“Okay.” He smiles a little. “Worth it. So, what’s the deal with the other cards?”
“Well, the past—Ten of Wands—is a card about shit being hard. Like, in the picture you see this guy is carrying all these sticks, but his back is bent and they look heavy as fuck. His view of everything is blocked by the sticks, so he can’t really see the future. There’s something from your past you need to let go of. It’s weighing you down. Does that … ring a bell?”
He lets out a heavy sigh. “Yeah.”
I point to the Page of Wands, his present. “And, as you can see, if you let that shit go, you’ll be ready to take on the world. The Page is this character in the tarot who’s like, Let’s do this thing.”
“The picture makes me think of Gandalf holding his staff.”
“Uh…”
“Lord of the Rings. Told you, I read fantasy, you live it.”
“Oh, right. That old dude. He was a magician or something, right?”
“Not a magician—the magician. Arguably the best one ever, with Dumbledore as a possible exception.”
If he were Dad, I’d have to nerd alert that.
“Okay, so channel your inner Gandalf and make some magic happen.”
He’s quiet, arms crossed, his thinking face on as I gather the cards up.
“No one’s ever done something like this for me before,” he finally says. “Thanks. It helped. A lot.”
I think about how his dad is at the pub, his mom just a memory. My parents got taken from me, but his parents chose to leave him. I suddenly get why he deals, why he wants a role. He’s like me—he just wants someone to see him. I hand Drew the Chariot card, and a little jolt goes through me when his fingers brush mine.
“Keep it,” I say. I’ll have to find another card to replace it, but this is the kind of stuff I’ve seen Mom do, and it feels right. “Whatever this thing you want is, Drew—go for it. You told me that day we ditched that you’re going to end up like your dad, but I don’t think so.” I hold up my velvet bag of magic. “The cards see what you can’t. And I agree with them—you’re passionate, driven, creative.” I smile. “Entrepreneurial. Someone like you can do cool things in the world.”
He blinks. Looks around his kitchen like he’s never seen it before.
“Did I blow your mind or weird you out?” I say. “Because I’m thinking this reading could go either way.”
Drew slips the card into his front pocket, then reaches back into the fridge and pops the cap off another bottle. He slides it toward me across the counter.
“Definitely blew my mind.” He takes a long swig of his beer.
“Is your dad gonna notice all this beer disappearing?” I ask.
Drew shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. We Nolans, we take the whole drunk Irish stereotype pretty seriously. My uncle owns a frickin’ pub. I’ve been drinking since I was eight. Come to think of it, I think it was my father who gave me that first beer.”
“Damn. I cannot imagine my dad ever letting me—”
I stop, the word stuck in my throat. I couldn’t have imagined Dad cheating on Mom, either.
“I’m sorry,” I say, as my eyes fill. “I’m a lousy drunk. I always get emotional. Either I’m too happy or I’m too sad.”
Drew reaches out and wipes away the tears that spill down my cheeks with the backs of his fingers. I really like when he touches me, and that makes me cry more. I am such a piece-of-shit girlfriend. And sister. And daughter. All I’ve done since the wave is get wasted and sleep and yell at people and want to cheat on my boyfriend.
“Nothing to be sorry about.” He leans against the counter, blows out a breath. “So … tonight was my last night as a dealer.”
I pick at the label on my bottle. Try not to panic. He’d said he wasn’t giving me any more anyway. I shouldn’t care.
“Why?”
He looks down at his scuffed-up leather boots. When he speaks, it’s so soft, I almost don’t hear the words.
“I want to do right by the miracle.”
“What … what does that mean?”
A ghost smile. His eyes, those gray-and-gold swirls, meet mine. “This famous scientist was giving a talk a couple years ago—I saw it online last night. And he said that we have a responsibility to be the best version of ourselves we can be. Whatever that is. Because it’s so insane how a very specific set of circumstances brought the atoms that make you together. All the things that had to happen for you to exist. You know? And he said, ‘We have to do right by the miracle. The miracle that is us.’” Drew shrugs. “I looked at the pills on my desk and … I was done.”
“My dad would have really liked you,” I say. His eyes widen, and this expression I can’t make out flies across his face, but it’s gone before I can name it. “Apart from the selling-me-drugs thing.”
He nods. “Yeah. I’m a bastard for that.”
“Drew. No. No. It’s been my choice. I’ve practically forced you to sell to me.” I try to smile, to not look shattered. “So your question. For the tarot. I’m guessing it was about, like, the rest of your life, right? Life after dealing.”
He takes in a shuddering breath, then his eyes slide to mine, hands gripping the counter. The way he looks at me—suddenly I know his question. The shape of it. What he wants.
“Hannah, I—”
Micah. Micah.
“I should go soon.” I glance at the clock on the stove. “It’s … late.”
He watches me for a moment, then nods. “So this is the last time we hang out.”
“What?”
“Because I’m not, you know. Fulfilling my role. This is it, right?”
The vacuum No Drew suddenly opens up inside me is like being held in a glacier’s hand. And I realize: He is the only deep breath I take.
I close my eyes, squeeze away the new set of tears. “Yeah. Totally. I mean, I knew that.”
Drew starts forward. “Wait. I didn’t—”
“Thanks for … I’ll see you. Around.”
I burst into tears. Jesus fuck, can I just be emotionally stable for once in my stupid, pointless life? I reach, blind, for my coat, my purse.
“What did I do? Just. Hold on—Hannah.”
“I’m fine! The beer—emotional. Ignore me.”
“Ignore you.” He’s standing there, looking at me like Micah looks at me, like I’m too much, too much.
I can’t carry you.
I nod. “I get it, Drew. I do. You want to … be the miracle. Do right by it. Like you said. And I’m just. Just. Just Hannah. Right? You want to, like, be something now.” I start laughing, I don’t know why. “Not the kind of person who’d steal their dead father’s Vicodin.”
“That’s not—”
“You can’t carry me. I get it.”
My fingers are numb and it’s impossible to get my coat on and I drop my purse and now everything’s on the floor fuck and I get on my knees and then Drew is there, surrounded by lipstick and tissues and pens and gum wrappers, and his arms are around me and he is holding me together.