“That’s so us,” Aimee says.
Rini shuts her laptop and checks her watch.
“I need to get a sound bowl and prepare for my welcome.”
“Aww, that’s it?” Aimee says. “What a tease.”
“She already said it wouldn’t be the whole experience,” I say in Rini’s defense.
Rini closes her folder and pushes her chair away from the desk. Before she stands, she stops herself.
“I know I said that was it, but I can’t leave without explaining your North Node and South Node synastry. It’s remarkable for two best friends.”
I wait for her to elaborate, because the only nodes I know are bean-shaped bits of your immune system.
“Your North Node symbolizes the forward trajectory of this lifetime. It marks the character traits or energy you need to embody to fulfill your soul’s mission. Your South Node symbolizes what some people refer to as past-life karma. The experience, knowledge, and baggage you are born with.”
“And ours are the same?”
“No, they are opposite. That’s what makes it incredible that you’ve found each other.”
“Why?” Aimee asks. I have the same question lodged in my throat.
“Farah’s North Node is your South Node, and your North Node is Farah’s South Node. Said another way: you carry into this lifetime what she needs to learn in this lifetime, and she carries into this lifetime what you need to learn in this lifetime. Not all of us get a guide like that.”
“Friendship soulmates,” Aimee says. She reaches for my hand and I attempt a smile.
“Thank you, ladies,” Rini says as she stands.
“For what?” Aimee asks.
“Letting me break my own rules. That was fun,” Rini says.
Rini opens the door, and outside we hear Eden and Rick. Aimee’s expression sours. She hates both of them, Rick the finance bro and Eden the wellness influencer. They look the part to me, but Aimee is turned off by their new-money choices. Wearing Alexander McQueen on their backs and Stella McCartney on their feet, while carrying Chloé bags, is one of their most disgraceful violations according to Aimee. Rini whisks the fashion victims off for a tour, leaving Aimee and me alone.
As of this moment, the only two people not present for this weekend getaway are our husbands.
“Let’s see what trouble we can get into,” Aimee whispers.
She scurries out of the study and I follow her, forcing myself to say something that sounds like me. The old me. The normal me. The me who had never heard any of what Rini shared.
“Should we go upstairs and claim the best suites?” I ask.
“They’re already assigned,” she says.
Side by side we stand, taking in the view outside the magnificent floor-to-ceiling windows. In the backyard, Margot rests her head on Ted’s shoulder in adjoining Adirondack chairs. They have their eyes closed as they soak in the warm late-day sun. It’s rare for me to see Margot with her husband. It’s sweet. Whenever I’m around, it’s brother and sister, Margot and Adam, who pair off. I was a psychology major in undergrad, and they haven’t invented a label for the dysfunction between those two, even for siblings.
But the Margot distraction doesn’t last long, and the astrologer’s words repeat in my mind. You talk about anything and everything, and no matter how different you are, you never feel like you’re talking past each other. You’re always seeking the connection.
That has been true for the better part of our long friendship. But lately, despite what Rini said, I’ve been silent. Holding back. Like earlier—that’s an easy example. Aimee said the incident with Beckett was scary, and I agreed, but I wasn’t honest about why.
I can no longer ignore Beckett’s impulsivity, especially in light of other behaviors Joe and I have both brushed off: he’s highly distractible, he loses things constantly, he’s prone to epic meltdowns, he has a short attention span. These traits aren’t uncommon in any young child. Especially a boy, Joe says. Then why do I feel like I’m missing something that’s right in front of my face?
That’s the shameful secret I could never share with Aimee—that I don’t know. I don’t know if this is all in the range of “normal”; I don’t know if Beckett needs behavioral support or medicinal intervention, or how to get either without scarring everyone involved because I say the wrong thing in the wrong way. I don’t want to treat him like a patient; I want to care for him like my child. I’m just not sure I know how to do that. My analytical doctor brain overrides any nurturing thoughts I might have.
I’m aware I could lose Aimee if I continue to hold back from her. And I’m withholding much more than my inner monologue around motherhood. The space between us grows with every opportunity to share that I ignore. It could quickly become an uncrossable gulf. But there’s a chance—maybe even a greater one—that if I reveal my secrets, I could lose Aimee anyway. Forever.
STARS HARBOR ASTROLOGICAL RETREAT
ASTRO CHEAT SHEET
GUEST NAME: Ted
SUN SIGN: Aquarius
MOON SIGN: Capricorn
RISING SIGN: Gemini
AGE: 39
OCCUPATION: investment banker
RELATIONSHIP TO OTHER GUESTS: married to Margot, best friends with Rick
SPECIAL NOTES: key air placements mean he could be overly intellectual. What motivates him to take action?
RINI
Standing in front of the stone fireplace of the front parlor, I hold the wooden dowel in my left hand, cradling the small bronze singing bowl in my right. Firmly, I press the dowel against the outside rim and move my wrist in a circle, generating a quiet hum. Some of the guests stop and look around to identify the source of the sound. I roll the dowel up and down the circumference of the bowl, changing the tone from high to low. The sound builds the faster I move the wood around the edge. Finally, when everyone has abandoned their side conversations, I hit the side of the bowl bluntly. A single sharp noise echoes through the room.
“Welcome to the Stars Harbor Astrological Retreat. Please take a seat on the couch; there’s room for all of you.”
I wait until everyone takes their places. Margot sits alone in the center of the semicircle. She’s wearing a cotton sundress with a full skirt. Her hands are casually tucked in the pockets, but I know Margot is feeling anything but laid-back. Her anxious expression begs me to begin.
Khaki-clad Ted sits next to his flashier coworker Rick. Ted wears a staid black Bonobos-type shirt, while Rick has donned a textured camel-colored button-down better suited for an electronica DJ. Rick has his arm proprietarily wrapped around his wife, Eden, who is relaxing in head-to-toe Lululemon. Aimee and Farah sit together on the next cushion to the right, leaning back and slumping into the soft cream cushions with their wine dangling precariously in their hands.
“I see we’re missing two. Shall I come back?” I ask. “I prefer to wait until the full party is here.”
“I’m eager to get started. We can fill Adam and Joe in when they arrive,” Margot says.
