Claire laughed. “Oh my god, are you going to bite my head off later?”
Delilah’s brows went up again, though it took Claire a second to realize what she’d said.
Praying mantises only bit off their lovers’ heads.
“I hadn’t planned on it,” Delilah said, her voice low and a little growly.
Heat pooled into Claire’s cheeks—as well as a few other places—and she flipped through the guidebook until she found the praying mantis.
“Actually,” she said very formally, “the praying mantis symbolizes wit, manipulation, and fun.”
Delilah blinked.
“So . . .” Claire went on, “you’re going to use your unsurpassed wit to manipulate someone for the hell of it.”
“Shit, I sound like a real piece of work.”
The two women stared at each other for a second, all seriousness, until Claire finally broke and both of them dissolved into laughter. Delilah’s shoulder brushed hers, the scent of summer and blueberries swirling between them like a drug.
“I don’t think we’re doing this right,” Claire said when they recovered. She flipped to the directions, reading all about shuffling and intentions and splitting the deck into three intuitive stacks. They went through the ritual, then Claire chose a card off the top.
It was a praying mantis.
Both women immediately started cackling. Claire laughed so hard, tears bloomed into her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had this much fun, felt this . . . carefree. Praying mantis notwithstanding.
“Okay, okay, there has to be more than lover-eating, manipulative insects in here,” Delilah said. “Let’s do it again.”
Delilah went through the motions before pulling wildflowers, which symbolized renewal, romance, and awakening; a peacock for splendor, the divine, and craving; and Gertrude Stein, who apparently represented perspective.
“So I’m a butch lesbian goddess looking for love,” Delilah said, shrugging as though to say obviously.
“Oh yeah, that’s the clear message here,” Claire said, and Delilah winked at her.
God, that wink.
Once Claire recovered and had taken another sip of wine, she shuffled the cards and pulled her own: an apple, Sappho, and a volcano. Her stomach flipped at Sappho—she knew the ancient poet represented something homoerotic. Before she could look up what the apple and volcano symbolized, though, Delilah slipped the guidebook from her hands.
“Hey!” she said, making to grab it back.
“Oh no. You read mine, I read yours.”
Claire pursed her lips, but they still managed to twist into a smile. Flirting. This was flirting, wasn’t it?
“Okay, let’s see here,” Delilah said, flipping through the book. “Sappho . . . well, we all know and love her, don’t we?”
Claire laughed, fighting a blush. “We do.”
“She represents the beloved, desire—of course—and taking flight.”
“So it sounds like I’m running away from what I want?” The interpretation flowed out of her mouth before she could stop it, the first thing that popped into her head.
“I don’t know, are you?” Delilah asked, the teasing lilt to her voice completely gone.
Claire cleared her throat and picked up both the apple and volcano cards, peering at them carefully. “But I’m also very hungry and . . . am . . . simmering with anger?”
Delilah flipped through the book. Her eyebrows popped up, a little grin settling on her face. She flipped from one page to the other, back and forth, over and over.
“Oh my god, what?” Claire asked, reaching for the book again, this time succeeded in taking it back. She found the apple.
The senses, hunger, and . . . sex.
Her belly tightened, but she didn’t look at Delilah, turning to the page with the volcano card.
Patience, repression, and—oh, for fuck’s sake.
Lust.
She blinked at the pages. Next to her, Delilah was silently cracking up, one hand over her pretty mouth. Claire waited to feel embarrassed, even mortified, but she didn’t. Instead, she felt like smiling, like flirting and playing. Hell, like telling the truth and being unashamed.
“Okay, so, I’m extremely horny,” she finally said, shrugging and tossing the book into Delilah’s lap. “So what?”
“But you’re really patient about it,” Delilah said, tapping the volcano card.
“Or incredibly repressed,” Claire said, and they both laughed, poured more wine, and that was that.
For the next hour, the women lost themselves in the cards. They pulled chickens and Sylvia Plath, teacups and gloves and Octavia Butler. They made wild and unlikely interpretations—as well as a few that felt soft and gentle, like a whisper. They’d barely touched their most recent glasses of wine, but Claire’s head was still perfectly fuzzy. She wasn’t drunk, but she was definitely something. It took her a few minutes to come up with the right word.
Happy.
She was happy.
“So,” Delilah said, tapping a card featuring a ghost against her knee. “You’re heading out tomorrow?”
Claire sighed, leaning her head against the back of the couch. “Looks like it. I’m not sure what Iris thinks is going to happen on this camping trip. Astrid hates camping.”
“You don’t say.”
Claire grinned at her. “Hey, she could do outdoorsy stuff.”
“As long as there was air-conditioning and a soaker tub waiting for her after the hike.”
“Okay, true. But she’ll sleep in a tent for me.”
Delilah tilted her head. “That I believe.”
Claire watched her for a second. “You’re coming, right?”
“Camping?”
She nodded.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not? Ruby wants you there.”
“Astrid probably doesn’t. It’s not a wedding event, and the whole point is to get Astrid nice and vulnerable so she realizes that she’s not in love with Ken.”
Claire frowned. “Ken? His name is—”
“I know, Claire. Ken as in a Ken doll.”
“Oh.” Claire laughed and rubbed her forehead. “God, sorry. I’m usually better with jokes than this.”
“Well, you’ve got a lot going on. With Josh and everything.”