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Sunday, August 26—London
I wake up with screaming in my ears. My sister yells, “Wakey, wakey. It’s bachelorette party time.”
I smother her with a pillow. “Go away, I want to sleep.”
“Come on.” She throws the blankets away from my body. “You can sleep later. The first part of the day’s at a spa.”
That does it for me. The only thing I can use more than sleep right now is a relaxing massage.
“You can dress casual for now; we have your other outfits planned for you.”
“Yes, sir.”
I abide by the dress code and join everyone else in the kitchen for breakfast. My nostrils flare with the aroma of cinnamon and sugar. Mom’s cooking and Amelia’s laying the table. Exactly like she used to do when she came over to my house for breakfast back in the States.
Mom hands me a plate filled with her best recipe cinnamon French toast. “My sole contribution to your bachelorette party is to make you your favorite breakfast.”
“Thank you, Mom. What are you and Dad doing today?”
“Don’t worry, we’re sightseeing. You go have fun,” she tells me, then scowls at Kassandra. “Not too much fun.”
Kassandra mumbles something unintelligible as her mouth’s too full of bread for her to speak.
“Who else is coming?” I ask Amelia.
“Your friends from work. And Mary and Jessica were the only ones able to make it from back home. They’re going to take a trip to Paris on the Eurostar next week and come back in time for the wedding. All the others said they could make it only to the wedding.”
“Wait—you didn’t invite Flotsam and Jetsam?”
“I can call them if you like.”
“Absolutely not.” We laugh. “I’m ready for my pampering. Let’s go.”
We move through London in a rented black limo equipped with champagne and all sorts of spirits. The others meet us at the spa. We stay there until four in the afternoon, getting every beauty treatment ever heard of. After the spa, we go to the Waldorf for their champagne afternoon tea. Amelia and Kassie decided an afternoon tea somewhere for a British hen party was fun, and I completely agree. From the Waldorf, we move on to a boutique perfume shop where we all make customized scents.
I enter the limo, holding my little perfume bottle. “I’m hungry,” I say.
“We’ve another stop before dinner,” Amelia says.
“But I’m starving,” I protest. “Where are we going for dinner?”
“It’s gourmet burgers for you, but only if you’re good and behave.”
“You can drink champagne if you’re hungry,” Kassandra says, passing me a flute of bubbly.
I’m not sure it’s a good idea on an empty stomach, but I take it all the same.
Two glasses of bubbly later, the limo stops in front of a nondescript building in an area of London I’m not familiar with.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“We’re at the Psychic Sisters.”
“To do what exactly?”
“We’re going to have our fortunes told.”
A round of excited giggles spreads around the back of the limo.
“Oh, you know it’s nonsense,” I whisper in Amelia’s ear.
“It might be nonsense, but it’s fun. Come on, everyone said this was an absolute bachelorette party must.”
Amelia takes my hand and drags me out of the car and inside the building. We enter a sort of office worthy of Whoopi Goldberg’s house in Ghost. The hall opens on to three different rooms, apparently each reserved for a gifted diviner sister. We split into three groups and queue in front of the different doors. Amelia and I are at the front of the middle one and we’re ushered in at once.
Inside, the atmosphere’s kind of dark and gloomy. The air is suffocating and impregnated with the smells of cedar wood and jasmine coming from some incenses burning in a corner.
“Welcome, dears.” An old crone with black hair and yellowish eyes greets us from the farthest corner. She’s so small crouching behind a wooden desk, I hadn’t noticed her when we got in. “Come, come, have your future unraveled.”
We take our seats in two ancient looking armchairs. I take in the chandelier dangling from the ceiling, the baroque style of my armchair, and the ridiculous costume the hag’s wearing, and I’m tempted to snort. I hope we’re not spending too much on this old fraud.
“You have a specific question you’d like to ask the cards?” the crone asks us, unfazed. Apparently, she isn’t getting my incredulity vibes. “You want to know about your past lives, parallel lives, or about your present life?”
“Make it about her love life,” Amelia answers for me.
“The True Love spread then, very well. Take the cards, dear, mix them, and cut the deck for me, please.”
I do as instructed and then pass the deck to the crone who spreads it in a semicircle of sparkling blue and gold cards.
“Now pick six cards and pass them to me one by one. Let the energy in your hands guide you to the right cards.”
I pick the cards at random, not feeling any particular chakra energy flowing from my fingertips, and hand them to the crone.
The fortuneteller puts the first and second card in a row at the top, the next three cards in a row below, and the last one at the bottom, alone. She turns the first two cards.
“The Fool reversed for you—it seems you’re a bit of a reckless soul. And for your other half, The Tower. Interesting.” She gives a little smile.
“I-interesting how exactly?” I stutter.
“The Tower symbolizes upheaval and a sudden change.”
“You mean because we’re getting married?”
“Perhaps, or perhaps not. Let’s see what the other cards have to say.” She smiles knowingly.
So far, so bad. The other three cards are unveiled next.
“The Wheel of Fortune for the thread that connects you to your love. The Wheel of Fortune’s a powerful card. It represents karma—you can’t escape it. Next, The Devil, reversed, for your strengths. It states you’re ready to take control. As for your weaknesses, Judgment. This one tells you to pay heed to your inner calling.”
“Meaning?”
“In simpler words, follow your guts. Trust your instinct.”
Whatever. “Great advice,” I say awkwardly.
“And now the final card, the True Love card. The one that reveals if your relationship can be successful.” She turns it and stares at it silently for a while before fixating her yellow eyes on me. “Death.”
“Oh, that sounds promising.” I snort.
“Death, my dear, is a symbol of transformation and of new beginnings.”
“So what do you make of this entire… uh,” I try to remember the word she used, “spread?”
“You’re about to meet your fate.”
“So, I’m—uh—not making a mistake getting married?”
“When the moment comes, just follow your heart, darling, and you’ll be fine.”
I don’t pay much attention as Amelia gets her future predicted, and when we leave the room, it isn’t one minute too soon for me. The old hag has unsettled me.
We wait for the others in the limo, and I hope those burgers really are gourmet because I need a cheer up after that ominous Death card.
The burgers are great. After two or three cocktails, any thought of a relationship’s demise flies out of my head and I’m cozily beginning to feel ready for bed. Amelia seems to have read my mind when she announces the final stop of my party.
“And now, ladies, back to my house for a pajama party and a showing of all our favorite Molly Ringwald movies.”
I cheer along with the others. “Thank you for making this day so special,” I whisper to Amelia.
She hushes me.
“Where did you put Dylan? Is he watching Molly Ringwald with us?”
“He’s staying at Richard’s. They’re having his stag party tonight too.”
“Oh gosh, I hope they don’t buy him strippers.”
“I specifically forbade it.”
I squeeze her arm to thank her as we walk toward the limo, holding each other. That’s until Kassandra barrels into us from behind, wriggling herself in between us and wrapping one arm around our shoulders.
“I’m so glad we have the limo to go home.” She slurs her words a bit. “I could never figure how to drive on the wrong side of the road.”
I smile, nod, and silently add that driving on the right side of the road wouldn’t make much of a difference for her tonight.