There she was, Anna, standing in front of a pink house. Seafoam-green shutters. Farra’s Psychic Consultations & Palmistry. Anna clutched an over-sized purse. She tapped her foot. Her hair had a shampoo shine.


“You're late,” Anna said.


“You said ten.”


“It's ten-twenty.”


Your time,” I said. “Ten-twenty your time.” Anna set all her clocks ahead. A punctual woman.


Inside, I expected an exotic atmosphere — incense burning, metallic drapery, crystal balls, gold — instead Farra owned a tweed sofa. She owned gymnastics trophies, a shih tzu with a lazy eye.


I could tell Anna was nervous. Light glittered off her forehead. She wore jeans a size too small. She wore them with a new sexual swagger. I thought about how I'd rather be home in the comfort of my own television and textiles.


“I can't wait for you to meet her,” Anna squealed.


“You have no idea.”


“How are you holding up?” Anna said. “With the wedding and all?”


I shimmied. “Excited for the big day!”