“Hey,” she whispers. “Isn’t that your boyfriend?” She points at someone on the other end of the restaurant. She is right and wrong. It’s Beau.

My stomach fills with adrenaline.

“I recognized his bone structure.”

“Yeah, that’s him,” I say, trying to remain calm. “But we’re in a fight. We aren’t speaking.”

“Oh,” she says. Her face falls.

“Did you hear from your boyfriend?” I change the subject so she stops prying into my fake relationship.

“Not yet!” She says this as though she is delivering good news, which she obviously isn’t.

“Okay,” I say, then put my headphones back on and browse Instagram. Inspired by Jessica’s tapping, I decide instead to do a mean meme about Libras—always so peppy and confused, very “dropped on their head” vibes. Airheads. They don’t get enough shit from the other online astrology accounts, who instead always come for Leos, Geminis, Scorpios. It is so obvious people attack these signs because they are threatened. Of Leo charm. Of Gemini genius. And of Scorpio sorcery. No one wants to be seen the way a Scorpio can see them.

Libras, I decide at this moment, are the true antagonists of the zodiac. Libra represents the beginning of the sun’s loss of vitality into the winter season, and therefore the sun isn’t happy there. Venus, which rules Libra, is considered an enemy of the sun. So Libra suns are basically cursed. It’s a placement “in detriment”—the opposite of exalted. But I don’t need to get into all of that for my meme. I just need to make people laugh and feel seen, maybe even vindicated. I need to give them an outlet for their rage. I need to let them hate without feeling like bad people. That is all anyone ever wants. And this is why memes are so popular.

Surely everyone has been subject to a clueless Libra like Jessica.

I look up and watch Beau walk to the bathroom, then feel those prickly fingers on my shoulder again. Jessica.

“Can I ask what you’re fighting about?” she asks.

I feel my eyes begin to roll. Then I remember my acting practice. The Strasberg method. Immerse myself in the character.

“I can’t keep up with him”—I lean toward her and lower my voice—”sexually.”

Jessica’s eyes widen cartoonishly, and I start to wonder if she actually was dropped on her head as a baby. Then I wonder if she’s ever had an orgasm. It seems like she hasn’t. A lot of women haven’t had orgasms. As a Scorpio stellium, this is not my plight.

“How often do you have sex?” she asks.

I blow on my coffee and steam rises. “He wants it, like, five times a day.”

Jessica’s eyes widen even farther. “Five times a day?”