Page 97 of Sort of Seeing Someone

After dream wedding, couple seeks annulment.

“What?!”

“Yup. He had an affair with a Luvabull.”

“A what?”

“Some cheerleader for the Chicago Bulls.”

“Oh my god. I have to message her. I have to check on her. She must be devastated.”

“Well, she is. But I don’t think she wants to hear fromyou. No offense.”

Nora taps her screen a couple more times to pull up Instagram—Shereé’s account to be exact—then hands me her phone. This time, I look at the post—a picture of my company logo with a big red X through it—and read the caption to myself in silence.

SCAM ALERT: As you all know, I allowed a stranger to perform something called crystal therapy on me last fall. This stranger ended up being@MoonieMiller and the so-called “crystal therapy” ended up being bogus. See, after she worked her FAUX-CUS POCUS on me, my dream wedding date and venue opened up. I was quick to give Moonie all the credit and tell the world to support her as I signed a contract for a million-dollar wedding. Later I discovered thatMoonie Miller has a so-called secret power to see the future by touching other people’s palms. Friends, she NEVER touched MY palm. If she did, she would have knownBryson and I were not going to work out. She would have told me about his ongoing secret affair. She would have advised me to break off the engagement the very day I met her. Instead, she did nothing but bamboozle me with some colored rocks, pushing me into this heartbreaking, embarrassing fate. Why wouldn’t she just read my palm? Was I not worthy? Was she jealous of my relationship? My social media fame?The only logical explanation is that she has no special powers, whatsoever, at all.So to you all—my beloved, loyal fans and followers—I say this: stay far, far away from Moon Batch Apothecary products and unfollow @MoonieMiller NOW. In her bio, she has the audacity to claim she’s “Chicago’s Favorite Witch.” But in reality, she’s just “Chicago’s Most Conniving Bitch.”

“Most. Conniving. Bitch,” I say, utterly dumbfounded by my new Shereé-assigned title. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“I didn’t realize you were telling people about your Exexveei,” Nora says. “Let alone someone with as much social media power as @sheree_in_the_city. Seems a little reckless, Moonie.”

“I haven’t told anyone! Just you guys, Angeline, and Ollie are the only ones who know about it.”

“Ollie? I’m assuming that’s your lover boy. And I’m also assuming that you told him about Exexveei last night and it didn’t go so well.”

I nod, thinking maybe her detective skills are actually somewhat legit.

“Shocking. Have you not learned anything from Mom, Liv, and I? Boys can’t handle this kind of a thing.”

“Nora, now is not the time for this told-you-so bullshit.”

She pauses.

“So was it Angeline or Ollie that snitched on you to Shereé?”

“I don’t think either. They wouldn’t do that to me.”

“Are you sure?” she asks.

“Yes…no…I don’t know. God, I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“Is that why you wrote that you were a witch in your Instagram bio? Because that shit is bonkers.”

Nora has never been shy about sharing her two cents.

“Fucking Shereé, man. She damn-near strong-armed me into changing my bio at the Bucktown Holiday Market. Some bullshit about it being what her followers were expecting to see. Plus, she said it would be good for my business. I figured with what she had done to launch Moon Batch Apothecary into the throes of success, I better just do what she said.I think I’m going to call Mom,” I announce.

“Don’t do that.”

“Why not? She’d know what to do. She’s been here before.”

“Exactly why you shouldn’t call her. She’s been there…and she doesn’t want to go back.Seriously, Moonie. It would be very triggering to her if you burden her with all this.”

I’ve never wanted to be more of a “normal girl” than I do right now. A normal girl who doesn’t have ‘witchy drama.’ A normal girl who can actually speed dial her mom with her problems. A normal girl whose life isn’t imploding one Instagram (un)follower at a time.

“I’ve got to go,” I say. “I’ve got to turn my phone on and deal with all this.”

The golf-ball sized lump in my throat puts a tone of dread in my voice that even I’ve never heard before.

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