Page 10 of Sort of Seeing Someone

We clink and I ask where Gordon is.

“On tour again,” she laments. “Seattle.”

The thought momentarily crosses my mind to ask her if I can move in. As long as Gordon keeps writing books on “how tocrush itin the conference room” she must hate how big this place feels when he’s on tour.

“Don’t tell him I said this, but I secretlylovewhen he’s gone. So much space to myself,” she says, quickly debunking my theory. “Come on, I’ll give you the tour.”

She leads me through her open kitchen—her palm-print caftan billowing behind her—as we arrive in her living room area. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sun is setting behind the skyline just over the water. The view from up here is spectacular.

I take a seat on a leopard-print upholstered chaise lounge that somehow isn’t as obnoxious as it sounds, and set my purse down on the floor.

“Oof. Never, ever place your purse on the floor, mama,” Yas says, promptly picking it back up and putting it on a marble side table next to her. “A bag on the floor will cause you to have bad luck with money. You didn’t know that? And just after your palms were so itchy earlier, you don’t want to cancel out that good fortune so soon.”

Yas’ Abuelita-superstitions are strong today—much stronger than they normally are.

“I like your lipstick,” I toss a compliment her way to change the subject.

“You do? You know what’s funny? I thought of you when I saw this color. Look what’s it called.”

She hands me a tube from her purse, which is also noticeably not on the floor, and I flip it over.

“Blood Moon,” I read aloud. Thoughts of being teased in high school when I bled through a maxipadflood my mind as Ihand it back to her. I keep that story to myself.

“That’s for you,” she says. “Happy birthday."

“I hardly ever wear makeup,” I say, as if that needs to be explained.

“Sure. But once in a while, it’s okay to feel a littlespecial—like on your birthday, the best day of the year.”

Best dayfeels like a far cry from where I’m at now. I found out the house I’m renting is set to be demolished, the guy I was dating dumped me in an a highly ambiguous text, and things at work literally came crashing down all before noon. On the plus side, it can’t get any worse. And if anyone can help turn the tide, inYasI trust. So I pop the lid off the tube and glide the creamy lipstick across my lips.

“How do I look?”

Yasstares at me like I’m aHomegoodstchotchkethat she’s decidingwhether or not will work on the mantle.

“Would you excuse me for a moment?”

That bad, huh?

A moment later she returns, handing me a mirror with a ring light around it.

“It’s so good on you, mama.”

“Wow,” I say. Instantly I know there’s not enough gusto in my reaction, but I’m just distracted by the dark-colored lip. “I sort of love it,” I finally sprinkle on. And I mean it.

“Me too. I’m obsessed. It’s spot on for your vibe.”

I’m the greeter at a yoga studio in Ocean Beach—darkis so far frommy vibe. But apparently Yas thinks I remind her of a goth Florence Pugh, which I sort ofalsolove.

Yas takes a sip of her champagne as she lights an orange candle on the coffee table between us. Instantly the smell of citrus fills the room.

“There’s something in the air today with you. Something…different. Something…a little supernatural, mama.”

“Let’s not go there,” I say.

“I can’t quite put my finger on it,” she goes on. “But whatever it is, I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon. And you’ll have to tell me all about it. I love a good paranormal coming-of-age story.”

Just then, my phone rings.

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