“No, that’s where I get my coffee, too.” She grabs my purchases, including the bag of candy I added on impulse, and starts to ring me up. As she does, my eyes drift down to where the scratch-off tickets sit below the counter.
As I take in the brightly colored rolls, bittersweet memories flood me. Sunday mornings with my grandfather, waking up early to get bagels, then going next door to the small convenience store. We’d separate once we walked in, and I’d pick out a strawberry milk for myself and an orange juice for Grant while Grandpa made himself a coffee. He’d be waiting for me at the counter, the giant brown bag in hand filled with still-warm bagels, and he’d let me choose which scratch-offs he’d get. With thirty dollars to spend, I’d carefully choose which ones intrigued me, themed ones for Mother’s Day or the holidays, a crossword puzzle, or some kind of tic-tac-toe.
Trust your gut, he’d tell me,it will never steer you wrong.I would meticulously point out each one until we had a big stack. When we got home, we’d have breakfast, then sit at the table and make a mess of silver flecks, scratching at the cards with pennies Grandma would hand Grandpa, Grant, and me. Sometimes, we’d win big, a couple of hundred dollars that would make for a new toy or a fancy dinner, and sometimes they were all losers, but I always cherished those lazy mornings, believing in luck and chance.
I remember then, something else I had long forgotten—how Grandpa also used to make decisions with lottery tickets, saying his lucky stars were guiding him. Some people use coins, ask friends, or make a pros-and-cons list, like I’m planning to, but not my grandfather. He was a dreamer of the highest regard andbelieved the universe would always guide him where he needed to be.
I idolized that about him, the way he just trusted in things he couldn’t see. He passed down that dreamer attitude to his daughter, my mom, and because of it, she was never around long enough to take on the responsibility of raising us. Even though that mindset saddled him with two kids long past his prime, he never made it seem like a bad thing. Instead, he always told me the universe was guiding me along, reminded me to trust in the process, and believe it would all work out in the end.
Maybe I should try putting this decision in the hands of the universe, let someone else decide for me. There’s an old overstock ticket from St. Patrick’s Day, lucky icons littering it, my grandpa’s favorite holiday for obvious reasons, and it feels like a sign.
A horseshoe, just like the one I keep in my entryway, facing up to catch any good luck that could possibly come my way.
A ladybug, the first and only tattoo I ever got, hidden on my hip so my grandparents couldn’t see it.
A four-leaf clover, like the ones I’ve spent hours and hours searching for my entire life.
I asked for a sign, didn’t I? Maybe this is it.
I am so lucky, and everything works out for me,runs through my mind unbidden.I have the saying hanging as a print in my apartment, reminding me tobelievethat I have Lucky Girl Syndrome, even when it sometimes feels like the complete opposite.Without a second thought, I point to the ticket beneath the glass. “Can I also get one of those?”
Connie smiles and moves to get me one, and I smile over my shoulder at the man. “Sorry, I don’t mean to hold you up.” He gives me a noncommittal look and a wave of his hand as I pay for my small haul.
After, I shift down the counter out of the way to scratch my lottery ticket. I can’t wait to do this at home, not when it feels like my future hangs in the balance. I guess, in a way, it does:
If I win, I decide I’ll take the hiatus and see what happens.
If I lose, I’ll accept the out-of-town position. Either way, I’m leaving here having made up my mind.
“Shit,” I mumble, as I dig through my bag, already hitting my first hiccup. I turn to the man who is now checking out at the register. “Do you happen to have a coin I could borrow?” His stoic, uninterested look transforms into confusion, and I expand. “For my scratch off.” He stares, unspeaking once more, before moving to his pocket and pulling out a penny. “How lucky!” I exclaim as he hands it to me. “Thank you so much! I never have change anymore. Everything is credit.” He nods, the very edges of his lips just barely tipping up, and even though he’s not actually smiling, I see my guess confirmed: he’shot.
Like, really hot.
So much so, in fact, I think his hotness short-circuits my brain, making me ramble.
“If I win, I’m going to quit my job,” I inform him as if he asked.
“I don’t know if a scratch off is great for life advice.”
“I’m not taking life advice from a lottery ticket. I’m taking life advice from the universe,” I say as if that’s any better. He looks at me as if I have completely lost it, lifting an eyebrow at me.
“Do you have a backup?”
I let out a laugh and shake my head.
“No. But I’m lucky. Everything always works out for me.”
“Everything?”
“Everything always works out the way the universe intends,” I correct, and he narrows his eyes at me, but despite everything, I believe that to be true. It hasn’t been foolproof, but when I look back at hiccups in my life, everything has genuinely alwaysworked out. I was crushed when I got into my number-one pick college but didn’t get the scholarships I was counting on, but it meant I went to a state school on a full ride, where I met my best friend, Claire.
There’s also how Claire met and began dating Paul, the absolute worst person on earth, but after they broke up, she ended up living with his brother, Miles. Now they’re madly in love, and she lives in my hometown, where I get to see her all the time.
Or the time I desperately wanted tickets for an outdoor festival but missed the presale. It ended up raining the entire weekend, and no one got refunds.
It always works out. Everything happens for a reason, even if it seems like, in the moment, that nothing is going right. It’s what I’ve had to tell myself most of my life in order to make it through without losing my mind, and I won’t be stopping anytime soon.
“That sounds like how people justify things not working out for them,” the stranger says, not buying it.
