“Dumb as our dumb moms.” It’s fun riffing like this. I suddenly remember why people have friends. “Anyway, while not as beautiful as our blessed charts, Beau’s chart is very beautiful. Like the lines draw these intricate patterns. And all of his placements are exalted. All of them. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“What’s exalted?” she asks.

“It means the planet is exactly where it’s supposed to be, where it functions best,” I say. “Like, the sun is exalted in Aries, the moon is exalted in Taurus, et cetera.”

“So his sun and moon are exalted?”

“All of his placements are exalted,” I say.

“Damn,” she says. “He’s, like, legitimately blessed.”

“Yeah,” I say. I am glad Cinnamon is grasping the gravity of this situation. “So obviously I had to look him up. His name is Beau Rubidoux.”

“Fuck,” Cinnamon says, “that’s a rich-ass name.”

“Rich!” I remember that Beau is a coke dealer, or was a coke dealer. Plenty of aristocrats deal coke for the thrill. “And he’s hot as fuck.” I don’t normally talk this way, but Cinnamon is bringing out a new and unfamiliar side of me. We’re all a billion different people. I make a note to put that in my article.

“Pic,” she says.

I pull out my iPhone and open his Instagram. This is the second time I’ve shown someone Beau’s Instagram at a bar, but this is the first time I’m being honest about it.

“Damn,” she says, grabbing the phone. “He’s sexy, kinda vampiric. Like Robert Pattinson but with swagger.”

As Cinnamon scrolls, I take a sip of beer. It’s disgusting but tastes filling, like bread. It also perks me up a bit.

“I get it.” She hands my phone back to me. “Have you seen him IRL yet?” It’s nice that Cinnamon doesn’t seem to think I’m being creepy.

“Well,” I say, “I’ve seen him a bunch of times. Don’t judge me, but—”

“Oh my god, please, girl,” she says. “You’ve seen my chart. We’re Scorpio stelliums. Obsessive as hell. I have been there.”

I laugh, and we both sip our beers. I crave weed and think about texting Thomas.

“So … you started stalking him?”

“Kind of!” I say, and we both laugh again. “At first I just looked at his Instagram a lot. But then he started geotagging and I realized he went to this place called Subtropical a lot.”

“My friend works there!” Cinnamon says.

“Your friend must be hot.”

“He is!” she says. “More on that later …”

I laugh. “I have nothing but time.” It feels good having a safe space to speak truthfully. I can’t remember the last time I’ve done this. Even in therapy, I lied constantly.