Evening Saturday, March 1st, 2025

Lyrou met Tom downtown. She’d texted him first, as with Tom, he never reached out first. Did she miss Tom? She didn’t know, but she wanted to know. After a week of leaving her on unread status, he texted back, “You want to come to my photo exhibition? We can do something”. She texted “oui,” to which he sent the time and the location on the map app. And so… she showed up. She entered as any guest did and browsed through the various sections; shots of rugby players colliding, basketball players dunking, soccer goals, sumo wrestlers grappling, aha.. it was a theme of athletic photography, and so Tom’s photos were featured somewhere. She’d just have to find the martial arts quarter. Passing boxing and arm wrestling, there in a well-lit and cool room were 6’ x 5’ photos of jiu jitsu. She walked the circuit, bodies flying at one another, pinned together, arms locked and bent, a knee in a chest, and a pained face. She looked to find if Tom had included any shots of Kyrylo, but she was surprised to realize the adorable giant wasn’t in any of them.

A deep voice resonated behind her, “There’s a line we use in martial arts that a woman has enough force in her kick to kill a heavyweight champion should she strike his throat, she just needs the training.”

Lyrou needn’t turn to see him. She reached her hand back and felt his forearm, running it smoothly along his terminal hairs and then taking him by his elbow, inhaling that one-of-a-kind scent that was Tom. Now she turned to look at him, he stood in a crisp, white-grey button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his biceps, holding by finger-hook a casual dark-grey blazer over his shoulder, dark-grey tailored chinos, and white loafers. She approved, “That sounds like clever marketing.”

Tom, expressionless, explained, “I can tell you want to believe in it. But more clever is a photo series featuring all women.”

Lyrou looked again at each photo. “Oh!? I hadn’t noticed they're all women.”

Tom grinned. “That’s the gig, promote women’s athletics through the highest quality images, and it promotes my business. Then, through Women’s History Month, I’ll make this big drive to bring in female students. Unlike these other sports photographers, I’m not showing women playing; I’m showing them fighting. Women want to feel safe, so they want to imagine they can fight. Throwing or kicking a ball doesn’t do that. Throwing a punch or kicking a man does.”

Lyrou’s mind and ovaries fought, exchanging punches and kicks. So we did miss him? No! Yes! She got to the point. “When are you free?”

Tom, not bothering to check the time. “Whenever. Now.”

And the two made their way to the doors. “Let’s have a crispy chicken sandwich and a bacon cheeseburger,” he decided for them, recalling naturally what she'd order, coming out onto the sidewalk and spotting the franchise across the one-way single lane. Just then, a nasally overweight voice said, “Tom! Hey Tom!” and a stout pink man came slow-running toward them. “Tom, wait a second.”

Lyrou excused herself. “I’ll go order, and it’ll be ready when you sit.”

Tom nodded, engaging this sweaty whoever he was over whatever it was he wanted. “Jim, what’s happening?”

Lyrou carefully crossed the street and followed the smell of fries and chicken when she heard a whistle. “Dayum!” and saw them there at the end of an alley, two tall, troubled youths with goat beards and their caps sitting ajar. “Baddie! Hold up,” and made way for her.

Lyrou walked faster to get inside, but their legs were longer, and they came up on either side of her. “Excuse me, I’m busy.”

“Busy with all that? Yeah, nah, you do have a hella lot going on.” Purple-beanie snapped his fingers at her figure. “Like shit. What’s your at?”

Rips-in-his-jeans-hanging-off-his-exposed-briefs put his palms together and rubbed them like a mantis. “You going in for some nuggets, huh? I can serve you up my bussin nuggets.”

Lyrou huffed and tried to press through them, but they closed their gap. She then tried to go around, and in a step, they flanked her. “I’m really not interested,” and her frustration built so instantly that she caught and stopped herself from tearing up. And yet she teared up, anyway. She balled up her fist, and with her opposite hand, she reached into her purse for her taser. What would happen if she swung? Would she land a blow? Would it hurt him? Would he hit back? What would happen if she turned and they grabbed her? Could she surprise one with a zap? What would the other do, then?

And then they went quiet. She stepped back, ready to turn and, with an ‘mmpph’, felt there behind her Tom. The immovable force of him stood silently as she sidled around and behind him. He looked them dead in their eyes; a silver-back, a gladiator. Lyrou watched over his wide shoulders as Beanie’s face went pale. Saggy-britches, though, this one summoned up some courage, shaking the fear out of his eyes and getting confrontational. “That drip, bruh. It’s a nice jacket, finna get fade stains…”

It happened so fast, Lyrou blinked, a thunderclap, and it was done. Open-handed slap across the whole of the left side of Torn-saggy-pants’ face, he went tumbling into his day-one accomplice. Catching and steadying one another, the two lost boys gave up the front. "Aye, man, chill! Sorry, man, alright, sorry!" And they went painfully off, turning down their alley.

Tom took Lyrou by her elbow, they briskly passed up the fast food, and he led her away to his car. "I can put together something at the condo."

Driving her back, Lyrou couldn't keep her hands and eyes off of Tom. She traced the contours and clefts of his muscles under his shirt, squeezed on his swollen trouser bulge, twisted his hair in her fingers. She had the playful whimsy to pinch his nipple as he drove, and when he caught her hand to make her stop, she hornily bit his wrist, sending a somatic arousal jolt through both their bodies.

At Tom's condo, Lyrou followed him in on his heels, running her hands over his robust shoulders, triceps, and back, feeling for the divots and clefts in his serratus and lats, eyeing his powerful ass, and grinning. "Are you real?"

"Am I real?" He adjusted his thermostat, then pinch-sprinkled flakes into his fish tank, with Lyrou following and touching. "What do you mean, am I real?"

Lyrou exhaled, pulling off her clothes and leaving a trail through his abode. "Just answer."

Tom flipped through the mail, tearing open envelopes and reading them, taking his time with a fully nude Lyrou tight around his back, running her hands and mouth all over him. "I'm real."

Planting her hands on the counter beside him, she did a little boob-ass-jiggling jump and sat there, her long legs dangling down. She took his wrist and held his big punk-slapping hand to her face, making him caress her cheek and lips. At that, Tom held his arms up and let Lyrou pull his shirt up and off inside-out, then he undid and dropped his pants. His cock was hanging over the elastic rim of his boxer briefs, and Lyrou took it in both palms, gently weighing it, placing her thumbs over it, and giving a light squeeze; how girthy and hard. She eyed his tattoos, familiar to her but somehow renewed in this moment; an ithyphallic satyr with aulos on his bicep, a nest full of eggs but one of them heavily speckle patterned and larger than the rest on his pectoral, a wavy flag that composited Brazilian & Japanese vexillology on his abdomen, a neutrophil destroying a microbe via phagocytosis on the underside of his forearm, and a triangular silhouette of two BJJ grand masters locked in a demonstration of combat principle on his thigh. She traced her fingers over his ink, committing them to memory for a time she'd never see them again.

Her big ass was sticking to the counter. She bucked forward into him, wrapped her legs around his waist, and with her feet on his buttocks, she pressed him into her groin-to-groin. His cock slid between her labia lips, and with his thumb over his dorsal shaft, he gave her clit a thwack-thwack-thack with his glans. He thrust, and his angle levered his dick so vertically that she felt the pressure of him in her pubic symphysis. With such pressure on her urethral sponge, she felt the false urinary urgency she loved and asked him something she'd meant to for some time, "Can you pick me up and carry me in this position and do me standing?"

Tom embraced her, pulled her off the counter and onto himself, and walked with her riding his cock. She sucked on his neck, giving him a hickey. She locked her hands-over-wrists behind his big shoulders. He held her by her ass cheeks to keep her hoisted. He slowly paced his kitchen, dining room, and living room with her glued to him like this, and he asked, "Is this right?"

She nodded, lips against his ear, "Oui. Like this."

And the sensation of his hands pouring over with her abundant ass mass, her tits mashed against his chest, his firm traps in her hands, the shifting balance with each of his slow steps, her feet gently bouncing, her clit rubbing against his pubic hair, his shaft stroking and throbbing against her G-spot, all of it came together into a grunting-moaning simultaneous orgasm for them both. He emptied inside of her, they kissed, and her carried her to his bed, falling into it together.

"Tom. Thank you. But I wish it wasn't you who saved me today." Lyrou mouthed his ear and neck.

"If you need to believe you saved yourself, then frame it that you did exactly that by keeping good company." Tom pet her hair laying over her back and shoulders.

"No, what I mean is that I needed my husband to do that. What you did was amazing, but not unbelievable for you. I keep imagining my husband doing what you did, visualizing him in place of you, how fantastic he would be. But my husband would never do that. I'm certain. And the catastrophe inside is that I didn't give him the opportunity to surprise me. I violated us, he and I, to write him off, that he can't save me like that. I feel so much that I've wronged him, that my husband in my imagination requires no imagination at all. You remember when you suggested my husband could kill? A voice in my head cackled. But I was offended at my own reaction. And I resent myself that another man could envision him so, and I can't."

Tom nodded, tangling his fingers in her hair. "I see. I must confess something; I didn't do it to save you. I did it because I like hitting people."

Lyrou snickered and sniffled. "There was a woman in the mall."

Tom nodded. "Done. I'll hit her."

Lyrou smiled and slapped his chest. "Stop. Listen. There was a woman in the mall I eavesdropped on, who reminded me of my younger self, eerily so. She bought a ring for her boyfriend."

Tom understood. "Then you bought a ring for Garin."

Lyrou buried her face in his arm to hide her contorted, pained expression. "When I break up with you, when I stop... you... How?"

Tom gently massaged her arm up and down, wrist to elbow. "Breaking habits is best done all at once, cold turkey, no explanation, no looking back, no hesitation. Just one day and with nothing to it, not a word... stop."

Lyrou wrapped her arms around Tom's muscular frame. She squeezed and squeezed until her strength gave way to fatigue, and she slackened atop him.

⚜

Evening Thursday, March 6th, 2025

Penny had gone from school to Carla’s house, and Garin texted that he was staying at his office late to get ahead and avoid coming in for work on Friday. Lyrou stood at Alan’s doorway, watching him as he sat hunched over his desk, earpods in, tapping away at his school-issued touchpad. He was studying for his upcoming math test, and the music was helping him focus.

“Hey, Alan,” she said softly, poking her head in. “Mind if I listen with you for a bit?”

Alan quickly glanced up, not realizing she’d been watching him. “Bien sûr, maman.” And he popped out his right ear-pod, stretching his arm to give it to her. “It slaps,” he added.

She smiled and popped it into her own ear. She liked the idea of hearing what he bobbed to, especially since she adored him so much, but also to regulate the material her son was exposed to. The music was new and unique, even if it wasn’t her usual style, she could open her mind to anything her boy found worthy in this world.

She returned to her own task, a thorough cleaning of her bedroom. Sheets were yanked away, and she ran a hand vacuum over the exposed mattress. The music cut through the oscillating whish of the suction. She splayed herself to put on clean, cool sheets, tucking them under the corners and along the edges and the bed-frame. By her eardrum, a smooth, building harmony was imparted to her. Then she changed the pillowcases, beating the pillows into shape to the beats in her head. She wiped and sprayed and wiped almost in a dance rhythm. So too she vacuumed under the bed, to his quick youthful tune. She got between the heavy headboard and the wall, disturbing a tiny spider, and even it seemed to skitter away to the spirit of this synthetic sound. For the next twenty-five minutes, she listened. It was an energetic genre, futuristic with a sorrowful gangster undertone. A few of the tracks had Portuguese vocals and a favela heat to them. As Alan continued his studying in silence, she found herself subtly moving along with the beats, a head twist, a shoulder dip, and a small hip gyration. It wasn’t her kind of music, but it was her Alan’s preferred music. And that made it better.

But then, just as she was acquiring a taste for phonk… the music stopped. She heard a new sound, sharp clicks and the distant crackling of explosions. Alan had started up his online first-person shooter game.

She furrowed her brow, confused at first. Why was he playing now? He must be taking a break from studying, and he must have forgotten she had the other earpod in. The sounds of the game were loud and clear: gunfire, soldiers’ voices shouting in distress, the intensity of a combat zone.

Lyrou straightened up and thought of giving Alan back his earpod. She may’ve been a millennial with limited long-ago experiences on consoles, but she knew that on an FPS, spatial audio was an advantage. Besides, she had no desire to listen to a digitally simulated battle.

A voice cut through and stopped her in her tracks, “Let’s go!!” a teenage boy yelled, followed by laughter. “I yeeted that eight-centimeter Granatwerfer 34 mortar down your boissy.”

She heard through her ear-pod Alan snickering over the sound of periodic gunfire, “You’re a spawn camper, wha’ii ore you gae?” Alan taunted in a Ugandan accent.

The boyish memery verging on brain-rot. Lyrou winced as she heard a rapid and terrible series of explosions and boys laughing their lungs out. “You got wrecked, Alan. Like your mom. Alan’s as easy to clap as an NPC.”

Another boy piled on “Uwu.. ii kimochi!” now with the Japanese kawaii voice.

“I think Jer wants to play the Iwo Jima map next.” Alan quipped, unbothered by their hazing, it was rolling off his shoulder, “I was studying for my test, give me a sec to switch gears.”

An older boy asked dismissively, “But why even study?”

Alan, doing a good-boy voice, answered, “To get an A plus with extra credit and infinite hall passes. This is why Mr. O'Brien trusts me to go to the bathroom and come back before he starts a test.”

More dismissive still, the older boy replied, “This is why you're a Chunkbot. If it’s a Turing Test you’re going to take an L.”

Yet another boy who sounded like Tatiana’s Calvin Jr. offered backhanded sympathy. “Alan always plays as Red Army cannon fodder because he’s poor-nerfed. At least let him get up the banks of the Volga into the train yard.”

They laughed, and Alan laughed with them. “Yeah, it’s OUR train yard. My team is ass. Bruh, I got like 2 ninjas AFK right now, I’m not capping. Come on.”

Lyrou’s eyes widened, surprised by the harsh tone of the older boys. She couldn’t help but listen as Alan matched their vulgarity. Between the popping of gunfire and the thud of grenades, another player had apparently been killed by Alan. Her son celebrated, “Aaaaw, yursh! I can’t believe that worked. Are you for real? Jerod, how did you not see me flanking you, bruh?! That was fire!”

The boy Alan had bested, Jerod, griped, “What? Chunks? What?! This Stalingrad map is cringe, and the artillery is OP.”

Alan rubbed it in. “Cope! In Soviet Russia, Alan wrecks your mom! Your mom knows I’m goated. I’m Vasily Zaitsev in the streets, Rasputin in the sheets.”

The boys laughed over one another, incoherent at times. Lyrou bit her tongue, turning red to hear Alan speak this way for the first time. Wasn’t he too young to say anything remotely like that?

The tables had turned, and the other boys took to teasing this Jerod boy, “Dead ass Jer, lock in OK? If Alan is oofing you, then you might not belong in our clan.”

Yet another boy, “Jer, for real, isn’t Alan like two grades younger than you?” 

Alan spoke for himself, “Yeah, but we’re in the same English class.”

The boys burst into laughter. “Jerod is sped!”

The teasing made Lyrou uneasy, but she didn’t embarrass Alan and interrupt overtly. Alan corrected them in Jerod’s defense, “I’m in advanced placement, though.”

Between the sounds of 1942 warfare, one of the boys asked, “Yooo did Jer leave the server? He rage quit!”

And then Calvin said, “He's big mad. Chunks, you might have ops on the jungle gym.”

Alan jumped in, reprising his Ugandan accent, “Wha’ii ore you run-ning?”

The laughter continued, and Lyrou’s protective instincts kicked in. She took out her earpod and called out, “Alan, come and eat!”

Alan called from his room, “Already? Can I have five minutes?”

“Now, please. Your food will get cold,” she called back.

The boys, hearing Alan’s mom in the background, bid farewell, “Better listen to your spawn point. See you in PE, Alan.”

Calvin, between dive bombers screaming down on him, said, “Later, Chunks.”

Alan, a bit agitated he was called out of his game, said, “Yeah bye.”

Alan came out of his room and headed down the hall toward the stairs, only to see Lyrou standing in his path. “Mom? You made food?”

She held out her hand and opened it, and he recognized that he’d left her with the earpod and that she must’ve heard a lot. “Chunks?” She cocked her head with a neck roll.

Alan stood, also unsure what to say. “You listened to my game?”

She nodded. “You tell me about it.”

“OK? Low-key, I said some words,” Alan admitted, a crack in his voice.

“You did. Were they a good choice of words?” Lyrou folded her arms.

“No, but mom, it’s just bantz,” he defended himself, his voice high, arms outstretched.

“You shouldn’t grow up into the kind of man who speaks that way.” Lyrou jabbed the air with her finger.

“What way? Man? I’m a kid.” Alan asked, daringly obtuse.

Lyrou’s tone grew angrier, her eyes flashing hot. “Really? If you’re a kid, then you certainly shouldn’t be speaking that way. About ‘wrecking moms’ and ‘why are you gay’ and that voyou making the hentai sounds.”

Alan suppressed a smile and pleaded his case. “But that wasn’t all me, that was Calvin! He’s a gooner.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Hein?! Who is a gooner? Why are you calling anybody a gooner? Fetid mouth! And did Calvin call you poor? How can that boy call you poor?”

“He means poor in game-currency you earn by in-game activity, not poor in IRL USD.” Alan dropped his arms to his side in defeat. “OK. I won’t talk like that.” And he stood quietly waiting to be dismissed.

Lyrou softened at the sight of him. She didn’t want a moment like this, her son feeling and looking repressed and henpecked, oh how that would turn him refractory fast. “I’m sorry that I eavesdropped on you. I shouldn’t have.”

Alan mumbled, “It’s fine.”

Melting, Lyrou shook her head. “No. I won’t do that again. And the way you present yourself is ultimately up to you; the things you say, the name you go by, how you treat your friends and they you, whatever it is. I only wish you would hold yourself to a higher decorum.”

Alan fidgeted in place and compressed his lips inward, his cheeks forming into dimples, and his eyes expanded in a ridiculous, cute expression, staring up at her as a puppy, “Mm-hm.”

Lyrou looked side-eyed at Alan, breaking into a grin and a guffaw. “Ça suffit, tu m’énerves.” She approached and pulled him into a hug, messing his hair and then patting it back into place. “My big bad boy.” She planted her chin gently on top of his head before setting him free and returning to her housework.

⚜

Afternoon Monday, March 17th, 2025

Garin was driving with Lyrou after dropping their daughter off at her math academy, congratulating Penny on several consecutive months of commendations and expressing hope for the current month. They would grab coffee and enjoy a walk on the river. But as Garin drove, he saw a lingerie store he’d often spied but never visited. Without announcing, he pulled into the lot. Lyrou looked happily surprised as he turned off the engine and stepped out of the car. She followed him into the shop and looped her elbows with him.

Her eyes widened as Garin led her into the neon-lit lingerie store. The sight of expensive, delicate lace filled her imagination, seeing it on a mannequin. Through everything, they’d never come together to a love shop. “What brought us here, Garin?” she asked, curious as she perused the racks of lacy garments.

Garin stopped and turned to speak in her ear, “I’m going to choose your lover, and you’re going to choose mine. We'll recycle, no one new. Then I’m going to choose something for you to wear with your next lover, and you’re going to choose something for my next lover to wear. We can’t refuse or decide for ourselves. Is it a deal?”

"The delight of the unknown is bound with the fear of losing control." She looked up at Garin. She took her time, then reached for a lacy black thong with a matching black top, holding it up for his inspection. “This, for the woman from your workplace; Jia.” 

His smirk was all the answer she needed. He checked the tag and changed it for a smaller size he guessed would fit Jia better. She felt an angry arousal at the thought of him with someone else, but this was the price she’d paid and kept paying for her own indiscretions; her past and her ongoing indiscretions. “Now, it’s your turn.” 

She watched as he perused the racks, lingering on a set of red lingerie too daring for words. “I choose this,” he said, holding it up and coiling a thick dangling thread. “Like a belt you’ll wear for your next match with... Tom.” The name struck her, and a flash of bewildered anger.

"Why?" Lyrou stopped and stood toe-to-toe with Garin. "Why did you choose Tom for me?"

"Because I did. Why didn't you tell me how you two really met?" Garin looked in her dark-brown, guilty eyes.

"You asked him before you asked me," she defended herself.

Garin corrected her, "I didn't exactly ask him, I put my foot in my mouth and assumed he was just net-nookie."

They passed through an aisle of sex toys. Garin stopped to look them over; a Starr-Jordanesque ichthyological collection of bright colors, wild shapes, varying sizes and features, fluorescent bio-rubber, squiggly contours, bulbous ends, strange fleshy appendages, esca, tentacles, scaly-textured surfaces. "The scientists have come a long way. I don't know what I'm looking at with some of these."

Lyrou joked, pointing at a hyper-realistic dildo; veins, wrinkles, tones, pinchable sliding skin. "That's obviously a penis and testicles, Garin."

Garin peered at the replica, closing one eye and adjusting an imaginary monocle. "Give me a break. I'm sorry, but you've seen more of them than I have. So it's a facsimile of the thing you say it is. Since we're here, would you make an impulse buy?"

"Who buys sex toys?" Lyrou flipped her hair.

Garin answered, "Lonely women need company downstairs. Handymen need tools to do a good job. Bottoms need stuff to put up their anuses. Menetration-rejecting lesbians still need penetration."

"And me?" Lyrou blurted.

Surprised at himself if he was surprised, Garin asked, "Have you bought a sex toy?"

"Not for me, but for a friend's bachelorette party," she browsed the wide array of species exhibited as though looking for a certain kind.

"Which friend?" Garin imagined. "Tatiana would be my usual suspect for a fire extinguisher in her sock drawer."

Lyrou paused if she should tell a friend's private predilection, then shared anyway not to give Garin the idea she's keeping secrets. "If she knew I told a man, she would push me into traffic; Reine. This same one here." Lyrou pointed to a narrow, curved vibrator.

"Then this is what she plays with. Interesting." Garin supposed, taking the vibrator in hand and looking at its package for details.

"She doesn't use it alone; she doesn't use it at all. He uses it on her," Lyrou clarified.

Garin gestured open-handed at the display. "If you'd like me to use any of these on you, I'd humor us."

Lyrou tested, "Any of them? Really?"

Garin bit his upper lip. "Yeah, any of them."

Lyrou put her fingertip to her temple. "I stimulate myself in here. Literature is my vibrator."

"I thought the literis was on the outside." Garin rubbed his chin in understanding. He placed the vibrator back.

The cashier and owner of the shop, a silver-haired grandma who had seen and done it all, saw that the black set couldn’t fit Lyrou. “Would you like it in a gift bag, Madame?” Lyrou smiled. “Yes, s’il vous plaît.”

They were in and out with their purchases. This time, Lyrou drove the car, and Garin took the black lingerie out that Lyrou had chosen for Jia, giving it a closer look. “Why did you choose Jia for me?”

Her grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Because she was your first choice,” she said, her eyes on the road. “And because I want you to be happy.” The half-lie rolled off her tongue easily, but the thought of Garin with another woman still stung. She glanced over at him, “But if we’re going to do this, I need to know that you’re OK with it too.” She couldn’t help the hint of insecurity in her voice, the fear that he might change his mind and leave her for good. “Do you still want me, Garin?”

Garin held Lyrou’s right as she steered with her left and kissed the back of her hand. "Yes. Do you still want me?"

She took his hand and kissed it exactly as he had hers. "Yes, also. Yes."

⚜

Noon Friday, March 21st, 2025

Lyrou picked up Reine, they grabbed coffee at a drive-thru, and then pulled into the lot of a mini-mall. Before getting out and going in, Lyrou gently touched Reine’s cheeks, and Reine assured her that they were only a bit swollen and sensitive. On the 2nd floor was an astrologer. They entered and found the same Iranian, pseudo-Zoroastrian woman they’d visited together over 2 years ago. She went by Magi Sarvazad; post-menopausal, penguin-shaped, wearing a dozen necklaces and bracelets, but otherwise looking the part of a realtor or maybe a school counselor. Her office smelled of incense, soft new age music played lightly, there were crystals, geodes, pagan statues, strangely colored rare plants, and pink-purple lighting throughout. The walls of her shop were ornamented with orientalist occult talismans: a bronze winged-ring Faravahar, a protective Hand of Fatima hamsa, and a glassy blue nazar boncuğu evil eye. On an altar, nestled among beeswax candles, lay inscribed amulets etched with planetary sigils, constellation glyphs, and suspended over it hung a solar wheel Zij calendar circumscribed with lines of old Pahlavi poetry.  Customers had votively left for the jinn numismatic coins, slips of hand-torn paper, and cuts of ribbon like wishes. Magi Sarvazad recognized the friends. “Congratulations on your baby girl,” she said before anything.

Reine gasped and looked at Lyrou. “No! You said that because you saw something. What mom thing am I wearing?”

Lyrou looked over Reine. “Nothing that would give you away that fast. And how’d she know you had a girl? I think she’s real.”

The magi smiled, walking them back to her table and gesturing for them to sit as she took her place opposite them. “I’m real. This unassuming divination business of mine has been open for 26 years, and 4-in-5 are repeat customers. I’ll give you a complimentary tip before we really begin; your daughter can’t decline, she can’t say no. She’ll take whatever you give her and tolerate anything, whether she likes it or not.”

Reine leaned in. “Yes? Yes! She never fusses when I feed her or dress her, I can’t tell if she just likes everything or...”

The magi shook her head. “You have to ask her and give her choices, or she’ll never make her preferences known.”

Reine took the magi’s hand. “Thank you!” Then, turning to Lyrou, she asked, “Do you want her to do your reading first?”

The magi spoke for Lyrou, “This soul has its doors locked and windows shuttered, don’t you, dear?”

Lyrou nodded slowly. “I’m just here with Reine, I’ll pass. I mean, I believe in your services, but...”

The magi cocked an eyebrow. “Yes.”

Reine was eager. “Then you can do that fire thing for me?”

The magi held her hand out, palm up. “Immolation. Whatever you put in my hand should be worth it, and understand it’ll turn to ash.”

Reine reached into her purse and pulled out an item, placing it in the magi’s hand. “I choose this.”

It was a dried-up grey piece of something about an inch and a half long. The magi recognized it. “Your firstborn’s umbilical cord.”

Reine second-guessed herself. “Will it work?”

The magi grinned, her gold tooth twinkling. “It’s a very worthy and symbolic sacrifice. Are you sure?”

Lyrou looked to Reine, Reine looked to Lyrou, and then back to the magi. “If you think it will buy valuable insight from the other side, then yes.”

The magi nodded. “For perspective, in ancient Persia, Greece, Mesopotamia, Canaan, and so forth, mothers would make a burnt offering of the first newborn son himself.”

Lyrou interjected, “We can’t cook your baby for the spirits, Reine. Besides, she’s a firstborn daughter, wrong parts.”

Reine gushed and gave Lyrou a light push, laughing. “Oh? No? Then the dried-up stalk will have to suffice, I guess.”

The magi smiled along. “Ready? Pay attention.”

The magi hovered the opposite hand over the hand holding the umbilical cord. She grit her teeth, chanted mumbling in old Farsi, and her fingertips came closer to meeting, forming a kind of cage with them. Lyrou and Reine watched captivated, and before they knew what was what, there was the sound of snapping, electrical sparking, the umbilical cord seemed to ignite and vanish in a plume of smoke, and all that remained in the center of the magi’s palm was a black spot of ash. “It’s accepted!”

Lyrou’s eyes popped open, lips tightly together. Reine marveled and she clasped her hands together. “It’s really gone?”

The magi nodded. “Gone, and you have five divinations. Write them down, I forget them after I speak them.” Her eyes rolled back white, and she held her arms out at her sides as if in a tranceful prayer.

Reine took out her phone and was ready to tap down notes. “Yes, I’ll write it all.”

The magi spoke, “First, death! You’ll succumb to cancer unless you catch it.”

Reine gasped, “My grandmother and great-grandmother both died from endometrial cancer!” A tear formed in the corner of her eye.

The magi channeled further, “Second, wealth! Don't sell it! The thing you are planning to sell!"

Reine wrote it in her notes. “Philip was right. I have to tell him we should hold onto our house.”

The magi continued, as though it was physically taxing to channel fire spirits, “Third, wisdom. You must return to the thing you gave up... however burdensome. If not, you’ll be miserable in the purpose you’ve made your passion.”

Lyrou tapped Reine’s elbow. She whispered, “I told you to go back for your PhD in special needs education. Don’t make Elena an excuse not to.” Reine smiled in agreement; she wouldn’t procrastinate her education any longer.

The magi rocked lightly in her chair, producing the next divination. “Fourth, forgiveness. There's someone, female, with a name that starts with J.”

Reine yelped, half-standing from her seat, hands over her mouth. “Oh! Jenna Yarborough!?”

The magi continued undisturbed, “She wants to tell you that she’s happy and she wants you to be happy."

Reine’s eyes gushed over with tears. “How do you know about Jenna?”

Lyrou put her hand on Reine’s knee. “Jenna?”

Reine explained, “In high school, Jenna was a bitch to me. I just wanted to be friends. But I forgive her."

Lyrou cocked her head. "Is she speaking from the afterlife?"

The magi's face went blank, and she mumbled a divination-esque mumble, "Urrmm-mmmuh-muh-muh.."

Reine shook her head. "She must be speaking from Atlanta. She moved there."

The magi’s hands jittered on the table. The final divination was ready. “And fifth! A truth you need to hear.”

Reine and Lyrou refocused their attention. “Yes?”

The magi continued, “Your beloved has a secret. It’s no small matter. Until you seek it, he will never tell it.”

Reine was perplexed. “My beloved? Secret?”

Lyrou leaned over the table. “Magi, what’s the secret?”

Coming out of her trance, she said, “If I were told as much, I’d say as much. The fire spirits are not willing to violate his privacy, a person not party to the ritual, except to inform you that he has a secret and that it’s a difference-maker.”

Reine thought for a moment, speechless. Lyrou spoke on her behalf. “Any clues?”

The magi shook her head. “For the offering given, you’ve received a true communion.”

Reine wiped her moist eyes dry, “Yes. Absolutely. Thank you, Magi!”

⚜

Afternoon Thursday, March 27th, 2025

Garin found Jia by chance in the balcony lobby to the tower that housed his office, and the offices belonging to her employer, Tiāntáng. She looked tired, lonely, and seemed to be people watching, but then, as he approached, she noticed him, “Garin, hello.”

And he sat adjacent to her. “Jia. Hello.”

Her eyes lit up with recognition, brushing her skirt down, roused by his unexpected presence. Repeating herself, “Hi,” she said with surprise and nerves. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been alright. Thinking about you, to be frank.” Garin’s pensive, brooding, bright-eyed gaze caused her to look away and down. He admired her eyes; mahogany-brown under jet-black bangs, wide spaced, positive canthal tilt, epicanthal eyelids, set over high cheekbones, and expressed by thin dark eyebrows on a suppressed ridge.

Her skin was a brunette-pale, and her cheeks flushed a soft pink, the tiredness vanishing. “Oh? How come?”

“You left an impression on me. Have you thought about me?” Garin spared Jia the thin pretext he’d concocted before approaching her. He continued to eye her, how both maternal and neotenous a form she had.

Her eyes darted away from his, then back again, the weight of his eyes on her making her pulse race. She’d thought about him. The memory of their encounter had been burned into her mind, a secret she’d held close. “I... I have,” she admitted, her voice quivering slightly. “I couldn’t help but wonder how you felt after that night, or since that night.” Her hand nervously tapped her armrest, “I know it was a mistake, but it was... for me, it was different from anything I’ve experienced.”

Garin’s eyes lowered, watching her tibialis anterior tendon flex in the crook of her ankle as she articulated her feet in their little, flat, shiny-black shoes. His eyes moved up her smooth legs to her knee dimples, then peered for an instant into the darkness under the curtain of her skirt, wanting but declining a view of her thighs and more. The way he looked at her, the way he made her feel... it was all so new, so powerful. For her, it was like being looked at by an explorer who’d appeared between the darkness of trees and bushes as she sat on a stump.

“Did you tell him anything? Did you say anything to Liu Wei?” Garin asked. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes widened at the mention of her husband.

She quickly looked around, ensuring they were still alone. “That would be crazy. No, I couldn’t. I would be too scared, too ashamed. I know it was wrong, but it was like... a taste of something I never knew I wanted.” She looked down at her clasped hands, fidgeting with her wedding ring. “But I don’t want to lie to him, either. It’s been keeping me awake, distracting me at work, this kind of… I don’t know how to express it. He’s visiting in less than two weeks. He’ll stay for a month before going back to Shenzhen.”

“Then this is something you’ll never tell?” Garin asked her as if he weren’t the chief perpetrator.

Her eyes darted up to meet his, “I don’t know. I want to, but I’m scared. Garin, under Confucian norms, married women who do that are ruined when people get word; they face a termination of standing under the status quo. The double standard is that husbands can do it, men will be men, but not wives. Especially not the wives of red aristocrats with strong guanxi. And the idea is that if nobody knows, then it’s like it wasn’t real. It’s worse for you that your mianzi.. your reputation is damaged by people having knowledge of the thing than it is the actual thing itself that happened. Do you understand how fraught this is, for me?” She tried to convey something of how her society operated.

Jia watched Garin recline, putting his finger to his lip and looking off in a minute of thought. “Keeping up appearances for the sake of collective harmony. Hmm.” He summed it up for her, only as much as would verify he was paying attention. She looked at him, how strikingly fine-looking he was, as if there for a photo shoot fit for a magazine cover. She stared in a brief trance. He broke the silence, giving her a slight startle. “Jia?”

His eyes looked directly into hers. “Oh? Yes?” she asked.

“Will you be my lover again?” Garin asked with a singular purpose.

Her heart skipped a beat at his words. The thought of being with Garin again was tempting, but the consequences also hung over her head. She looked up at him with trepidation. “I don’t know if I can. I’m unsure that I can’t.” She looked into him for any hint of judgment or anger, but instead, she found understanding.

“Then please let me know after you give it some thought today. Text me a heart before midnight, and I’ll send you my hotel. If not, then that’s OK, of course. I really do wish to meet you alone. Until later, beautiful, I keep my fingers crossed that there's a later.” Garin smiled and removed himself, taking the nearest elevator back to his floor.

⚜

Evening Thursday, March 27th, 2025

Garin and Lyrou lay in bed together. She read a demon-huntress novel, and he read geopolitical news headlines on his phone. At 11:33 pm, the message came through. It was a little heart emoji from Jia, and nothing else.

Her eyes darted from her book to Garin’s phone, noticing the subtle change in his demeanor. She couldn’t help but feel a pang, but she forced a smile. “So, any updates from Jia?” she asked, trying to keep her voice casual.

“She does want to hook up, after all. So much for the reluctance she attested to. Her husband is visiting in a couple of weeks, flying in from Shenzhen. She’s told him nothing. He’s now in the shoes I was in, blissfully oblivious.” Garin tapped his phone and sent Jia the hotel address and time he meant to meet her.

Lyrou’s eyes scanned the pages of her novel. Trying to keep her voice casual. “Then, where is she staying?” she asked, her thumb tracing the edge of the page.

“She has an apartment with her kid. Her husband remits money monthly, and they talk by video almost daily. I can’t stop thinking.” Garin closed his eyes, turning introspective.

“What’s on your mind?” Lyrou set her book down in her lap.

“Think about it. When I’m with his wife... what’s he doing? Is he typing at a computer, walking down a hallway, having a meal, watching TV, spending a moment with his mom, or doing any mundane thing, and at that very moment, he has no clue another man is in his wife. And he’s completely at her mercy or pure fate, whether he’ll ever know." Garin buried his face in his pillow, tossing his phone onto the bureau.

Her eyes followed the arc of his phone landing on the bureau. She closed her book, placing it gently on the nightstand, and rolled over to face him. Her voice was soft in the stillness. “Garin, do you ever wonder if they’re thinking of you while they’re with me? Do they ever sympathize with you?”

Garin shook his head. “They must have a tiny conscience on one shoulder saying, ‘Don’t fuck her. Think of the poor sucker who put that ring on her finger. Think of your fellow man!’ while on the other shoulder he has a devil with a raging boner saying, ‘Forget about the sap, his bride is soaking wet for you,' laughing away nefariously.”

Lyrou thought how Garin’s words were cartoonish while his tone was emotional. Her hand moved to Garin’s back, tracing circles on his skin as she considered his words. She’d never thought about it from the man’s perspective, always focusing on her own needs and desires. “I suppose they do,” she murmured, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness. “But it’s easy to ignore that little angel when the devil shows the way to paradise.” She paused as she contemplated the men she’d been with. Her hand stopped moving, her eyes meeting his in the dim light of their bedroom. “While many of them knew of you, none of them knew about you, none of them knew about us. They were each of them just a moment.”

“I’m torn about Jia. There is a part of me that’s disappointed in myself to do this to her husband, worse that he’s unaware. And yet, I’m proud of myself. In a silly way, I feel powerful that I can bring a woman, an attractive woman to, reluctantly at first and then defiantly, fuck around behind the back of the man she loves.” Garin confided.

“I know what you mean, Garin. There’s something exhilarating about being the one in control, isn’t there?” Her hand drifted down to her stomach. “But we’re not doing it to hurt anyone,” she added, a bit defensive.

“No. How could it be personal? I've never met the man. He’s a sleeping dragon, and I have snuck off from his cave with a bag full of his plentiful gold. And I'll go back for more of his gold, soon. Lyrou, you never asked how I found out that you were cheating. Do you want me to tell you how I caught you?” Garin turned in bed.

The question caught her off guard, and she stroked his arm. “I’ve been afraid that you’d tell me, and it would mean you’ve closed the door to the possibility of a next time.”

“A next time?” Garin wondered.

“That we could try again to be truly loyal.” Lyrou hoped.

Garin took that for a yes. “I'll tell you now how I caught you cheating. We get ads. I saw ads for jogging, fishing, and shooting; I know they’ve got me in the algorithm. I saw ads for animated movies or computer games; the kids. Yoga and novels; so that'd be for you. I even saw ads for baby products and stretch-mark creams around those times. Reine came over pregnant and then had her baby. I was impressed Big Brother could zero in on her the very days she was here. The weirdest notion struck me, I’d seen quite a few ads for dating apps. One ad was specifically speaking to women your age, showing the quality of the app’s male pickings, and the female-friendly protections and filters the app had. Who could those ads be for? Certainly, the panopticon matrix wasn’t wasting its breath, not when it was speaking French to a New Jersey household. I uploaded your photos into an app that can search dating and fling sites for whoever’s picture you feed it. I was so nervous as I watched it cycle... searching... and then when it finished, I had to click an icon to open the results. I couldn’t breathe.” Garin’s breathing stopped, as if he were reliving it.

She swallowed hard, her hand moving to her throat as she reckoned with the weight of that moment for him. “What did you find?”

“I found your fling profile. With your face, and your cleavage. And your info column stating that you’re single.” Garin stared blankly, sadly.

Her eyes widened, and the color drained from her face. “Oh, Garin,” she gasped. “How could I have been so selfish and stupid?” 

“I would’ve rained a cash reward on any of your lovers if they had come to me with the truth. I’ve been wondering if I were to expose Jia to her husband, would that be wrong?” Garin exhaled.

“She works in the same building as you. Will you start a fire in your tree-house?” Her fingertip traced the back of his hand as she considered his question. “Garin, I can’t say what’s right or wrong for you. But I do know that secrets have a way of festering, of growing into something much uglier if left unspoken.” She squeezed his hand gently. “Jia’s truth will likely come out to her husband eventually, whatever you say or don’t say, however reticent she is.”

Garin didn’t object. “Are you glad that I found out about you?”

The depth of his question resonated within her. She took a moment to consider her response, seizing upon their newfound transparency. “I’m not glad for the pain it’s caused, but I’m relieved that the secret is out. It’d been a burden, carrying it around.” Her hand was squeezing his gently. “Now we can move forward, together.” She leaned closer, her breasts brushing against his chest. “I want us to be honest, to express our desires without hiding. And maybe, in some twisted way, it has brought us closer.”

Garin cocked an eyebrow. “When will you meet Tom?”

Her eyes flickered with anticipation and fear. “I don’t know, he hasn’t been available lately,” she replied, her hand resting on his thigh. “But I’ll tell you everything, as I promised.”

Garin silently wondered, then, “Can I request one thing?”

Her heart leapt, not quite sure what to expect. “Of course. What is it?”

“When I’m with Jia, I’ll text you, so that whatever you’re doing at that moment, from a chore to lying around on the couch to meeting a friend at the mall, you’ll know I’m with her right then. And you’ll text me when you’re with Tom, so that whatever I’m doing and wherever I am, in the shower, in traffic, on line at the convenience store, I’ll know you’re with him at that moment.” Garin put his forehead to Lyrou’s, their eyes meeting.

She paused at the thought, then nodded slowly. “OK, I’ll text you. And when I do, I want you to remember that I’m yours, that my heart and my soul are with you, no matter where my body might be.” She kissed his neck, her teeth grazing his skin lightly. “And when you text me, then I’ll think of you, of us, and it will only make me want you more.”

⚜