I wind through the people clotting the path until I see her. Her table is a motley assortment of scarves and cards, and she sits under a black lace parasol that has been duct-taped to the back post of her chair. A woman sits across from her in a strapless top and sunglasses, rapt. Her husband stands over her, looking anywhere but the table. Every so often, the woman nods emphatically and looks up at him, and then he pretends to be paying attention.

I watch my mother work. Her face is lit with a wide, easy smile, and she leans toward her client, full of empathy. Her fingers move over each card deftly as she explains its meaning. I can see that her speech is speeding up, even if I can’t hear her words. The woman in the strapless top gasps, leans back, and places a hand over her heart. I am instantly curious what my mom has said. As she rounds her way to the final card, she slows, like a windup toy losing steam. The woman grabs her hands in a gesture full of gratitude, and there is a quick exchange of money before she gets up and leaves with her bored husband.

I see my opening but hang back a moment. A man two tables down stands and stretches, then moves over to my mom. He leans over her shoulder and says something that causes her to light up with laughter. Something about their casualness with each other makes me edgy. I make my way to the table and plop into the waiting chair, exhausted. “My turn,” I say, ignoring the man standing beside her.

Her eyes go wide when she sees its me. “Cat! You made it down!”

Unease and surprise war on her face. She grabs the wrist of the man standing next to her. “Clifford, this is my daughter, Catia. I’ve been telling everyone about you. Haven’t I, Clifford?”

He is wearing a purple velvet beret, which he flips off his head and back on again in a gesture of greeting. “Indeed. You’re all she talks about.”

I give him a tense smile. He seems nice, but I don’t know how to feel about men in eyeliner. And his fingernails are painted black.

My mom’s mouth drops open with a gasp. “We should all go to lunch!”

“Lunch was three hours ago,” I say blandly.

Clifford bends down and kisses my mother on the cheek. “Sorry, Mary. I have another date with you-know-who tonight.”

She twists in her chair to look up at him. “Mr. Sideburns?”

He grins and nods his head.

“Is this the third one?”

“Fourth,” he exclaims, unable to conceal his delight.

“Another time then,” she tells him. “I want Catia to get to know everyone.”