Page 23 of The Sun and the Moon

Sydney

It’s the morning we’re supposed to leave for Solvang for the start of Dad and Moira’s engagement celebration, and I really could have used a decent night of sleep.

Two nights in a row lying awake for hours with my mind racing is hard enough to handle when I am coming into it well-rested, but after being in the air for the last ten days, I’m haggard on a whole different level.

When Moira finished with my reading, I was so shaken up that I didn’t wait around after. I did text Ranger Girl to see where she’d gone, only to discover she had taken a ride on the Universal Studio’s backlot tour with my dad and learned some interesting info she’d have to tell me about in person.

I decided to head back to Culver City, got stuck in rush hour traffic, then ate dinner in my room watching reruns of House Hunters International to cope.

Joe was home, a new guy on the couch beside him for the Netflix part of their Netflix-and-chill session. I didn’t want to third wheel any part of that and also really didn’t want Joe to immediately read the conflict on my face and make me explain what was up.

Because something was definitely up, and it was largely to do with my personal tarot reading delivered by my dad’s fiancée. Madame Moira really knows how to take a girl with a few superstitions and a whole lot of emotional baggage and turn her into a bumbling, questioning, soulmate-imagining idiot.

I got less than two hours of sleep, am running on caffeine and carbs, and am pulling up to Kismet half an hour late.

I tug out my phone and glance at the itinerary Dad and Moira sent over in a mass-bcc’d email to all the guests attending the engagement weekend.

They reserved a block of rooms through a special rate Moira secured with her connections at the hotel, removing a roadblock for most of the guests considering the last-minute nature of the invite.

Guests are able to check in and pay the remaining balance on the room, but with the discount, it’s a steal.

I flick my tired eyes over the itinerary.

Friday

Arrive at the Hygge 2–4 p.m. (strongly suggested)

Wine Tasting at Whimsy Winery 4:30 p.m.

Opening Ceremony of the Danish Days Festival 7:30 p.m.

Axe Throwing and Brats Directly Following

Saturday

Danish Days Festival

(see website for detailed list of activities)

Cheese and Wine at the Hygge 2 p.m.

Sunday

Engagement Brunch

Food, Wine, and Dancing at Whimsy Winery

A whole weekend of “fun,” and me without an ounce of energy to enjoy it.

Or thwart it.

I secretly hoped they would leave without me, and then I could drive down alone and clear my head.

Dad is still loading the trunk of his Subaru Forester, which means, unfortunately, my plan is foiled.

The back is wide-open, so I can see they’ve piled in oodles of luggage—more than two people could possibly need—and by the looks of it, there is still more on the sidewalk waiting to go inside.

I climb out, my almost-empty Starbucks in hand.

I slide my sunglasses into the neckline of my sweatshirt as I approach Moira and Dad.

“You know we’re only staying for the weekend, right?

” I say, causing them both to turn in my direction.

Dad’s face immediately breaks into his larger-than-life smile, and he tugs me in for a hug.

Moira doesn’t move from her spot on the walkway, but she offers me an air-kiss.

I force myself to stay calm and neutral.

I tell myself to stop thinking about the reading right the fuck now.

“This isn’t all ours,” Dad says as he reaches for another floral-patterned duffel. “We’re taking Lola’s bags since she’s riding up with her friend ”—Dad says friend like it means anything but the definition of friend—“Hawthorne, on his motorcycle.”

“Love, you said you would play nice with Hawthorne,” Moira chides with a chuckle. I am completely lost. Moira can tell. “Lola calls him her situationship . Rick refuses to acknowledge the word or the man.”

I guffaw. “Come on, Dad. Get with it.” Dad shakes his head adamantly.

“I’m old and stuck in my ways,” he says.

“You just got attached to Lola’s last situationship, and she was gone after a week,” Moira says, shaking her head.

The look in her eyes is pure adoration. It’s hard to believe this look could come from a person conning my dad out of money.

I decide I absolutely will not dwell on the uncomfortable way that thought makes my stomach sour.

“So I’m on my own, then?” I ask.

“You don’t have to be,” Moira replies. “Cadence needs a buddy.”

The front door opens, and Cadence emerges carrying a very content-looking Chicken. My eyes slide over her, taking in her travel gear—loose jeans rolled up at the cuff, a pair of high-top Converse in red, a cap that says “Tree Hugger” in maroon, and a faded t-shirt advertising Yosemite.

We meet on the sidewalk, and even though I am acutely aware of Moira’s gaze tracking my movement toward her daughter, I manage not to buckle beneath the pressure. As soon as I’m visible, Chicken’s tiny tan tail begins wagging like wild.

“You’re very on-brand today,” I say, motioning to her everything . I reach out, treading dangerously close to Cadence’s chest, in order to scratch Chicken on the top of the head.

“When you work in the parks, you shop in the parks,” she says, her eyes trailing to my hand. Chicken twists around, trying to swipe my palm with kisses. “I get a discount.”

“Ah, does it extend to friends and family?” I ask, and then add with a lift to my left eyebrow: “Partners in scheme?” I’m pleased to see the edge of her lip kick up. She has beautiful, soft blush-colored lips. Without gloss, they’re a matte mauve, a pretty pink with just a little hint of brown.

“Speaking of, they’re all full up over there.” She nods toward Dad’s Subaru. “Wanna carpool?” The question causes a jolt of nerves in my stomach. Alone with her in a car for two hours sounds simultaneously heavenly and horrifying.

The Moon. The Sun. The Two of Cups.

“Sounds like a plan,” I say. “Your rental or my Audi?”

“As much as I’d love to ride in high style—” I interrupt the compliment with a blurt of laughter. She gives me a quizzical look that quickly shifts to playful suspicion. “That’s exactly why you bought it. It’s a status car.”

“This is LA, people know you by your car.”

“See?” she says, rolling her eyes.

“We can take the Audi.” I shoot her a mischievous look.

“I’m paying for the midsize sedan, so we might as well use it.”

“If you’re sure,” I reply.

“Don’t tempt me,” she says with the tiniest growl. I feel it right between my legs.

“I’d let you take the wheel,” I press. Right out here in the open, where Moira and Dad can see. It feels reckless.

And wonderful.

The sun filtering through the tree dances in her eyes, bouncing off the messy curls she’s tossed over one shoulder.

“Get your bags.” Her voice has a new breathiness to it. “I gotta deliver this fella back to your dad.” She turns hastily, and I watch her walk away.

I toss the coffee cup in the trash bins by the road on my way back to my car to grab my duffel.

Cadence still has my purse in her car, which I have tried not to think about since that also means she has my driver’s license.

Driving home yesterday without it after sneaking away from Moira’s hawkeyed glare was anxiety-inducing enough.

I should tell her about the reading—I’m sure she’ll ask. I have to tell her, but no part of me wants to reveal the soulmates of it all. She might bail on me, the coincidence of that too much for her to bear; she might not, which could be a more terrifying proposition.

My mind wanders over the scenario for a brief, steamy second before I snap myself back to the moment and to the real concern.

How to not lie and also not tell her the truth.

This is part of why I couldn’t sleep last night and what I spent some of those waking minutes trying to figure out.

At first I thought maybe I’d just sub in a different card for the Two of Cups—which seemed to be the one that really set off the whole your soulmate is on the way bit.

How hard could it be? What harm could it do?

But that feels too close to outright lying, which isn’t something I want to do at the beginning of a friendship—or whatever this may be.

Stop that right now.

I discovered in my traverse of the Wikipedia page about the Two of Cups that the card doesn’t have to represent romantic connections, but it can be about any kind of connection. Even business. And with us partnering up, I feel like that’s the natural non-lie lie to go with. I just hope she buys it.

I swing my duffel over my shoulder and turn, only to find Dad standing there, now holding Chicken, a pleading look on his face.

“What’s up?” I question, nervous at the way his face contorts.

“Got room for this gent?” he asks. My eyes drop to Chicken, whose tongue sticks out from the space between his first canine and his front tooth. He’s missing a couple of little teeth there, and sometimes his tongue sneaks out unbidden.

“Why are you asking it like it’s a huge favor?”

“You know how Chicken’s bladder is now,” he says. Chicken needs to pee every half hour, like clockwork.

“He’s just like a girl,” I quip. “But I’m riding with Cadence, so it’s up to her.” I can already tell where the question will end up, though. Cadence the Animal Whisperer . Ranger Girl will surely want the pee machine in her presence, window down so he can bite the wind all the way.

But Dad isn’t focusing on that part. He’s looking at me with a curious, goofy gaze.

“Why are you being weird?” I start walking, hoping it will shake him from this state.

“Just glad to see you two are getting to know each other,” he says. “Moira’s missed having her around here—maybe you could put in a good word for her coming to visit more often.”

“Dad, we barely know each other. Why would she listen to what I have to say?” I ask, lowering my voice as we’re getting closer to where Cadence is standing near Moira.

“You can be very convincing when you want to be,” he says, and I don’t miss the slight innuendo in his tone.

I stop in my tracks, tossing him a glare, which he sidesteps to peck me on the cheek.

“Just think about it.” He rushes off before I can say more, moving toward Cadence, who takes Chicken from his hands so fast it’s almost comical.

She lifts Chicken up to nuzzle him cheek to cheek.

My heart skips a beat. Unpermitted but not unwanted.