“Well,” she says with a smug little look at me from under her eyelashes. “This one means that fear of failure has held you back.”
I cough and splutter, the wind knocked out of me. “Wait, what?”
Pen’s brow arches as that smug smile grows. “In your romantic life. Do you think fear of failure has gotten in your way?”
I press my lips together. “No comment.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Stella. C’mon, now.”
I lift my chin. “Okay, fine. Maybe?” My chin goes higher. “But it wasn’t like I was afraid of failing with Brody.”
Pen snorts. “Of course not. You didn’t care about succeeding with him. That’s the whole point.”
“Huh?”
“You chose Brody because he was a non-starter. Not relationship material,” she says, describing Maisy’s father pretty perfectly. “You can’t fail at learning to drive a car when your means of transportation is a roller skate.”
I blink, letting her words sink in. “You’re saying that because I’m afraid of crashing and burning with acar,I’ve just been getting by with roller skates? Like kids stuff?”
“Roller skate, singular. You can’t go very far or fast with just the one.”
I roll my eyes.
She grins. “That is when you’ve even bothered to lace one up, which you’ve only done a handful of times.”
“Definitely not a car,” I mutter.
She snorts again. “You haven’t even taken a test drive.”
I think of Lark, and Prince’s “Little Red Corvette” leaps to mind. I shut my eyes and shake my head violently.
“Okay, I’m ready for the next card.”
“Right. Your romantic present,” but as she flips over the card, another sails from the deck and lands in my lap. Face down.
I freeze.
“Oh, Goddess!” Pen gasps. When I look at her, her eyes are wide, not so much afraid as mystified. I, on the other hand, am rattled.
“What—What—What does that mean?” I lean away from the card that’s resting on my thigh like it’s a bee about to sting.
Pen looks from the rogue card to the one she’s just placed on the table beside the first. “Eight of Wands,” she murmurs in awe. I can tell by looking at the picture that the card is not inverse. It’s pointing the right way.
Eight little sticks—which I guess are supposed to be wands—all point in one direction, and little green sprigs of leaves grow from each.
“What about this one—” I reach for the one in my lap.
“Don’t!” Pen scolds, making me jump. “Don’t turn that one over yet.”
“B-But it’s like a misdeal, right? Shouldn’t it go on the bottom of the deck?”
Pen’s chuckle is low and a little terrifying. “Grasshopper, this isn’t a game of Gin Rummy,” she purrs. “There are no misdeals. That card jumped right into your lap.”
I stare at the thing like it’s a live grenade.
“Would it make you feel more comfortable to place it gently on the table?” She sounds like a kindergarten teacher. I don’t even care. I just nod.
“Okay, pick it up without turning it over and set it right here.” Pen taps the corner of the table by my right knee.
