card from his pocket. “And if you ever want to catch one of my shows, you can find me here on the weekends.”

  “Oh! Great, thank you. For the advice. And the card.” Which I take from him, wondering if he could cast a magical spell to get me a dream job, my soul mate, and those hypothetical children in my near future.

  This hour was very entertaining, though, and if we were staying an extra night, I’d totally catch his show.

  When I meet Jordan for a drink at the bar before dinner, we’re both dressed up as if we were heading out to the nicest restaurant in town instead of simply staying at the resort, which has proved to be very Southern California casual. While it’s been nice to walk around in my yoga pants or swimsuit cover-up, heels and lipstick seem to be in order for this momentous day. Over our glasses of prosecco, I give her the download from my soul reading.

  “Wow! A lot of that is pretty spot on. I mean, I know a lot of these things are general and you impart your own meaning to them, but I think he nailed you,” she says nodding in agreement with the astrologer-psychic-magician’s assessment. She then puts her hands over her heart and bows her head, “I’m sorry I mocked your astrological soul reader.” She grins.

  “Apology accepted.” I laugh. “Yeah, I think he nailed me too. But most importantly, I feel really hopeful about the future. Good things are around the corner for me.”

  There’s ringing inside my clutch. My phone has been quiet this weekend so I’m surprised. I take it out and see that it’s my mom. She knows I’m at the spa this weekend, and so I fear that it’s something important.

  “It’s my mom. I have to get this,” I say quickly to Jordan and then answer, “Hi, Mom. Is everything okay?”

  “Allison!” She sounds breathless. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m great. Jordan and I are just having a drink before dinner.” Worried by the tenor of her voice, I ask, “Is everything okay?”

  “No! No, it’s not okay. Did you see?”

  “Did I see what?” She’s starting to scare me and Jordan is looking at me concerned.

  “Neil. He’s in a relationship with Stacey.”

  Oh my god. She’s calling to tell me this. I’m irritated and don’t hide it from her. “Yes, Mom, I know. That’s why I’m here in California rather than at my wedding reception doing our first dance.” I roll my eyes at Jordan.

  “Hang up,” Jordan mouths at me while arranging her fingers into a pretend handset she holds up to her ear and then hangs up.

  I raise my eyebrows in exasperation and nod. “I have to go, Mom. I’m being rude to Jordan. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “No, Allison, you’re not listening. He changed his Facebook status to ‘in a relationship’ with her … that, that tramp,” she practically sputters.

  I take a deep breath. This is one of many reasons why I’ve been avoiding any social media. And why in the world are Neil and my mother still Facebook friends?

  “Well, that’s pretty shitty that he did it on our wedding day, but his poor taste just goes to show that I’m better off without him.” My heart is in my throat and Jordan is making all kinds of faces at me now.

  “She’s pregnant.”

  My stomach drops. “What?”

  “He changed his status to in a relationship wi
th her and he posted that they’re expecting a baby boy.”

  My hand starts shaking and my whole body follows. Jordan takes the phone from my hand. “Mrs. James, it’s Jordan here. I don’t know what you just told Allison, but she’s as white as a sheet. What’s going on?”

  Jordan is silent, but from the expression on her face I know my mother just told her everything. “I see,” she says. “Okay, well I think I need to take care of your daughter right now. We’ll call you later.”

  I hear my mother still talking, but Jordan hits end call. She grabs my hand. “Are you okay?”

  I slowly nod my head yes, but then change it to no. “She’s pregnant?” I whisper.

  Jordan takes out her phone and I assume is checking Facebook. She shakes her head and sighs looking at her screen. “Unbelievable,” she whispers to herself, and then holds her phone up to me. “I’m sorry, Allie.”

  On her screen are an ultrasound photo and the words “It’s a boy!” with Stacey’s name tagged.

  Something primal in me breaks and I don’t even care if I’m about to make a scene, I just need to get outside. I run for the door and make it past the patio and then to the pool where I stumble in my heels and trip. I fall on a weird angle on my knees and, not even caring if I sprained something, begin to howl into the night.

  “Why????? It was supposed to be our wedding day! Our baby! He didn’t want a baby! He told me to wait!”

  Jordan is right behind me and falls on the ground with me. “Oh my god, Allison. What a fucking asshole. Asshole!” she shouts, shaking her fist at the sky as if it’s Neil’s face on the moon.

  The maître d’ from the restaurant appears next to us and asks, “Ladies, can I assist you with anything?”

  Jordan turns to him. “No, sorry, there’s nothing to assist. I got her.”

  But then I turn to him, sobbing. “I was supposed to get married today, but he cheated on me with my maid of honor and called it off. And then today he announces to the world via Facebook that he’s in a relationship with her and that they’re having a baby.”

  “Oh!” he says, clutching his hand to his chest. “Oh, my! That is terrible.” He bends down on one knee and puts out his hand for me. “Here, dear. May I help you up?”

  I put my hand in his. Although I just want to lie here on the concrete forever, I feel bad that this kind-seeming man has to deal with a hysterical woman bothering his other guests. Once I’m standing, he pats my back gently and says, “There, there, you poor thing. A stunning girl like you shouldn’t be upset over some man who clearly has no sense in him.”

  “Thank you,” I sniffle. I’m pretty sure I’m a fright now, with mascara running down my cheeks and my knees scraped up and bloody from falling.

  “How about we get you a cuppa?” I’m detecting a British accent.

  “Depends on what you spike it with,” Jordan says to him, still looking at me with concern in her eyes. She rubs my shoulder. “Let’s head back to your room, okay?”

  “But dinner?” I say numbly, not wanting to starve my friend. “I don’t want to ruin your night too.”

  “I’m on this trip for you, remember? If you want to get rip roaring drunk and burn Neil’s effigy in the desert, I’m down for that too. Whatever you need.”

  I see the horror in the maître d’s eyes and reassure him, “No effigy burning tonight. That cup of tea in my room would be great.”

  “What room are you in, love?” he asks.

  “Room four ten,” I answer.

  “I will send Alejandro with the tea.” As an aside to Jordan, he conspiratorially whispers, “If the tea doesn’t cheer her up, then the sight of Alejandro should do the trick.”

  Jordan nods and then whisks me away.

  WHEN WE ENTER my room, I sit on the edge of the bed and flop backwards.

  “What can I get you?” Jordan says, as she’s already rummaging through the minibar. “While the sight of Alejandro,” she says with an accent imitating the maître d’, “might be a momentary distraction, I know you, and tea isn’t going to cut it.”

  Staring at the ceiling, I moan, “Why, Jordan? Why her? Why everything?”

  “You were too good for him.” That’s what she keeps saying, but it rings hollow. If I’m too good, then why does everyone keep discarding me? I’m tired of trying to feel empowered. I can’t keep it up anymore; all strength has left me and whatever tough act I had going on is all gone. Right now I want to wallow and play the victim.

  There’s a knock at the door. Jordan gets up to answer it and I sit up. I hear a male voice with a Spanish accent say, “This is courtesy of Mr. Sloane our maître d’. Where would you like me to set it?”

  “On the desk is great,” says Jordan.

  Alejandro walks past me and nods in greeting while balancing the tray. When his back is turned to us, Jordan raises her eyebrows meaningfully at me. I get her meaning. Even in my sorry state I can appreciate that which is Alejandro.

  When he is finished arranging the tea, he then hands us two menus from the restaurant. “Mr. Sloane asked me to give these to you and to tell you to order whatever you like. It’s on the house. He also told me to stay and take your order.”

  I’m not hungry, but I know Jordan needs to eat. I also know it will stress her out if I don’t eat anything, so I simply ask Alejandro what his favorite dish at the restaurant is—the fava bean ravioli—and order that. After he leaves, Jordan stands by the door watching him disappear down the hallway. She then closes the door and comments, “That Mr. Sloane is a thoughtful man.”

  “Yes, though I’m not sure if you’re referring to the service or the server?”

  “A little of both.”

  I nod and take a sip of my tea. My eyes start to water, this time not from tears. “Whoa! This is the strongest tea I’ve ever had.”

  Jordan takes a whiff of hers and then a sip. “Is that brandy?”

  “It’s something.” I drink it down despite how hot and alcoholic it is.

  Jordan is sitting at the desk playing with her phone. “What are you looking at?” I ask.

  “Trying to find out how long a drive it is to Vegas.”

  I give her a confused look.

  “We don’t have to stay here,” she says. “I’m not sure more ohm-ing and ah-ing and nature hikes are going to cut it. You’ve been doing the introspection thing, which is awesome, but there’s something to be said about partying your ass off to forget your troubles.”

  I sigh. “This is not how this day was supposed to be. I was feeling at peace with everything. This was supposed to be a celebratory day, with or without Neil.”

  “Yeah, then that bastard has to crash the party. Typical,” Jordan hisses. “I could just kill the sonofabitch.”

  “Though that would be something to celebrate, I don’t think orange jumpsuits are our color or style.”

  “You’re right. Thank you for being practical.”

  “And I don’t think we need to go to Vegas to get shit-faced. Drunkenly dancing on the bar being groped by strangers at the age of thirty-five isn’t very life-affirming.” I sigh pathetically: all bravado has left the building. “I think I just want another hot toddy and to go to sleep.”

  After we eat our dinner, with me mostly pushing mine around the plate, and get a second viewing of the handsome Alejandro when he brings us our food, Jordan insists on sleeping in my room with me. “I’m not suicidal,” I tell her.

  “I know, but you shouldn’t be alone. Besides, those toddies were strong, and I’m here to stop you from any texting, calling, emailing, tweeting, or Facebooking Neil or anything else about Neil.”

  I’m too weak to argue.

  Turns out when there’s a knock on the door around midnight that wakes us up, I’m grateful Jordan is with me. “Ignore it,” Jordan mumbles half-asleep.

  But when the gentle tapping continues, Jordan gets up with a harrumph and answers it. There is some surprised whispering and then she shuts the door.

  “What was that abo
ut?” I ask, a little alarmed.

  “Alejandro was checking up on you.”

  “Did Mr. Sloane send him?” I’m surprised.

  “No, I think this was Alejandro’s taking the initiative.” She pats my leg as she settles back into bed. “Even with mascara running down your face, you’ve still got it. Take comfort in that.”

  After the knock, I can’t fall asleep. I spend most of the night staring at the ceiling and trying not to toss and turn. In the morning, I feel like a zombie, and with my gray skin and dark circles under my eyes, I resemble one too. Our flight is this afternoon, and while I don’t want to show my face in the hotel any longer, I’m not that excited about going home either.

  Jordan and I drink coffee on the little patio off my room.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go to Vegas? We could still change our flight. I’m in no hurry to get back to work,” Jordan offers.

  I shake my head and sigh.

  She pats my hand. “It’s going to get better.”

  “I know.” Though I don’t believe it.

  “And, remember. There’s always Alejandro. You can stay here and have beautiful Spanish babies with him.”

  The mention of babies makes me want to cry again for the umpteenth time. Though I love Jordan and everything she’s done for me, I also need some space to privately bawl my eyes out so I don’t have another outburst on the plane.

  “True,” I say. “So, hey, I’m going to take a shower now. Maybe it’s time we start motivating for the airport?”

  “Sure, sure. I’ll do the same. Let’s meet in the lobby in an hour.”

  “Great.”

  Once she’s out of my room, I turn on the shower. I step inside and, hoping that my room is soundproof, let out a lonely, painful howl. I half expect coyotes to howl back in response to my plaintive wailing. All the advice, new rules, and affirmations aren’t going to help me now. Before, I could think anything I wanted about Neil—that he was a commitment-phobe or just a cheater or that he didn’t want children. But the truth is that he didn’t want me. He wanted all those things with the right woman, and I wasn’t her. And I wasted five years of my life making excuses. I hate him for not stepping up and breaking up with me much sooner, before we moved in together or before he proposed. Why did he even propose? Was it because of my prodding? For the love of god! Who is the real idiot in this scenario? Sadly, I suspect it’s me.