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I roll my eyes again and stand up from the couch to move to my tiny room down the hall from my parents. Our apartment is small, but comfy for the three of us. We’ve lived here my whole life and I can’t imagine living anywhere else, at least not until I move out for college. Which is far closer than I like to think about.
Or it was until they shut down the schools within the Quarantine zone. I’m trying to keep up with my course work, and I video chat with my classes every day, but it took them a long time to figure out this wasn’t temporary. That it would be months of being locked away from each other.
Technically, I’m supposed to be heading to Palm de Rosa University in September. But that only counts if I actually graduate.
I flop down on my bed and type out a response to Jeremy about how I miss him, too. How I can’t wait for all this shit to be over so I can kiss him senseless.
I wait for a reply. And I wait. And wait.
My fingers play with the bracelets on my wrists. A series of smooth crystal beads. Ocean jasper. Tiger’s eye. Black tourmaline. Hematite on my left wrist. Rose Quartz, peach moonstone, citrine, Carnelian and pink opal on my right.
My grandma gave them to me and she’d told me what all of them mean, what they’re supposed to help with, but I was only half listening. I love her to death, but I do not believe in the power of crystals.
Still, I promised her I would keep them on, so I do.
I sigh and sit up… glancing at my phone again. Why hasn’t Jeremy texted back? It’s been happening more and more recently. When we’d first started dating, he’d been almost clingy, needing to be around me all the time, but since we’ve been in quarantine, he’s less and less communicative. I can’t say I really blame him. We are in unprecedented times. But still…
My stomach pinches in nerves because the reason he’s not responding may be that he’s in the process of, you know, killing himself. I send another text.
Can you send me just an emoji back or something?
So I know you’re okay?
His response is a rolling eye emoji.
I let out a breath and toss my phone on the bed, before wandering around my room, touching knick knacks and photographs and books. I have a lot of plants in my room, a lot of my mom’s style has spilled over. Boho chic is what my best friend Callie calls it. All whites and greens and natural wood with just a few hints of terracotta. I drew the line at the crystals my mom wanted to put on every available surface. The faint whiff of sage reaches my nose and I know my mom has recently been in here to cleanse by burning a bundle of the dried herb.
I pause in front of my mirror, eyeing myself, pulling my straight black hair back into a ponytail and then fluffing my straight across bangs. They were an impulse cut about a month into quarantine. I’d hated them at first, but now I love them.
My dad is Korean. My mom is… Well, she’ll tell you she’s French, but her great grandparents moved to America, so I just call her American, not French. I’m the perfect blend of both my parents. Sleek black hair from my dad. Greyish-greenish eyes from my mom. Both of my parents have full lips, and they argue about who’s I’ve inherited. The heart-shaped face I got from my dad, the small nose and the freckles over it I got from my mom.
No one has any idea where I got my curves from. Boobs and hips and thighs and a small belly that I love. I like being soft. I, in no way, want to be all angles and muscles like my mom. All ridges and veins like my dad.
It’s probably because I like to eat junk food that they don’t allow in the house, and the only exercise I do is yoga, which means I’m strong, but not thin.
I flare my nostrils, catching the sparkle of my stud nose ring as I do so. That is my addition to my looks, along with the black eyeliner, the blue tips of my hair and my signature black clothing.
That’s not to say I don’t wear other colors, it’s just… Very rare.
Ugh, I’m so bored.
I spend the next few minutes shuffling through the tarot deck that Jeremy gave me for my eighteenth birthday. His sister runs a Wicca store and I’m about ninety percent sure he’d forgotten my birthday and just grabbed what he could from the shop.
I let out a breath and flip a card. Death. My stomach clenches, but I make myself not read into it. I’ve read enough of the book to know that Death doesn’t mean something bad, necessarily. It could just mean change.
I flip another card. The Devil.
Well, fuck. That’s not… great.
A final card is The Moon reversed.
Illusions. I frown down at the three cards, not liking how they’re making me feel. I hold very little stock in these cards. Generally, I am not a spiritual person. I don’t believe in them the same way I don’t believe in the crystals on my wrists, but everything I’ve read about tarot is that it’s all intuition, and right now my intuition is screaming at me that something awful is going to happen.
A shiver works its way down my spine.
A shriek from the living room has me whirling toward the sound. I stumble to my feet. “Mom?”
I relax when I get to the living room, seeing my dad has my mom by her waist, bending his head to kiss her.
