Page 58 of In What World

“Let’s get this over with,” she says, sitting primly on the edge of her seat. “It’s not really fair, though. Because you already know us. Youareus. You can make very good guesses about how we feel about certain things, because our minds work the same way.”

“Sure,” Psychic Marlowe says. “But we don’t know your circumstances. There would be no way for us to look them up either, would there?”

My Marlowe can do nothing but sneer.

Psychic Priscilla shuffles tarot cards while Psychic Marlowe opens a wooden box full of small crystals. They’re both taking it as seriously as Marlowe and I took Angel’s funeral scene inRENTback in high school, which is to say they are giving this everything they’ve got and then some.

Psychic Marlowe places the crystals on the table in some sort of pattern that must have meaning to her, while Psychic Priscilla continues shuffling.

Finally, Psychic Priscilla tilts her head toward my Marlowe. “You’re first,” she says.

I grin, eager for this to begin. I really do love psychics. It’s fun to see what solutions they come up with based on nothing more than a couple minutes in my presence. I like believing it can all be that simple.

Psychic Priscilla begins dealing her cards in a T formationon the table. In the middle of the spread, the death card stares back at us all.

“Off to a great start!” I joke.

No one laughs.

“You’re in a place of endings,” Psychic Priscilla tells my Marlowe. “And endings are always scary. But really, an ending is just an opportunity for a new beginning.”

“Ah. Very enlightening,” my Marlowe says.

“You need to return to your creativity,” Psychic Priscilla tells her. “That’s where your greatest romanticism lies.”

“Love breathes life into your art, and art breathes life into your love,” Psychic Marlowe explains. “In order to feel fulfilled in either place, you’re the type of person who has to have both. And in the past, you’ve tried to settle for just one thing. But you can’t do that anymore.”

“Your last partner didn’t really care about theater,” Psychic Priscilla says.

“Where are you seeing that?” my Marlowe asks. “I’m looking at some swords and wands and cups. And death.”

“Theater has always been your biggest passion,” Psychic Priscilla continues. “You know deep down it’s one of your nonnegotiables. Your next partner has to care about the arts.” She places more cards atop the spread, regarding them for a while before she says, “It’s been a while since you’ve had a really good challenge, hasn’t it?”

My Marlowe’s stern expression holds steady, but I can tell that her wheels are spinning. Maybe it’s all this time in such close proximity. I’m starting to recognize her micro expressions. The subtle clench of her jaw. The tension in her throat. The little tap of her index finger against her forearm.

“You crave that,” Psychic Priscilla explains. “It’s your sustenance.”

“It is,” my Marlowe admits.

Didn’t I tell her the exact same thing when we talked about Alice? How is it she receives messages from every other version of me better than what I tell her myself? I could’ve told her she needed another “artist.” Of course she does. This is a woman who named her childhood dog after a queer playwright. She might as well have rented a skywriter and broadcast the information that she wants to love a woman who understands theater.

“Andyou,” Psychic Priscilla says, gesturing to me. She has not reshuffled her deck or laid out any new cards. “You’ve had great success.”

“She can tell by the way I’m dressed,” I say to my Marlowe. But then I realize I left my expensive leopard coat in the last reality. I’m in a nondescript black mockneck dress, covered in a mess of blue and green paint.

“This success gives you a false sense of purpose,” Psychic Priscilla continues, undeterred by my interruption. “You use it as an excuse for not prioritizing your own feelings.”

My chair makes its own awkward creak as I cross my legs.

“You want it, though,” Psychic Priscilla says. “Romance, real love. You’ve never experienced it before. People wouldn’t expect that about you, but it’s true. You’ve dated plenty, but it’s just been for fun, not for love.” She taps on the nine of cups. “Deep down, you wish to be loved for who you are, not what you do.”

“Notice how she hasn’t said what it is I do,” I say to my Marlowe. Heat has started crawling up my neck, and I have no coat to pull up to hide the blotches.

“You perform,” Psychic Marlowe interjects. “For many, many people.”

“You always have, in one way or another,” Psychic Priscilla adds. “But now it’s your job. And lately, you’ve been burned out. You’re not sure you want to continue.”

“Look at that,” I say to my Marlowe, forcing cheer. “They nailed it.” I turn to the psychics. “I do want all of these things, and I do perform. I’ll be sure to write you a glowing review on Yelp. Very good stuff. Let’s wrap it up. I think you’ve won over Marlowe.”