Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
“Dr. Miranda Reed,” I say, extending a hand.
His palm closes over mine, warm and strong and perfect.
“It was really nice to meet you, Miranda. I would love to repeat it. Minus the whole near-death element.”
“I’d like that, too.”
He smiles and winks. “Then I’ll hear from you. I hope.”
I stare at him for a moment too long after he walks away, before jolting a little as I realize the time. I run the rest of the way to the Physics Department building, but even still, I’m late for class for the first time in years.
And the first time ever, my heart’s not in the lecture.
I’ve spent my entire life blindly, diligently obeying the laws of physics, the rules of nature, the strict prescriptions of scientific study.
And yet, today I find that my attention isn’t on science at all.
It’s about my horoscope’s prediction of a charming stranger. A knight in shining armor who saves the day.
And sends me in a new direction.
I’ve finally figured out what that new direction’s going to be.
The summer session is nearly over, and then it’s time to break all the rules. To reinvent myself.
To become someone other than Dr. Miranda Reed, scientist.
I’m going to take Daphne’s advice and Eat, Pray, Love by way of astrology.
I’m going to take my aunt’s suggestion.
I’m going to live.
SEPTEMBER
You promise you’re not leaving because of me?” I ask my aunt. “Because Daphne knows someone who’s looking to sublet their studio in the Lower East Side. I don’t want to run you out of your home.”
Lillian applies a swipe of shockingly bright pink lipstick, then pats my cheek. “Darling girl, I love you more than anything in this world, and that includes that dear, nerdy lump that you call a father and I call a brother. But that’s still not enough to compel me to stick around these parts once the weather starts to turn. I’d be heading to Palm Beach whether or not you needed a place to stay.”
And I do need a place to stay.
The university had let me continue leasing my on-campus apartment through the summer term, but since I won’t be an active lecturer this academic year, I’d had to move out.
Not that I’d wanted to stay. I’d stopped feeling like I belonged there the second I learned of the tenure board’s decision. Everything I’d been focused on suddenly became irrelevant.
When Lillian had heard, she’d insisted I move into the Cottage, since it coincided with her annual migration to Florida and would otherwise be empty.
“And besides”—she gives my cheek another tap before checking her lipstick in the entryway mirror—“I rather like knowing someone is here to take care of the plants.”
Lillian lifts an eyebrow and meets my gaze in the reflection. “You will take care of the plants. And the fairies.”
I can’t tell if she’s kidding or not about the fairies. I doubt it, so I nod, balancing the stack of paper where she’s written instructions on plant care in her slanted, looping penmanship. “I’ve seen academic papers less detailed,” I remark as I rifle through them. “I can’t possibly mess this up.”
“Good. And don’t forget the plants on the roof. They’re my favorites.”
I frown. “Then why put them on the roof? I didn’t even know you ever went to the roof.”
She fluffs her hair and gives an enigmatic smile that makes me think even if she tells me, I won’t understand it.
I’m guessing something to do with fairies or elves.
“I wish you didn’t have to go so soon. It would have been nice to be roomies for a while.”
“Sorry, darling. The grande dames live alone, and never in the cold.”
I don’t know anything about grand dames, but I do know seasons. “It’s not even autumn yet.”
“True. But Judith will be furious if I don’t bear witness to her eightieth birthday extravaganza tomorrow. It’s on a boat, which seems like a mistake with a bunch of senior citizens, and thus I can’t miss it.”
She turns back to me. “Though I confess I would rather like to see what wild Miranda looks like. I want to hear daily updates.”
“I don’t know about wild Miranda. I haven’t really started the Horoscope Project yet, but so far the craziest thing it’s suggested is that I try a new cuisine.”
The Horoscope Project is what I’m calling my yearlong commitment to living like an astrologist instead of a scientist.
Naming the endeavor had made it feel more real. And opting for the generic project instead of hypothesis or experiment felt like a gratifying middle finger to the knowledge-based world that betrayed me.
My aunt is studying me. “Have you called that boy yet?”
“He is in his thirties, Lillian. With a kid of his own.”
She waggles a finger. “Don’t try to distract me because you’re being a chicken.”
“I’m… waiting for the right time. I had to grade final exams and papers, I was moving, I was—” I break off.