I wrote a fake name on the sign-in sheet and slipped my engagement ring into my pocket, wanting to reveal as little about myself as possible. I turned on the voice memo app on my phone and placed it in my bag. The sharp scent of burning palo santo seared my nose and made my eyes water.

It was my first visit to this well-known tarot card reader to the stars.

“You can record this if you want,” she said as she shuffled her cards.

I reached into my bag and pretended I wasn’t already recording, looking around the room for any indication that this was a scam. She laid the cards in three stacks and asked me to place my hand on one. I picked the middle, because it felt obvious to me, and she proceeded to flip the cards over one by one.

Looking at them, she said, “You’ll have a house in two years.”

I froze. I hadn’t mentioned anything about a house, yet she answered the only question on my mind.

I didn’t believe in any of this: psychics, tarot card readers, astrology. I had learned basic Taurus compatibility and how to convincingly nod at stereotypical comments about signs so I could hold my own in zodiac conversations. My skepticism began when I was a child watching infomercials for psychics. It just felt like an industry that takes advantage and preys on the hopeful. It might be worth mentioning I’m agnostic and don’t believe in much of anything.

But I happened to be researching clairvoyance for a TV pilot script I was writing, so my friend dragged me two hours outside of Los Angeles to visit a famous tarot card reader. I was four months into a new job after being unemployed (because of Covid) for over a year. My bank account had taken a massive hit, and a new house was nowhere on the horizon. I had no business inquiring about a house — it wasn’t a financial possibility — but I was curious.