It wasn’t that I doubted his feelings. But there was still, no matter how many times he reassured me, something slightly off. Maybe it was just a lingering feeling of insecurity on my part, the same that had fuelled what I’d said to Phil about our friends being more Jack’s friends than mine. Or maybe there was actually something there that I was picking up on. Either way, the cards would help me get clarity.
I grabbed my amethyst pendant in my hand and unboxed the cards, pressing the stone into my palm to encourage my intuition, and held Phil’s face in my mind. I decided one card should be enough, shuffling through the entire deck three times before stopping. Then I took a deep breath and pulled the top card, placing it on the surface in front of me.
A cloud of anxiety instantly fell over me as I looked down at the waning crescent moon, but I thumbed through the booklet anyway, wanting to be sure I wasn’t jumping to conclusions.
What I read on the page made my mouth go dry.
The waning crescent moon is the final phase of the lunar cycle. It’s time to wait things out and allow them to take their natural course. No matter what we do, we cannot change fate, and trying to do so will only make things worse. The best we can do is embrace the cycle of change and have hope for whatever comes next.
Your keyword: endings
Chapter25
Phil
It took ages, but the fabric I needed for Amy’s dress finally arrived. I couldn’t take full credit– it was Morgan’s illustrations that had helped the idea come to life– but now that I could work on it properly, I knew Amy would love it. The deep violet of the satin, which almost perfectly matched the dress she’d worn on our first date, would bring out her emerald eyes, and the tiny stars already embroidered on the dusky purple tulle were even better in person. Once I added more stars in gold in her favourite constellations, it would be perfect. I didn’t even need to look at the illustration to picture her in it; I knew she’d look downright ethereal. I even had my eye on a celestial halo headband that would look perfect with it.
Unfortunately, as perfect as it was, it was also expensive as hell. By the time I caved and ordered the headband, I’d spent as much on materials for the dress as I had on my tickets and accommodation for the fantasy festival. It was worth it, but I had to pick up a few extra data entry jobs to cover it, which was hard since I was also having to hide it away from Amy. I was mostly staying up late to work on it once Ethel had gone to bed, or taking advantage of the increasingly rare days when Amy wasn’t at mine. I even put Ethel to work one day; her fine motor skills had worsened over time, but her draping skills were still far superior to mine.
Amy constantly tried to sneak a peek in my craft room, but I’d started keeping it locked, telling her I didn’t want Ethel to pick up scissors or a needle without me knowing. I was pretty sure she knew I was up to something, but thankfully she didn’t push it.
It was as tiring as it always was, trying to juggle everything. I was just about keeping my head above water, mostly because of Amy, but I knew eventually something would have to give. Especially when I noticed that, despite the injection she’d gotten, which should have eased the pain for months, Ethel was still compensating for the arthritis in her back, leaning to the side when she was sitting down and using the walls and furniture for support when she walked. I didn’t deal well with that, spending a solid hour after she went to bed one night pacing the lounge in front of Amy, wondering what I was missing or doing wrong, and blaming myself and everything I had going on for distracting me.
I didn’t think I ever implied that Amy was counted among the things distracting me, as much as she might have been; at least I tried not to insinuate that. But she seemed to go there herself, always offering to be there more or less, or whatever I needed, and I had to reassure her more than once that I wanted as much of her as I could have.
Maybe I needed to take a break from the crafts and the baking, or maybe look at a meal delivery service. But all that cost money. And not to mention, I was already only making dinner maybe three days a week, relying more and more on frozen ready meals and leftovers, and I hated it. Every time I took a bite of something I hadn’t prepared myself, no matter how good it was, I felt a sense of disappointment. I was failing to be and do everything I needed to be and do, and every cut corner I noticed or ball I dropped just made my deficiency more evident.
* * *
We arrived at the Evanses’house one Sunday for dinner, about an hour before the meal as usual, so I could help Patricia cook. Amy asked Ethel if she wanted to go see the cows again, and I wasn’t convinced she remembered what Amy was talking about, but she seemed enthusiastic enough. So whilst I went inside, off they went to the farm.
I’d lost risotto stirring privileges years ago for forgetting to stir for approximately thirty seconds– five years ago, actually; I’d been distracted by a certain leggy blonde, if I remembered correctly– so Patricia put me on chopping duty for the salad. Alan came in at one point and asked me a few questions. We’d always struggled because I didn’t watch football or listen to death metal, and he didn’t watchThe Great British Sewing Beeor listen to podcasts about dementia research, but he always made time for a conversation, and he always asked after Ethel. Now we talked about Amy too, apparently, as he bragged about how well she’d done with the big pitch.
“She worked really hard on that,” I said, knowing she’d hate me saying that, but it was true. “I think she’s really chuffed it paid off.”
“Yeah, I know the feeling,” he said, just as Amy and Ethel walked in through the back door.
“What feeling?” Amy asked, skipping over to kiss me on the cheek. That was new to our real relationship, too: PDA in front of her family.
“Being proud of you, essentially,” Patricia said from the hob where she stood stirring, probably knowing Alan would never admit to it.
Amy frowned, then started wiping at my face. “I take that kiss back. You weren’t really talking about me, were you?”
I shrugged as I sliced through a pepper. “You’ll never know, will you?”
Amy unhooked a tea towel from the cabinet pull and wound it up before whipping at my legs with it. Luckily, she missed by a hair.
“Watch it!” I yelled. “Sharp knife here!”
“Not in the kitchen!” Patricia shouted. “Alan, take over the chopping so Phil and Amy can spend time together.”
Alan huffed his disapproval but ultimately complied. “As if they don’t spend enough time together,” he said, taking the knife and pointing it at me. “I knew you were trouble.”
I thought about insisting he let me continue for my own safety, but Amy was already pulling me out the door.
“Did you two get to see the cows?” I asked as Ethel followed us. Amy let go of me and rushed to her side to help her over the threshold, which jutted up slightly.
“No, we got distracted by the ducks at Jack’s. Wanna go now?”
