My First Palm Reading

Marie Mayer
5 min readAug 7, 2022

The future hit like a cosmic bitch slap

Virgil Cayasa on Unsplash

I decided to go and have my palm read. My reasoning was just for fun with no particular want for guidance. That’s how I approach life — as one big cruise with many options to choose from. Among these options were a past life reading, a tarot reading, a chakra balancing session and other things I forgot. The place had been in my town for five years and I hadn’t once ventured inside.

I am going to try this. But if I see a shrunken head hanging over the threshold, I’m out. I decided this would be my one and only condition. Wanting to satisfy my curiosity, I called, booked an appointment and made my way over.

I was greeted by a barking silver haired puppy at the door. A woman in a long silk dress and pretty head scarf scooped him up and let me in. The environment was actually very peaceful. It had pretty statues, a table aligned with crystals and pictures of angels.

No shrunken heads. This is a good sign. The psychic herself was very welcoming and polite. After hearing about my many options for a deep dive into my subconscious, I agreed to a simple palm reading (far cheaper than the journey into my past life). She sat across from me, took my palms and from there

“How old are you?” she asked me.

“I’m 23.”

“How many siblings do you have?”

“Three, but you probably knew that.” The psychic paused a moment.

“Any half siblings?”

“Not to my knowledge,” I shifted in my chair.

“I’m seeing five here,” she gazed intently between one finger. “Yes, there are five of you? Did your mother have a miscarriage?” She looked at me deeply.

“I don’t know. Maybe. Is this a future child?”


A long-lost sibling?! How many lies am I living? I could ask my mom about it, but I can only imagine how that conversation would go down. How do you casually bring up a subject like that? And I could never tell her I went to see a psychic. I simply wasn’t ready for the Catholic guilt trip that would surely be heaped upon me.

There would then be discussion about how it’s a waste of time and money and yadda yadda. But in my defense…

Marie Mayer

Writer of short stories both real and imagined.