Page 3 of Love Letters from a Libra
“That’s some stalker level shit,” Toni corrected, still watching the café as if she expected him to follow us out.
At home, I kicked off my shoes at the door, allowing my feet to sink into the soft rug my grandmother had crocheted for me before her arthritis became too hard to manage. My living space was small but intentional, filled with things that groundedme, like astronomy and romance books, plants, and crystals on floating shelves.
I thought about the strange man’s words and realized Toni was probably right, that he was watching me somehow. My Facepage was filled with enough astrology content for someone to piece together my basic placements. Then again, Rell may have had a point too. In my line of work, I’d met plenty of people who were genuinely intuitive. Perhaps that guy was exceptionally skilled at reading auras.
I settled onto my couch and reached for my tarot deck, more out of habit than anything. The cards were worn from years of use, a gift from my grandmother after I expressed interest in astrology.
“They will help you remember what you already know.”Mama Tilda smiled when she gave them to me.
I shuffled without a question in mind, just allowing my hands to move while my mind processed. One card practically jumped out of the deck, and I flipped it over.
The Lovers.
I laughed out loud. “Nah, not today.”
Of course, of fuckin’ course the universe would deliver the most on the spot card possible after my encounter this morning.
I opened a video memo on my phone, checking my reflection. My hair had gotten bigger, and my lipstick was gone, but my eyes were brighter, like I had woken up something and didn’t realize I was sleeping. I hit record.
“I’ve built my brand around believing in cosmic divine connection and all that good shit. Yet when it came to my own love life, I typically attracted men who loved the idea of having a spiritually grounded girlfriend. They love the aesthetic, but then it’s too much, too real. What if I’m tuned into a version of love that doesn’t exist here?”
I ended the recording and set my phone aside, but I kept looking at it, as if I were expecting a sign. Maybe that was the problem. I’d focused on readings for everyone else and didn’t know how to trust my own signs. Or perhaps I was just a thirty-three-year-old woman who was tired of dating men who couldn’t handle my magic.
Notes App- Just because you’re good at holding space for other people doesn’t mean you’re good at taking up space for yourself.
I stopped working momentarilyas the timer counted the minutes until the Lakers’ tip-off. My phone was propped against the couch leg as I gave it and the instruction manual in front of me my attention. I was kneeling on my cousin Carlos’s hardwood floor, surrounded by cable ties and mounting brackets, with a screwdriver in hand.
I slid the soundbar into its place beneath the sixty-five-inch TV with the precision you would get from a professional, because if you did something, you did it right the first time. At least that was what Aunt Nubi drilled into me when I was sixteen and fucked up her kitchen faucet, twice. Now I measured and double-checked everything.
Smoke from the grill drifted into the house through the open window, mixing with the scent of collard greens and cornbread from the kitchen. J. Scott’s voice also floated from the kitchen, where the women of the family had claimed their territory. Her vocals weaved through conversations about whose kids were acting up and church drama. It was the soundtrack of a family gathering, the blend of music, good food, and people talking shit while they loved on each other.
A blur of motion caught my peripheral vision. My eight-year-old nephew, Ricky, chased his little sister with a foam football while she shrieked with laughter. They dodged around me like I was part of the furniture.
“Aye, Professor, are you zoning out again?”
Carlos’s voice pulled me in. He was perched on the arm of a leather recliner, wearing a grin and a fresh fade. He tossed me a different screwdriver I needed for the wall mount. I caught it without looking up from the bracket.
“Man, shut up,” I joked, but my words had no heat. Carlos was the only one who called me ‘Professor’ after I left the service and started a cybersecurity consulting business. It was something about how I could read people’s digital footprints, see connections others missed, and predict their patterns. Carlos thought it was some mystical shit. The truth was, it was a matter of paying attention.
Carlos settled into his chair. “Nah, for real, though, you have the same look you had in high school when you were trying to figure out how to ask Kiesha Baxter to the prom.”
The memory made me smile. Kiesha Baxter, with her braids and smile that could stop traffic. His comment hit closer to home than he knew, because suddenly, I was thinking about Zanaa. Zanaa Scales, thirty-three, Libra Sun, ran a successful blog. The way she studied my face when I quoted her chart made me feel like she was trying to solve a puzzle she didn’t know she was working on.
“Jules, did you ever hit up that girl I told you about from yoga class?” Tonya, Carlos’s wife, yelled from the kitchen, interrupting my thoughts.
I paused. The final screw was halfway threaded. Tonya had been trying to set me up with different women for months.
“Still thinking about it!” I said, which technically wasn’t a lie. I was thinking about how to decline without hurting Tonya’s feelings or triggering another round of questions about my dating life.
Carlos gave me a look. “Bro, she’s fine as hell. What is there to think about?”
“I want to ensure it’s the right fit and that we’re aligned.” I tightened the last screw.
Carlos chuckled. “Aligned? That’s what I’m talking about. You overthink, my guy. Sometimes you have to feel your way through.”
The soundbar turned on, and I tested the connection by bumping up the volume on the game. The routing was clean, the cables were hidden, there was no lag, and the audio quality was perfect.
Ricky ran back into the living room with the foam football, while his sister, London, giggled from behind the couch. The sound of family filled the space around us, and I allowed myself to exist in it by fixing things and showing up for Sunday dinner.
