“First we do the egg. Then we do the cards. Then we see.”

I try not to look agitated as Luz peers at us with sharp black eyes. I feel like she can read my thoughts, but I sure hope not, because I’m already judging her as a zany fortune teller. I’m skeptical that this will help with Angel’s PTSD. His mom, Angelica, has total faith in cleanses—and candles, holy water, all of that. The women in her family have used herbal remedies for generations. Since Angel was reluctant to try therapy, this seemed like a place to start.

But eggs? Cards? She hasn’t even asked why we’re here. My belly lurches. This was a bad idea. Angel is so private about his nightmares. What will he say if she asks about our issues? Will he acknowledge the violence of his night attacks? The times he’s accidentally injured me? Will he tell Luz where he goes when he disappears for days at a time? Cause he sure won’t tell me.

Luz hums quietly as she lights cones of incense in all four corners of the room. Jasmine. I scan the space, seeking a distraction to tamp down my anxiety. The room has a cozy, cluttered feel. Oriental carpets overlap on the hardwood floor, and heavy damask curtains conceal the doors and windows. There’s a large ofrenda on a low, wooden table, with photos, and candles, a tattered paperback copy of Oficio de Tinieblas, an old Maria Elena album, pink paper flowers, a dented can of Coors Light, a lime, a rag doll with braids and a threadbare red dress, an open bag of spicy hot Cheetos, an ostrich feather, a tiny wooden coffin with gold glitter swirls, a carved mahogany figurine of a stooped woman holding a pineapple on her head, and a thimble-sized bowl of salt. I wonder who Luz honors with this eclectic altar.

I turn to Angel and place my hand on his knee, hoping to share a look, but his eyes are fixed on the ceiling. I know he can see me looking at him, but he steadfastly ignores me. A flush of frustration shoves my discomfort to the back of the line. Lena was right. This is BS. We should be at a real therapist using “I” statements and reflecting back at each other.

“Angel, you’re gonna go first, lucky boy. Shoes off and stand up.” He slips off his Jordans, and obediently gets to his feet as Luz squeezes a wedge of lemon over an egg, still in the shell, then sprinkles it with salt. She shoves back her thick, dark mane, and I catch a few threads of silver glinting at the temples. She wipes the egg with a small green cloth, and plants her tiny frame in front of Angel, looking up at him with undisguised delight. “Ooh, you are a big handsome man! Altísimo! I gotta get my little stool! I might need two eggs for you, soldado.” She giggles flirtatiously, then glances over at me, mouthing the word, “Sexy!” 

I can’t help but smirk. He is. Muscular shoulders layered in colorful ink, wide chest framed in a tight black t-shirt, and those long arms that wrap me up until I am tiny and cradled. A glossy curl falls over his forehead, and he brushes it out of his eyes. His impossibly long lashes would look almost feminine if not for the contrast with his large features and perpetual dark scruff. I feel a sudden wave of warmth as Angel stands there, patient in his socks, more relaxed now as Luz bustles about. When I offer him a tentative smile, he sends me a kiss. Relief sweeps through me, and I realize that I was afraid he would throw the shut-off valve, go unreachable in his head. But after two years with this man, I can read his body language like a map. I know he’s going to participate. Or, at least, he’s going to try.

Luz radiates energy, stacked bracelets jangling as she sets up the ceremony. I take in her crisp black huipil covered in bright embroidery, faded jeans snug on her petite hips, and her bare feet, toenails polished a hot pink that stands out against the toasted almond of her skin. She must be over fifty, but she has a trim waist, and arms lean with muscle. Maybe eggs are better than “I” statements. Luz climbs onto the stool, then stands on her tippy toes and presses the egg to Angel’s forehead.

“Close your eyes!” she commands. “Focus!” He complies as Luz takes in a deep breath, then rolls the egg gently over Angel’s forehead, circles his cheek and ear, and crosses his chin to swirl the other side of his face. She moves across his chest, down the length of one arm, focusing on each individual finger before she places the egg in his palm, and gently closes his hand, which is so large that for a moment, the egg disappears like a magic trick. She continues on the other side, then hops off the stool and moves it behind Angel. She climbs back up to roll the egg around the back of his skull, then from the base of his neck all the way down his spine. She squats to press the egg into each kneecap, then sits on the floor cross-legged, and runs the egg down the top of each foot, over his toes, and up and down each sole. Back on the stool, she holds the egg in front of his face.

“Blow. Three times, querido, with calm and focused energy. Send the toxins out of your body and into the egg.” Angel blows. “Now stay right there.” Luz dashes out of the room with the egg, and a few seconds later, I hear a toilet flush somewhere in the house. She returns trailing smoke from a lit stick of incense, which she swirls around Angel’s body, focusing the fragrant smoke on his center. We are quiet then, and I feel a stillness in the room. I look at Angel. His shoulders have dropped, his forehead smooth and relaxed. Even his hands curl gracefully at his sides, gentle cups that could cradle a baby bird. But I’ve seen them clench into angry fists. Sometimes, I have the oddest feeling that it would be better if he yelled, or fought, even though my rational mind knows this would be terrifying. I’ve never seen Angel get into a physical fight, but I know he has, and though he’s never said this, I often get the sense he tries to present me with an image of himself as gentle, protective, controlled and deliberate. I know he’s seen things. Done things. Things I am afraid to imagine. Sometimes, late at night, when Angel is finally asleep after an especially bad nightmare, I lie awake, and images thrust themselves into my head. The rubble of a destroyed village under a cloud of rising dust. A burqa-clad woman, wailing, hunched over the bodies of her children, bloody heaps by the side of the road. An eviscerated tank spurting flames as shrieking soldiers slam rounds into refugee-packed cars lining the outskirts of Mosul.

“Your turn chaparra.”

I swallow hard and glance toward Angel. He eases back down onto the worn, green sofa. As I gaze into his eyes, the gruesome echoes dissipate. He grins.

“Go get your egg on, shorty.”

I turn to Luz and she gestures impatiently at the spot on the rug Angel has just vacated.

“Oh! Sorry!”

“Ven, ven, tick tock!”

I pop up and hustle toward the rug.

“SHOES!” Luz covers her face with her hands as I hurriedly slip off my sandals and place them neatly by the couch. “Ay dios mio, vamos a necesitar más que un huevo para esta güera.”

“¡Oye!”

Luz glares at Angel, apparently unaccustomed to interruptions.

“How bout English so Min can understand what’s going on.”

I sneak him a quick, appreciative look. Luz sighs dramatically, then bustles me into position for the cleanse.

“Si, si, inglés for la señorita. Okay, here we go.”

At first, I’m not sure if I feel anything, but I do my best to follow Luz’s barked orders to listen, feel, breathe, focus. The egg is cool on my skin, and with my eyes closed, the jasmine’s sweet tang intensifies. I begin to notice the air gently shifting, raising tiny hairs on my arms. A softness flows through my body as Luz moves around me. The tension drains from my shoulders, and I feel lighter, lifted, my spine lengthening inside my body. Luz’s touch is weightless, a feather trailing my limbs. By the time she instructs me to blow three times, I feel almost high with sensation. The egg trance is broken by Luz’s abrupt cackle. I open my eyes to find her face inches from mine, split by a maniacal grin.

“I think she liked it.”

I blush, and thank her with a small nod. I feel bashful, as if the flowing sensation in my body is somehow inappropriate. Luz seems to read my thoughts.

“Enjoy it querida. Ride the cleanse. Notice the shift.”

I nod again, then move back to the couch. Luz is wild and manic, but I kind of love it. My body is relaxed but energized, a little hum buzzing through my skin, like sun after a cold water swim. Angel must be in a good space too, because as I settle into the sofa, he takes my hand and presses his thigh against mine.

“Okay guapos, you’re gonna pull the cards, so hold the deck and set your intention.” When neither of us move, Luz scowls impatiently. “Let’s go! Tick tock! Pick it up!”

Startled into action, I grab the tarot deck off the table in front of us, then turn, and hold it out to Angel. He places his hands around mine, as if the deck is a knife and we’re about to cut our wedding cake. Suddenly, this reading feels serious. My misgivings return in a rush. What is my intention? How do I articulate what I want for us in one sentence? There’s no undoing Angel’s past, so what is the goal? To understand his trauma? Develop coping mechanisms?

The first time Angel disappeared was the morning after he first hit me in the throes of a nightmare. I’m a heavy sleeper—well, I used to be. Not so much anymore. But that night, I was deep in a dream I still remember. I was lost in a labyrinth of hallways, or maybe narrow streets, wandering a rural village that looked like Italy, or maybe Greece, brightly painted doors, cobblestones, chipped whitewash, and an odd kind of ceiling, though I felt I was outdoors, a heavy overlay that was sinking, and I could hear an echoey hum, like crickets, or cicadas, and a voice calling to me through each door, and as the voice got louder, the ceiling began to drop, and it was fabric, heavy, like a tent, or an awning, and I thrashed, trying to extricate myself from the weighty, suffocating tangle, and as I struggled, I began to wake, and realized the voice was Angel’s, a guttural babble, and he was the one thrashing, and he had rolled on top of me, and I was trapped in the bedclothes, and as I tried to push him off, still disoriented and half asleep, his elbow caught my jaw with a sickening crack. My head snapped back into the headboard with a thud, and my vision dimmed in a flood of pain. I managed to roll off the side of the bed and hunch on the floor, breathing heavily, trying to make sense of what had happened. Angel wept as he held an ice pack to the lump on the back of my head, and carefully cleaned the swollen cut where I had bitten through my lip. When the alarm went off at six the next morning, I awoke, sweaty and sore, alone in the bed. I didn’t hear from Angel for two days.

But I don’t say any of this to Luz. Instead, I ask, “Do we say our intention out loud?”

“No, no. Send it like a message, through your hands, into the cards. Open your eyes! Look at each other! A really good look, okay? Deep in the eyes. Send your truth for what you want from your heart and into the cards.” She pauses for what feels like a millisecond. “Did you do it?”

Angel looks up, startled. He seems as flustered as I feel, so I speak up.

“Could I have a moment to think?”

“Güera,” she mutters, and I stifle a giggle. “Yes, fine, take your time. But remember, I said from your heart. Not your head. Piensas demasiado. You know why you’re here. Feel it. Let it out.”

I take a deep breath and meet Angel’s gaze. His pupils expand, narrowing the light-flecked irises, his eyes shifting from brown to gold in the flickering candlelight, and my intention comes with a pulse, a heartbeat. Connection. Staying connected through all the struggle.

“Ya? Give me the cards.”

Luz does fancy shuffling, the cards like quicksilver in her deft hands. She pulls a pair of readers out of a drawer in the low table, perches them on her nose with a wink, and tells us, “Getting old is a motherfucker.”

I guffaw, and next to me, Angel lets out a snort. Then Luz flips a card onto the silver cloth centered on the table.

“The Lovers.”

I smile, and Angel squeezes my hand.

“Qué suerte! Good start, yes, I like it. This card is everything you think, the intensity, the passion, the sexuality. I love this.”

I feel so much better. I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Angel beams next to me, and I feel blushy and cute, and Luz crinkles with delight.

“So with this card we—”

“What does it mean when—” I start to ask, then regret it instantly. Angel gives me a sidelong glance. Thunderclouds wipe the grin from Luz’s face.

“Don’t interrupt.” Somehow, she manages to narrow her eyes and raise her eyebrows at the same time, conveying both disapproval and threat. I shrink and nod.

“Sorry.”

Luz inhales through her nose, then exhales with such force that the dust motes in the air scatter, as if they too are intimidated.

“As I was saying—” she eyeballs me again for good measure—“the Lovers card shows the intense bond of your relationship. You can think about the bond like—like a knot, like two ropes, okay? With a good knot, it’s strong, but not too tight, cause sometimes, you gotta untie it, and maybe tie it up in a different way. Like on a boat. You guys do boats?”

Boats? She waits. Are we supposed to answer? I peek at Angel and he offers a tiny shrug, equally in the dark.

“Sort of,” I finally reply. “I do scuba. Sometimes we use boats.”

“Okay, pues, so you know what I mean. Like, sometimes you gotta tie it down, like in a tempesta, and you want it real tight, but that one’s gonna be harder to untie, and sometime you’re just hooking it around a little buoy thing when you’re tranquila on the lake, so you can keep that one a little looser. ¿Sabes?”

I am so lost.

“What I’m saying is, to make a good knot, both the ropes gotta stay strong and thick, cause when one starts fraying, they get stuck, enredado.”

Angel begins to nod, with little murmurings of assent, then raises his hand as if he’s in class.

“Adelante.”

“So like if we were trees, and we gotta grow next to each other, but far enough apart so we could grow all the way without our branches squashed together, or being stunted or something.”

Luz purses her lips, thoughtful.

“But we still gotta be close enough so our roots get all, you know—” Here he breaks off, and twines his fingers together in a gesture of, presumably, root entanglement, then continues. “Under the ground. To make the trees stronger.”

This is why I am head over heels for this man.

Luz smiles like a fairy godmother raining blessings on Angel’s head. I wish she would look at me that way.

“I like you, Angel,” she says. “Que lindo poeta.” She shifts her focus to me. “You gotta hang onto this one, guapa. Tiene un corazón especial. Okay. Forget the ropes. You’re trees. Space to grow, but tangle the roots. We’re gonna remember that. That’s our symbol, our imagen. Which one needs more space?” She looks back and forth between us. Angel shrugs, unwilling to commit, so I incline my head slightly toward Angel, which appears sufficient, because she immediately addresses him again. “Angel,” she says, “next time your branches start getting crowded, this is what you’re gonna do. You say, ‘Min. My branches are crowded!’ And Min, when you hear that, you’re gonna leave Angel alone. Cien por ciento. And Angel, when you’re ready, you’re gonna go find Min, and give her un abrazo enorme and say, ‘Thank you for giving me space.’” She pauses. “¿Lo puedes hacer?”

Angel fidgets, then finally replies, “I can try.”

I hesitate, wanting to ask what happens when Angel feels crowded and he isn’t ready that night, or the next, and I have no idea where he is, and by the time he finally comes home, a big hug isn’t enough. But I can’t seem to form the words, so instead, I wait, and Luz flips another card.

“Temperance.”

She pauses. Is temperance good?

“You’ve been having problems, right?”

Is this rhetorical? I don’t want to get shushed again. I squeeze Angel’s hand, urging him to reply. Finally, after a long silence, he does.

“Not really.”

I turn in surprise, and when Luz laughs, he scowls.

“Your mujer seems to think different.”

I open and close my mouth a few times. Is she going to talk about the card? Am I supposed to answer?

“Do you disagree, Min?”

Of course I disagree! Why the hell else would we be here? As I struggle to maintain my composure and answer in a neutral tone, I suddenly hear my mother’s voice in my head with icy sharp clarity, telling me to fix my face, quiet down, and stop talking so much. And then I see her in bed, turned to the wall, the fug of unwashed sheets and stale breath pervading the room after she fixed her face to a permanent droop, all the way quiet from her cocktail of Prozac, Remeron, and Jack Daniels. I need to speak up. But the words stick in my throat.

“Well,” I finally begin, “Angelica suggested that we come for a cleanse.”

Luz waits. Angel is silent.

“She said it was like a—a reset. Of our energy.”

Is this the moment I’m supposed to start listing our problems? Angel looks completely checked out. Why is it always on me to push the conversation forward, define the concern, work on the relationship? I rapidly sift through answers specific enough to satisfy Luz, yet generic enough to avoid triggering Angel.

“Our communication isn’t always the best,” I finally offer.

“Hey Angel. What’s up, querido? Why you all spacey all of a sudden?”

Wow. She just calls him out like it’s nothing. I hold my breath, wondering if he’s going to have a big reaction. Luz immediately shifts back to me.

“Hey Min. What just happened? Why you all tense all of a sudden?” Angel seems as frozen as I feel, all of our protective padding stripped away.

“You do that a lot, Angel? Go away in your head and leave Min all alone?”

He drops his eyes and I flood with worry, wanting to touch him, offer reassurance. But then I wonder why. He’s a grown man. We’re in therapy. Sort of. He should be able to answer. And finally, he does.

“I’m not sure.”

Luz waits, and so do I. The air thickens as the clock ticks audibly in the quiet room.

“I—I get—stuck. And I don’t know what I want to say. So I don’t say anything.”

I frown, dissatisfied. Luz probes further.

“What were you thinking when Min said you came for the cleanse, and the communication?”

Again, we are quiet, and I feel my breath catch as we await Angel’s response. Finally, he shakes his head with a shrug, looking like a helpless little boy, and for the first time ever, that look doesn’t melt my heart. I think about my dream, and all the closed doors.

“Okay, Angel. No te preocupes. We’re gonna look at that more next time. Let’s talk about the card.” Luz taps Temperance, clicking three times with her sharp turquoise nail.

“Temperance is good. This card says you got some problems, they hold you back, but both of you wanna resolve it, you wanna move forward. It’s like a balance card, cause sometimes, you’re a funambulista, you’re on that tightrope, right? You can’t be holding your breath, Min. You know why the funambulista doesn’t fall? Cause she’s got balance. And if you want balance, you gotta breathe.” She looks directly at Angel. “Presente, mijo?” He fidgets, but mutters something quiet in the affirmative. “I don’t think your woman can always tell. You wanna look right in her eyes and tell her you’re here?” There’s a long pause, and my anxious brain tells my muscles to clench, but I breathe, and do my best to stay loose. Then Angel turns his head, and looks into my eyes.

“Presente,” he says softly.

“Estupendo! Gracias Angel! Que lindos son. Angel, if you get stressed out, you just gotta look at your gorgeous woman, okay? She’s gonna make you feel better. I promise.” We all laugh a little, the tension somehow broken. “Ready for the next one?”

Without waiting for a reply, she flips another card.

“Six of Wands. Dios mío! This one is really good too! It’s fire, you got passion and fire, not just between you two but in the world! This is a success card, all that moving up stuff, making it happen. You both doing good? At work?” This time Angel jumps right in.

“Min is. She got a promotion last month.”

“¿De veras?”

“Yeah, now she’s like the jefa of a whole department.”

“You’re proud of your woman.”

“Angel runs his own business!” I turn to Luz and elaborate. “He owns his own moving company, and he’s doing so well he had to buy two more trucks.” Angel shifts awkwardly, muttering something about how it takes a real genius to move furniture. He’s worked so hard building his business, and he makes great money, more than I do at Salesforce, but he still looks at my degrees, and compares them to his high school diploma and stint in the Army, and believes he’s not good enough. I wait for Luz to register his remark and follow up, but instead, she looks back down at the cards.

“Okay pareja. Here’s the thing. There’s nothing wrong with any of these cards. But all three together. That’s a lot.” She flips another card. “Boom, it continues, exactly what I’m talking about. Knight of Wands, fire of fire, ay dios mío, it’s gonna burn you up!” My stomach flips as I try to process what she’s saying. She seems to register my concern, and waves her arms dismissively.

“Relax Min. Tranquila. You gotta learn how to chill. Tan apretada! The Knight of Wands tells us you gotta spend more quality time together. And I’m not talking about sex.”

Angel grins, and reaches out to give me a little tickle on my thigh, then slides his arm around my shoulders. I wiggle right into his nook, and Luz rolls her eyes, then continues as I try to twist off the faucet of images, Angel’s hands, and his mouth, and his delicious weight.

“Claro, lo veo, the sex is hot. That’s beautiful! I love it. But here’s why you gotta watch out. All that fire, burning, burning. Too much energy. Slow down. Breathe. Cool down. Sit and talk. Without touching. Tell a story that’s hard for you to tell.” She looks back and forth between us, squinting with concentration. Then, appearing satisfied, she sets down the deck, stands up, and starts to leave the room.

“Time for snacks, cariños,” she calls over her shoulder. “Una pausa, okay? Chill. Take it in.”

And so we do. We eat some cookies, and we sit quietly. At first, my mind whirls, wondering what Angel is thinking. Luz said cool the flames. Sit and talk. Should I plan it? Like date night, but no sex? That does not sound fun. As I try to picture my schedule for the next week, I glance at Luz, and she’s looking back at me with big, warm eyes and a knowing smile. She takes a bite of her cookie, then breathes deeply and audibly, and rolls her shoulders back a few times, looking at me expectantly. Right. Okay. So I breathe too, and eat my cookie, and roll my shoulders. And I remember what Lena always says about the calming effects of place meditation. So I notice the crown molding that circles the ceiling. I notice the wood dragon tucked into the bookcase on the far wall. Then I notice Angel. His eyes are closed, and he never put his shoes back on. His long legs are stretched out, and his cookie, resting on his firm belly, is gently rising and falling with each breath. Then I feel more quiet too.

After a few minutes, Luz decides we are sufficiently chilled, and over the next hour, completes the reading with six more cards.

1. The Hanged Man. This one freaks me out, until Luz explains that he is about radical change, and the upside-down means we need a big shift in our perspective, which reinforces the cool down and chill thing. Okay. Not too bad.

2. The Moon. Looking under the surface and reflecting on what’s happening inside, like telling a hard story and trying to figure out why it’s important.

3. The Seven of Pentacles. Doubt. Luz says, “If you feel it, you gotta trust it, then you gotta say what you mean.” Yikes. Great advice. Scary to follow.

4. The Four of Cups. Fantasy and reality. Luz thinks we’re both trying to hide the parts of ourselves we don’t like. She says, “You want to see what you want to see? Or you want to see what’s really there? You get naked all the time, but you gotta show more than that.” Fuuuuuck.

5. The King of Wands. She starts saying the funambulista thing again, finding our balance and noticing our impulses and conserving our energy.

6. Luz just looks at the card, and looks at us, and smiles with satisfaction.

As the session comes to an end, Luz asks us to hold hands. We make a little circle, and she hums quietly, and we all breathe. My mind swims. The egg cleanse feels like days ago. Luz has made so many observations, offered so much advice, but what are we actually supposed to do? I have a sudden impulse to invite her home with us. I can picture her sitting at the kitchen table with a cookie, tapping her nails against the glass surface and shouting instructions across the house. As if reading my mind, she stops humming and says, “Homework.”

We both look up. “Angel. Here’s yours. You’re gonna tell Min if your branches are crowded. And when you feel better, you’re gonna find her, and hug her, and say thank you. Got it?” He nods. “Min. When Angel’s branches get crowded, you’re gonna go out and have fun without him.” I laugh, surprised but pleased. “And you’re gonna tell him a story this week. About something you don’t wanna talk about.” Ugh. Not as fun. But I nod my agreement, relieved to have a plan.

“You both wanna come back in three weeks?”

I glance at Angel, and when he nods, I pull out my phone and schedule our next appointment.