Free A Toast to Starry Nights by Mandi Rei Serra Page A

wearing Klingon full make up
and costumes that prodded me into making an appointment as soon as possible. My
wedding would not be an excuse for a Star Trek convention or an Esbat bathed in
moonlight. During the forty-five minute ride, I blared some tunes to get me in
the right mindset. Nothing like a little Bauhaus to cheer one up.
    Neilsinhaur's office exceeded my
expectations, not that I had much going in the way of assumptions. Figured a
hole in the wall sort of place, being that Willow frequented the establishment.
Upon entry from the plate-glass door a small oak topped-counter with a matching
computer desk set at a right angle behind it resided. To the right of the door,
a ceiling-to-floor waterfall spilled into a built-in pond. Koi of white and
orange swam above a pebble-speckled bottom, amidst aquatic plants and grottoes.
Seemed posh, too posh for my mother's taste. I enjoyed the sound of tinkling
water making its way into the rock-edged pool. Black marble tile floor, ecru
walls with white crown molding and a shelved skylight with ivy trailing down
met my critical eye.
    A small three-legged table topped with
tidy stacks of magazines sat between two benches lining the wall across from
the receptionist desk. A deep sigh was heaved before I stood at the
receptionist's counter, awaiting my fate. Maybe I should have brought condoms
for the mindfuck I was sure to receive. My hand hovered over the little bell
when a petite blonde woman made her way from an alcove to behind the counter
and addressed me, front and center.
    “Welcome! How can I assist you today?”
The receptionist wore a pigeon-blood red Mandarin tunic over black leggings.
Her hair was styled in two buns high at the back of her head, secured by
chopsticks with dangling white flowers. The flowers swayed to touch her ears as
she spoke in a very animated way. Her hands fluttered like hummingbirds; they
paused in a gesture, then zoom to another hand posture for a brief moment
before changing once again.
    “I have a two o'clock appointment with
Dr. Neilsinhaur.” It was an epic failure on my part trying to keep the dejected
tone out of my voice.
    She sat at the computer, flew over the
keyboard and said, “Ah yes...Kaylis Woods?” I nodded, and she continued, “It's
your first visit. I've got some paperwork for you to fill out.” She handed me a
clipboard loaded with a half-dozen sheets of paper and an old ballpoint pen. I
made my way to a bench and filled out the required information as fast as
possible. The sooner this was over the sooner I could bail, and get a blended
Chai from the kiosk down the road. Whether it was due to thwarting Willow and
her Roddenberry worship or due to nervousness at being thoroughly out of my
element and in my mother's realm, I wasn't sure. This was her turf. God knows
what the hell I was in for with this particular adventure.
    Writing as fast and legibly as I could,
the paperwork was soon ready to go. So was I. Hypnosis held no attraction to
me. It never had. I'm a life-long skeptic of hocusy-pokusy crap-–my only
concession to the paranormal is the Tarot deck Willow gave me when I was
sixteen, which I still use. But conjuring up a lifetime while under the
guidance of someone paid to create head trips seemed bullshit to me. This was
up there with bending spoons, faked pictures of fairies, Victorian ghosts
spewing ectoplasm, channeling long dead relatives and group sex with incubi.
I'm wasting my time. Apparently an astounding amount of people who frequent
Past Life Regression Therapists believe in past lives themselves whereas I'm
agnostic on the topic.
    A deep breath and Jet's words of wisdom
echoing through my mind, “...cents a day to keep your mom from hippiefying
the whole shindig...” bolstered my resolution. I can do this. I will do
this!
    I'm sure Jet would be proud to know I
wore my big girl underoos and handed the completed paperwork back to the
receptionist with semblance of a smile upon my face.
    She removed the