Page 7 of Sort of Seeing Someone

I look up and see a wide-eyed Yas. I wonder if “Thanks, but no thanks,” is an appropriate reaction.

“Oh. A palm reader,” I say in that same unsure tone as when you open a pair of socks for Christmas in front of your extended family.

“Not just any palm reader.Esther Higgins. She’s renowned.”

Renowned is good. Renowned means busy. Renowned means I won’t be able to get thatrequired appointmentany time soon. So, I can just file this away on the shelf in my closet where all the other non-returnable bad presents go to die.

“But the real gift is that I was able to get you an appointment with her tonight at 8pm,” she adds.

Plan: foiled.

“Just bring some cash for a tip. Ten dollars is good. What do you think, mama? Are you excited?”

Even though San Diego is all about morning rituals, sun salutations, and renowned psychics, I’ve been slow to dip my toe into the woo-woo world. Don’t get me wrong. I love living in a place known for its good energy. But the fact that the person who bags my groceries says “Good vibes” instead of “Thanks, have a nice day” is enough of an adjustment for me coming from a city that will smash your car windows out if you park in someone else’s shoveled out spot during winter.

I fully intend to graciously thank her for her thoughtful gift, then explain how this really isn’t my thing, but suddenly I become completely distracted by something else entirely. My hands start to itch like crazy. They feel on fire. I scratch at them feverishly like a dog with fleas.

Yas notices and asks, “What’s going on, mama?”

“I don’t know. My palms are super itchy. I wonder if I’m allergic to cinnamon? Or maybe your Abuelita caught wind that you ordered her signature coffee drink with a milk alternative and now she’s cursed me so I can’t pick up the cup and take another sip,” I joke.

“Itchy palms, you say? Stop scratching!” Yas exclaims as she bats my fingers away. “My Abuelita always said that means money is in your future. Embrace the burn. It will pay off.”

I’ve about had it with Abuelita Sarita’s old wives’ tales as I open the desk drawer looking for a loose Benadryl or tube of cortisone cream. As I do, a shockwave flutters through the top of my head. My whole body shivers in momentary pain. Is this what a brain aneurysm feels like? First the palms, now my head.

Am I dying?

I resolve that if it’s my time to go, I better turn around in my chair and face the ocean one last time before I depart this earth. But as quickly as the pain comes, it goes. I put my fingers to my temples and close my eyes to make sure I’m good. All the while, I notice my palms return to normal as well.

“Maybe you should lay off the caffeine for now,” Yas suggests, pulling the café con leche away from me.

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” I concur, remembering I already had a date with my French press this morning.

Yas digs around in her purse and pulls out something the size of a tube of Chapstick.

“Here. Breathe this in,” she directs me.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Just inhale. Deep breaths,” she says.

I do, and the scent of peppermint fills my nostrils. I sneeze.

“You okay now?”

“I think so.”

“Essential oils fix everything,” she insists. I want to roll my eyes, but fear that might set off another headache.

Just then, a small gaggle of young professionals who look like they’ve never stepped foot into a yoga studio pass behind Yas and into the room without stopping by the desk.

“Who are all these people? And why are they wearing turtlenecks?” she asks, as if the nerds are attempting to preboard a plane without the right credentials.

“It’s some engineering company who reached out about a team-building exercise. Gavin gave them a group discount. It’s fine. They’re already checked in.”

“But…why are they wearing turtlenecks?”

“Not sure. My guess? They’re out of their element. I mean, does it look like any of them have ever heard the word ‘namaste’?”

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