This conversation is starting to feel wrong, not like a distraction, but a lure into a trap.
“The result will be a generation for whom fathers will play an increased role—for good or bad. Their absence will be more heavily felt by their children, or on the positive side, their contribution will have a more beneficial impact,” Rini argues.
“Don’t you think that’s because of science? Birth control allows mothers to do more than produce children. And in turn, societal progress allows companies to do more to retain mothers. That doesn’t have anything to do with elective C-sections.”
“So no matter what, in the future, mothers will be less important in their children’s lives? That’s devastating,” Aimee says.
Rini has been carefully watching Aimee and me volley our words, and now her aloof demeanor gives way to a hearty laugh. She’s looking at us in a way that makes me uncomfortable. She wasn’t judging us earlier; she really sees us. That scares me.
“As you know, the first astrological highlight of this weekend is the compatibility reading,” Rini says.
“Adam and I volunteered to go first,” Aimee says.
“I never do this, but what if we compared your charts right now?” Rini asks. She folds her hands over her papers in anticipation. I get the sense she’s as giddy about breaking her own rules as anything else.
“You mean a reading of us?” Aimee says. “That would be so fun.”
“Fun? I’d say inappropriate. We aren’t a couple,” I say.
My face burns with embarrassment.
“Compatibility is not limited to romantic relationships. In fact, I do Zoom consultations with Fortune 500 C-suites,” Rini says.
“So, what, you get people fired for being the wrong astrological sign?” I ask.
“There are no bad astrological signs. I guide them to better empathy and communication.”
“Farah, loosen up,” Aimee says. “You aren’t going to charge the group for this, though, right? Margot would have a fit.”
“No, and it won’t even be a full experience. But watching you two, I am utterly fascinated by your dynamic. Do I have your permission to merge your charts?”
Aimee nods her head with furious excitement. What am I going to do, say no? I mutter my consent.
“I always say our friendship was fated,” Aimee adds.
Aimee and I clicked at her first OB appointment almost ten years ago. I was four months pregnant, six weeks ahead of her. We bonded over our very different experiences of early gestation. She was tired; I was energized. She craved sweet; my mouth watered at sour. That first appointment lasted over an hour and neither of us wanted it to end.
I regretfully informed her I would be on maternity leave when she went into labor, but in the end it didn’t work out that way. I was going stir-crazy during the day with the baby and returned to the office on a limited schedule after six weeks at home, and chance would have it that Aimee’s was the pained face I saw the first time I returned to a birthing suite postpartum. Everything in my life felt upside down—my body, my daily routines, my marriage, even the whole experience of delivering a child felt different. Standing at the bottom of Aimee’s bed, I roared with her during every tension-filled push as the baby’s heart rate dropped. I was deeply invested, as if my own birth plan was unmedicated labor and delivery with no medical intervention, which, incidentally, it had not been.
When I shouted at Aimee that she could do this, I was talking as much to her as I was to myself. I actually welled up with emotion as the baby crowned. By the time she released in a warm whoosh, a single tear streamed down my face. Thankfully no one was looking at me in that moment, but it was a first I haven’t repeated since. It’s not simply at work that I contain my emotions; it’s who I am. I didn’t shed a single tear when my own sons were removed from the womb. That day brought something out in me that hadn’t existed before, though time has proved it was more Aimee’s influence than happenstance. She has an effect on me, more than I care to admit, as evidenced by the fact that we are now randomly getting an astrological compatibility reading.
“Aimee, you’re a Cancer Sun, and Farah is Virgo—that’s a sextile and an obvious match. In addition, both of your Moons are in Libra. But the real magic between your charts is in your North Node–South Node placements.”
“What does any of that mean?” Aimee asks.
“For one thing, Farah, you might feel slightly hurt that Aimee raised such a big, introspective question to me when the two of you had clearly never explored it.”
“Absolutely not. I was surprised, that’s all. She knows I had two scheduled C-sections myself and she never asked me about destiny.”
“Don’t take it personally; she was caught up in the moment. Given more time, she would have come to you with a conversation like that.” Rini directs her attention to Aimee. “Unless you feel she’s too closed off?”
“She is closed off, but I like prying her open,” Aimee says with a smile in her voice. I feel myself flush and scratch my neck to hide the red splotches exploding on my skin.
“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,” Rini adds.
“So that’s not the margaritas?” Aimee laughs.
“Aimee, as you mentioned, Cancers can encourage Virgos to let loose and tune into the flow of their intuition, while Virgos offer Cancers grounding without feeling bound or stuck.”
“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?”
