Major Arcana: Sex, Love, and Tarot

It was nearly ten, and so a good time to head out. Rosemary didn't have a car. She took the bus, and enjoyed commuting that way for the most part. It only got annoying when she had other places to go, or on weekends when buses came less frequently. Still, in a half hour she could be at the restaurant. So long as the 43 isn't late again.

The bus gods were smiling that day, as she hopped on a full minute before schedule. Rosemary was at Pigs 'N 'A Blanket at 10:23 -- plenty of time to spare. Knowing Thyme, he would show up at the very last second. With a long-suffering sigh she perused the menu. It was a vegan restaurant. Thyme went through many dietary phases; he'd done Paleo, he'd done Gluten-free, Locovore, several variations of vegetarianism, and now he was on a vegan kick. So although the menu listed biscuits with sausage gravy, Rosemary was sure they meant "biscuits with sausage-like chunks of tofu in some kind of milk-less mushroom sauce." Oh, well.

To her great surprise, Thyme appeared a good six minutes before eleven.

"Wow, you're on time!"

He snorted, even as he leaned in for a hug. "I can get up in the morning, sister mine, I just don't choose to."

His arms went around her, squeezing with that familiar pressure. Thyme was pretty much an expert at hugging. He always made her feel like the most important person in the world, when he gave her a hug. Why is the best man in my life always my brother?

"Thanks for coming out with me," she said. "I really needed it today."

"I know. Parsley told me."

"She did?" Rosemary groaned. "I should've known she'd blab."

"Dude, how many times has she served you tea and patted you on the back after a breakup? Whatever, we'll talk about it inside. Come on."

The waitress had an asymmetrical, part-shaved, part-spiky haircut, in addition to ear plugs, a nose ring, lip ring, and a huge black Hipster glasses. She wore a tight miniskirt, leggings, and a graphic tee under her server's apron. With a look of supreme boredom, she led Thyme and Rosemary to their seats and distributed the menus.

"Special today is eggless French toast with bacon strips."

"I don't suppose that's actual bacon?" Rosemary asked, mostly just to enjoy the waitress's barely-concealed sneer of horror.

"No," she said icily. "Our food is all vegan. It's veggie bacon."

"Of course," Rosemary said sweetly.

The waitress all but rolled her eyes. "Anything to drink?"

"Coffee, please," said Thyme. As she walked off, he hissed to Rosemary, "You bitch! Duh, it's veggie bacon!"

"I know. Just had to see the expression on her face. Her nostrils flared and everything! Hilarious!"

Thyme shook his head, trying not to grin, but she saw it twitching at the corner of his mouth. He couldn't resist; they shared the same sense of humor.

"Are you serious about this whole vegan thing?"

"Rosemary, it's totally healthy and stuff. There's been studies."

"Okay. I'll just stick with an old-fashioned balanced diet, thanks."

The waitress came with their coffees, serving Rosemary's with evident distain. She took their orders, then departed without asking if they needed anything else. Rosemary filled her coffee with sugar and nondairy creamer.

"So, you didn't want to invite your friend?" she asked.

"Who? Oh... that guy. Nah, he was just a quick fuck. Actually it was good to have this date with you, since that made it easy to get him out the door fast."

Rosemary shook her head.

"Thyme, you always have these crazy one-night stands. When are you gonna find a good man?"

"Probably when you do," Thyme shot back.

"Touché." Rosemary sighed. "So I guess Parsley told you about Jason."

"Yeah. So, what happened with this one?"

"Well, we were together almost three months, you know. I thought we were on the same page with, like, wanting a real relationship. But when I asked him about a serious commitment -- like, testing the waters about marriage and kids and stuff -- he freaked out. Said he'd only been looking for a good time. Then he peaced out, won't even return my texts, totally cut me out of his life. Who does that?"

"An asshole."

"Yeah, I know. Should have ID'd that one earlier. Woulda saved myself the trouble."

"At least you were getting laid."

"Ha! He wasn't very impressive in that department, either."

"Well, that's why they invented dildos."

At that moment the waitress returned. Her eyes went wide and her nostrils flared again. This time Thyme noticed. He glanced over at Rosemary, biting his lip to hold back his laughter. Yeah, we're twins, for sure. The Hipster server slid a steaming plate of scrambled tofu with hash browns in front of Rosemary, and the French toast special for Thyme, before hastily making her escape.

"At least they serve hash browns. That's the only real food I see here," Rosemary observed, squirting ketchup and hot sauce onto her plate in hopes of adding some flavor.

"French toast is real food!"

"Yeah, eggless, milkless French toast? I don't think so."

"Aw, shut up and eat your omelet."

"It's a tofu scramble. Or so they say."

They ate, small-talking for a while. The tofu scramble was surprisingly good, especially with hot sauce. Eventually the inevitable topic came up. Thyme didn't stay in touch as well as the girls did, so he was always asking about their mother.

"Where is Mom these days, anyway?"

"Last I heard she was in Honduras, doing some kind of music-immersion thing at an Amerindian village, or something. You know how it is with her."

"Some things never change." Thyme's tone of voice was tense. He loved their mother, but being the only boy he'd suffered most from her flighty ways. Growing up, he'd wished to be more of a focus in her life, but Mom had always prioritized her own adventures and personal growth over that of her children. That's just how she was. The girls had mostly gotten over it -- which, for Sage, involved years of expensive therapy -- but Thyme carried it with him still. Plus, the whole lack of a dad thing had been hard on him, as a boy. Their grandfather, Baba, had been a wonderful, tolerant and open-minded man in many respects, but when Thyme came out as gay in high school he'd vocally wondered if it hadn't been due to the lack of a father. Ridiculous, of course, but Thyme had that on his shoulders, as well.

"Parsley heard from her last, I think. She said something about a Native spiritual journey, some crap like that." Hesitating, she went on to add, "Parsley's always understood that side of things -- the inner wisdom stuff -- better than the rest of us. She gave me a deck of Tarot cards. Just the Major Arcana. Some kind of month-long self-reflection process, supposed to help me discover myself after this latest breakup."

"Tarot, huh?"

"Yeah, I was skeptical too. But it's worth a shot. I mean, what else am I doing this month? Nothing -- just work, then coming home and sitting around, wondering why I'm thirty-two and still don't have a boyfriend or anything."

"Well I'm thirty-two, and I don't have a boyfriend. So there."

"Only in your case it's through choice. How many hearts have you broken lately, Thyme?"

"I've lost count," he said, quite smugly.

"Yeah, and in my calculations, I've broken exactly zero. None. Nobody's ever cared about me enough to have a broken heart."

"Dude, you just gotta get online. That's how you meet guys nowadays. If you're serious about getting serious, pick one of those relationship-focused ones. You know, the 'meet your future mate' kind, eHarmony or whatever."

"Do you use those?"

"Hell no! I'm on Grindr." He giggled. "The hookup scene is freaking amazing!"

Rosemary laughed, shaking her head. Thyme was an incorrigible flirt. Knowing him as she did, Rosemary suspected some of it was just to cover up his true sensitivity, the fragility of his heart. By always holding men at arm's length -- or erection's length, maybe -- he never had to emotionally commit. It made her sad, sometimes, to see him blowing through nice guys like they were expendable. Maybe one of these days he'll meet someone really great, and that'll be that. It has to happen sometime.

"I'll think about it," was all she said.

*

They hugged goodbye after brunch. Thyme was off home, to wrap up his chores and do some grocery shopping for the week. Things Rosemary should do too, but she couldn't bring herself to go back to her sad, empty apartment. Instead, she caught a bus downtown, headed for the Seattle Art Museum.

Rosemary was an artist at heart. She'd gotten her AA at a local community college, mostly so she'd have something to parlay into a job, but art was her passion. Even while she was at NSCC, she'd pack her schedule full of art classes: painting, sculpture, figure drawing, digital art; she loved it all. One corner of her apartment was a designated studio. When she felt inspired, Rosemary would sit there and create. Mostly, though, she loved going to the museum. It was a perfect thing to do alone, too. If one could really consider herself alone, when surrounded by so much beautiful art. For Rosemary, each work of art was a friend, a soul.

The SAM was pretty busy, as it was Sunday afternoon. Being a member, Rosemary skipped the line, checked her coat, and headed through the familiar galleries. Most folks clustered in the special exhibit, or the European masters, but she was in the mood for something different. Her feet carried her, almost without her thinking it, into the Northwest Native American collection.

Here, among the carved masks, totem poles, woven baskets, bentwood boxes, and button robes, she felt at home. The distinctive style of Northwest Native art had always attracted her. Strong, bold colors: black, red, white and green; the gleam of abalone shell; the natural beauty of cedar wood. For years Rosemary had dreamed of buying a contemporary piece by one of the many local artists, but she just didn't have the money. One day, maybe...

She stepped back to better admire a stately Thunderbird mask, but stopped abruptly when she felt her hip connect with something -- someone, rather. "Oh!" she cried in surprise, spinning around, her face burning in embarrassment. "I'm so sorry! I didn't see you there!"

"Happens a lot."

The man sent her a friendly smile, which Rosemary tentatively returned. His face was open, with broad cheeks and a strong jaw. Actually, he was super good-looking; she admired his soft brown eyes, framed with dark curling lashes, and his sensuous full lips. His medium-dark skin, thick black hair, and facial structure made her think he was probably Latino. But all of that wasn't what she noticed first.

To her shame, what she noticed first—and with shock—was his wheelchair.

"I do apologize," she blubbered, feeling like an idiot. An insensitive idiot.

"Don't worry about it." The man paused, smiling up at her. She felt even more ashamed, then, knowing she was staring, and knowing he must be used to that. He just nodded to the Thunderbird. "Beautiful piece, isn't it?"

"Yeah. One of my favorites."

"I think the shapes are just fascinating. So simple -- just ovoids, u-shapes, and circles -- but it comes together into such an expressive face. Which tribe is this one from?"

Rosemary leaned in to inspect the plaque.

"Kwakwaka'wakw," she attempted, no doubt butchering the pronunciation. The guy laughed. He had a lovely laugh, rich and deep.

"Kwakiutl is how I learned it," he said.

She blushed, embarrassed.

"No, no," he hurried to amend, "I'm not correcting you! I'm sure they'd prefer to be called by their real name. I sure would."

"What is your name?" she asked, feeling it was the only logical thing to say next.

"Fabricio," he said, holding out his hand. She took it, feeling his firm handshake, the dry, smooth skin of his palm against hers. It was almost enough to make her forget she'd had to lean down slightly, so their hands could meet.

"I'm Rosemary."

"Always a pleasure to meet a fellow art-lover."

Releasing his hand, she met his smile and then turned back to the art. Fabricio followed as she stepped over to the next masterpiece, a Tlingit woven robe. Black and white, with heavy fringe, its beauty was stark in simplicity.

"The amount of work that went into that is astounding," she said. It was small talk, and she knew it. But she didn't know what else to say... she felt awkward and uncertain, although she didn't really know why. Only she did know -- it was because of the wheelchair. She didn't know how to act, without mentioning it, just pretending everything was normal. As, of course, it should be, she told herself sternly. A wheelchair doesn't change a person!

"It's okay, you know."

"Hm?"

"I'm used to it. The awkwardness."

"Am I so awkward?" Rosemary felt her cheeks heating up again. She had distinctly hoped he didn't notice, but Fabricio's smile hinted that he did.

"Not really. But I notice when people are ill at ease. It's hard for people, not knowing if they should ask about the wheelchair or not. People don't want to make it a big deal, but they want to be polite and all; it can get weird real fast. So I just get it out of the way. Gets the elephant out of the room, so to speak. Yeah, I have a wheelchair, and yes, I am totally comfortable talking about it."

"Wow. I... thank you. That's really thoughtful."

"Hey, I didn't do it for entirely honorable reasons. It's not every day a beautiful woman bumps into me at my favorite art museum."

He smiled again, enjoying her surprise. It was the kind of smile a man used when he was checking out a woman, inviting her to do the same. Rosemary didn't know what she had expected, but it definitely wasn't this. Oh my god, he's hitting on me! Suddenly the thought burst into her head: Can he still have sex, if he can't use his legs? Embarrassment flooded her immediately at the thought, but the question remained. Well, I'm definitely not going to ask him that!

"So... how did it happen? The wheelchair?"

"Fell out of a tree. I was twelve. Trying to impress a girl." He smiled crookedly. "Didn't go too well. But I've improved my technique since. How am I doing?"

Rosemary couldn't help but smile at his obvious flirtation. It had been a long time since a guy showed such obvious interest in her, and this was a handsome, interesting guy -- a guy who came to the art museum on a Sunday, alone. Like her. Still, she felt too shy to return the flirty banter.

"So what brings you to the SAM today?" she asked, totally changing the topic.

"I'm an art history student at the U Dub. On track to graduate this year, so that's pretty exciting."

Oh, wow, a college senior? Really? He must be, like, twenty-one! WAY too young for me! Rosemary felt a pang of regret as she shut down her runaway imagination. No, people don't really meet like this. No, this is not how relationships start; not when there's a ten-year age gap. She wasn't ready to enter Cougar-ville just yet.

"Never made it to the UW, but I heard they have a good program. Just did the community college thing myself. I love art, but I didn't have the confidence to pursue it as a career."

"Well, it's never too late," Fabricio said, grinning. "You can always go back to school."

"Oh, I don't think so. I graduated, like, eight years ago now." That should clue him in; for a guy finishing up his last year of undergrad, she must seem like an old lady.

Fabricio shrugged, calling her attention to his muscular shoulders. Actually, he had the finest-looking torso she'd ever seen on a man. Thick, strong arms showed clearly through the thin fabric of his button-up shirt. So did his pecs, and his broad shoulders. She couldn't help wondering what the rest of him looked like...

"Never say never," he said.

Rosemary decided she had better call this off before she dug herself a deeper hole.

"Well, it was nice to meet you, Fabricio," she said, lamely. "I've got to head home, unfortunately. Get ready to get back to work tomorrow."

"Yeah, I know how it goes. Hey, could I have your number?"

The boldness of his question shocked her. Rosemary's mouth dropped open. She shut it only when her brain managed to process how idiotic she must look, gaping like a fish.

"Um... no, I don't think so. Thanks, though."

"You sure? I go to museums a lot, as an art major. We could hang out again, talk about art."

He knew how to get her, that's for sure. Not wanting to be rude, Rosemary caved in.

"All right. It's 206-324-6777."

Fabricio typed it into his phone and hit save.

"Got it. Hey, I'll text you later. Maybe we can do SAM again next weekend?"

"Maybe. Bye."

"Bye, Rosemary. See you soon, I hope."

Violently confused, emotions whirling, she made her escape.

*

Later that night, as she lay in bed waiting for sleep, Rosemary played it over in her mind. First of all, that kind of thing never happened to her. Second of all, he was way too young for her. Third, he was in a wheelchair. Which should -- not -- matter! she told herself, angrily, for of course it did matter. It mattered a lot. She hated herself for thinking that, even though she supposed lots of people would. It had just never come up before.

Plus, there was the card. The Fool. What did that even mean? Was she the fool, looking for love in all the wrong places -- or with all the wrong people? Was Thyme the fool, for hiding behind casual sex as a way to avoid true commitment? Or was The Fool actually Fabricio, a naïve young college kid studying art history, of all things? Maybe we're all fools, she thought bitterly. Any one of us could fall off that cliff at any time. Stupid Tarot. Parsley is crazy.

Yet even as she fell asleep, Rosemary wondered which card would appear tomorrow.

Chapter 2: The Devil

Even though it was definitely "Not Safe For Work," Rosemary brought the card with her. She couldn't tear her eyes off it: The Devil. A huge, red, satyr-like creature with curved horns and goat legs, sporting an impressive erection. In each hand he held a rope, and attached to the ropes was a naked man and woman, collared, enslaved. It burned a hole in her purse; she took it out again and again on the bus, surreptitiously peeking at it when no one else was looking. The card was terrifying, but also arousing. Was the devil an ancient fertility god, or an evil force? Was he both?

She thought about it all morning, while serving snacks, reading books, leading songs for the kids. Rosemary worked at a corporate daycare downtown, in the toddler room. It was physical work, keeping up with those busy little bodies, but not challenging. The hours were good -- 8 to 5, with an hour lunch break; the pay was decent, and the job was fun. She liked the routines, the caring aspect of it, and the opportunity to come up with creative art projects they could do. Mostly, though, it paid the bills. Now in her sixth year there, Rosemary couldn't be bothered with making a career change.

It was after lunch, the toddlers snoozing for their imposed two-hour nap, when she drew The Devil out again. The card seemed to wink at her. Sex, it whispered. Passion. Lose control; release; submit. She shivered, setting it aside. Though they weren't supposed to use cell phones during work hours, Rosemary sneaked over to her purse to check her texts. Nothing from Fabricio, which disappointed her more than she thought it should.

There was a text from Thyme, though: "Online dating. Make a profile. Now!"

"Guess I might as well," she mumbled. Putting her phone away, she made the rounds to check on the kids, and then settled back at her computer. Having talked it over with some of her more experienced colleagues, Rosemary had settled on a website to start. Free, but pretty active and relationship-focused, so she had a good chance of maybe meeting someone on there. Plus it did profile matching and stuff.