Miranda's Destiny

Miranda's hands shook under the older man's gaze. With a magnifying glass, he examined her palms, carefully noting the depth, placement, and shape of the lines and mounts. They had been sitting across from each other at the back of his shop. Neither had uttered a single word for five minutes.

Miranda hated awkward silences. She tended to overthink every situation. Although initially excited for the reading, she was now becoming anxious. She assumed he was noticing negative events in her future. Maybe he had seen signs of her addiction and depression. Her thoughts were racing.

--

A few days ago, Miranda received a job offer, her first in a year. It was the culmination of a month-long process that began when Sam Hernandez, a former colleague, invited her to apply for a graphic designer position at his advertising agency. Miranda had been at her current job for three years, and there were no opportunities for advancement. Sam's firm was bigger.

She figured that the company rejected her because they didn't contact her for weeks. She was used to getting ghosted. Plus, before she landed her current job, she had applied for hundreds of positions and received no offers. She figured that she just wasn't good enough.

Getting the news caught her off guard. The salary bump was substantial: after a few months, she would have enough money to move out of her studio and into a one-bedroom apartment in a safer neighborhood. And if she didn't move, well, the commute wouldn't be so bad.

But she had not yet given Sam's firm an answer. There was no enthusiasm in the hiring manager's voice when they last spoke. Maybe the person on the other end of the line was having a bad day. Perhaps she wasn't their first choice.

Everyone in her life urged her to take advantage of the opportunity. From her mother's perspective, there was no other sensible choice.

Still, she hesitated. Her career took off later than expected because she had trouble paying for college. What if her current boss resents her for leaving? If things don't work out at Sam's company, she can't return to her old job. And finding another position would be tough. What if her new workplace is worse than the one she's saying goodbye to?

Unprepared to make a decision, Miranda booked an appointment at Pat's New Age Shop. She had passed the store while she was in the neighborhood to run an errand.

Going to a fortune teller checked all the boxes. It reminded her of her aunt, offered entertainment value, and was a way to procrastinate.

_

It seemed like any other spiritual, metaphysical store in Manhattan. Large amethysts were displayed throughout, and in baskets, smaller crystals and gemstones. On various tables, tarot decks and books on astrology, the afterlife, and astral projection were scattered. The scent of incense wafted through the air.

Miranda was no stranger to the occult. When she was a child, she used to accompany her Aunt Jessie to readings. They were always dressed neatly from the ankles up to distract from their shoes' often tattered condition.

Miranda would watch as Aunt Jessie asked fortune tellers about romance, wealth, and fame. She suspected that her relative's bubbly, fun personality emboldened them to spice up their predictions.

Being privy to her aunt's destiny was a reward in and of itself, but she most looked forward to getting ice cream afterward. It was their tradition.

While they enjoyed their frozen treats at a nearby park, Aunt Jessie would imagine what she'd do if any positive predictions came true.

The most spectacular ones never happened. She didn't meet a rich man who would introduce her to the high life. She didn't become the founder of a makeup brand. Heck, even the prediction that she'd become famous and live a long life turned out false. She died at 47.

At the time of her readings, her aunt probably didn't care that her reality would likely stay the same: a string of troubled partners and low-paying jobs. The readings were a source of hope.

--

With an open mind, Miranda entered the shop. Behind the counter was a gentleman who introduced himself as Patrick.

There was something familiar about him. Perhaps it was his thick-frame glasses and grey eyes, which reminded Miranda of her grandfather. Or maybe it was his demeanor. He was taciturn and no-nonsense. She couldn't put her finger on it. One thing was sure: in his cardigan, khakis, and button-down shirt, he didn't have the stereotypical psychic "look."

"Should I take the job?" she asked as she fiddled with her nameplate necklace. It read Torres, in honor of her family.

Patrick glanced at her, paying particular attention to the skin around her eyes. "You're in your thirties, correct? Keep looking."

"You're the first person who hasn't told me to accept. Maybe I'm not crazy," she joked.

He finally laid down the magnifying glass. "Your life has been plagued with difficulties, Miranda," he said as he leaned into his chair. "But you've been making strides toward a better future and have accomplishments you should be proud of. Practice moderation with your eating and drinking. Because you are a Virgo, I suggest you cancel any trips in June. That will be an uncomfortable month for you, and you might suffer an unexpected financial loss. But don't worry. You'll be OK."

Miranda's face went pale. "How did you know I was planning a trip?"

He smiled. "That'll be $10."

--

Within the next few months, several weird things happened to Miranda.

Against Patrick's advice, she accepted the role at the advertising agency. It was the most logical decision. All was well for the first three months, and then she was suddenly fired. "Unfortunately, your work hasn't been meeting our standards. We apologize for not letting you know sooner, but we also don't want to waste your time," her new boss said.

In June, she was set to vacation with friends in Spain. She canceled last minute because her mother was experiencing complications from a recent surgery. Her airline and hotel were no longer giving refunds.

It would have been a stressful journey anyway. The part of Spain she was supposed to visit was experiencing flooding, resulting in travel delays.

Miranda coped by indulging in sugary foods and alcohol. Tests revealed that her liver was in poor shape and that she was borderline diabetic.

Then there was the weekend from hell. On a Saturday, a strange man followed her from the subway to her studio. He fled when she confronted him. The next evening, a fire in her neighbor's apartment spread to her unit. Some of her belongings were damaged.

Without income to help pay rent or make up for her recent losses, she planned to return to New Jersey to live with her mother. That way, she could save money and be closer to her family.

On her last morning in her apartment, she headed to Pat's New Age shop. She wanted to tell him that he had been right.

Miranda hadn't yet reached the storefront when she noticed its boarded-up windows. Four men were removing furniture and boxes from the inside and transferring them into a truck.

"What's going on? Is Pat's closing?" she asked.

"This property is under new ownership," one of them said. "We have orders to move everything out. I don't know anything else besides that."

Seeing that the door was partially open, Miranda peeked inside. The shop was empty.

--

Pat, she later learned, hadn't dedicated his life to telling people's fortunes, although his predictions for her were eerily accurate. His real bread and butter was money laundering, and he had ties to crime syndicates all over the northeast. His name wasn't even Pat: it was George.

He grew up poor in Eastern Europe and moved to the U.S. when he was 10. He took odd jobs that enabled him to start an ice cream business in the 90s. His shop made a profit for a few years but was forced to close due to increased competition, rising rent, and a shady accountant.

To make ends meet, he returned to doing odd jobs. That's likely when he got involved with illegal activity. Soon, he started making more money than he could ever dream of. He promised himself that he would have better control of his destiny moving forward.

According to reports, he always possessed psychic abilities. His wife Patricia encouraged him to develop them. They met at a lavish party thrown by people he worked for: she was hired to tell their fortunes. After they married, she convinced him to open a shop to provide readings to her clients. When she died, George continued her business.

Somewhere along the line, he again became involved in crime.

It was unclear whether the man had been arrested or had run off before the feds could catch him. Rumor had it that he had no children or living relatives and that his millions were seized.

--

Months later, the chaos in Miranda's life had subsided. She secured a part-time job at a grocery store and was applying for jobs, eating better, and exercising.

One evening, she heard her doorbell go off while she was preparing dinner. She rushed to see who it was. On her doorstep was a bowling bag.

It was heavy, and she quickly discovered why. Inside was a small black leather notebook and $20,000 in cash. The sum was enough to buy her time to rethink her career and next steps.

On the first page was a message.

"It's never too late to start anew, even if it means returning to where you began. I saw wonderful things in your future—things worth living for. Use this money wisely. -P"

Suddenly, Miranda realized why the palmist looked so familiar. He must've recognized her from when she was a little girl. She and Aunt Jessie frequented an ice cream shop near Washington Square Park, adjacent to several psychic parlors. Her affable aunt likely introduced the two of them to the shop owner, and he never forgot them.

Once, Aunt Jessie accidentally left her wallet on his counter. If he checked for her identification, then he likely saw their surname.

When they retrieved her wallet an hour later, Aunt Jessie joked that now even the ice cream man knew they only had enough money for the train ride home.