Read The Break-Up Psychic for Free Online

handing out miracles and such, can you please make this message be from my ex? Also, could you maybe set a plague upon him? Nothing too serious, maybe just a herd of flesh-eating locusts?
    “Press one to listen to your messages.”
    I know it’s just a voicemail, but my finger feels heavy as I press the 1 on the keypad and lift the phone to my ear.
    “Ellie, it’s your mother. I have some very exciting news – call me!”
    I let out a sigh of relief, and tap the number 7 on my phone to delete the message; I’ll call her back later. I’m actually glad it wasn’t Tim calling me. I’m not sure I want to see or speak to that lying snake ever again. I toss the phone into my purse and head for my car. I know I shouldn’t put off calling my mom back, but I’m not looking forward to telling her about my breakup with Tim. Anyway, my mother’s idea of important news usually correlates directly to the front page of US Magazine.
    I love my mom. The woman raised me on her own after Dad left us to start his new family. I know his leaving was hard on her, but she tried her best to never let me see it. The day after he left, she gave me one of her bone-crushing hugs and said, “Your father will always love you, but I love you more.” I remember looking at her, shocked that she would say such a thing, but she was smiling at me and I started cracking up and that’s how it’s been from that time since. Mama and me against the world.
    The tow truck took Luanne’s beater down to the repair shop on 5 th Street which is just around the block from Brook’s Bath and Body Shop. I park in my usual spot and decide to make a rare attempt at exercise by walking there. Maybe it was to restore balance to nature, but the Universe, foreseeing my disastrous love life, saw fit to provide me with a naturally slim figure. Good thing too, because I have a bit of a Ding-Dong habit. Like a three box a week, I’ll bite your hand off if you try to take one from me, habit.
    As I pass by the City Bakery, the sweet smell of sugar and vanilla waft over me. I take a deep breath, enjoying the scent on the warm morning air that’s not yet hot enough to be uncomfortable. I step around breakfast patrons eager to claim their stools at Becky’s Diner next door, probably foregoing menus in favor of the ‘usual.’ My stomach growls at the thought of Becky’s homemade cinnamon rolls and I make a mental note to grab one on my way back to Brook’s.
    I turn down the alleyway toward the repair shop’s front office which stands glinting white in the morning sun. There’re a lot of indistinguishable sounds coming from inside the garage and two men with greasy hands and matching blue button-up work shirts are loitering around one of the garage doors, smoking and looking predictably surly.
    “Hi, excuse me?” I ask, approaching with caution. “I’m here to pay for some repairs.”
    Both men look me over – head to toe. My face heats up under their gaze. Suddenly I wish I was wearing a parka.
    “Sure,” says the man nearest to me, “just head on into the office over there and Jason will fix you up.”
    “Thanks.” I turn and walk toward the shop’s entrance, well aware that their eyes are glued to my ass.
    The office seems smaller on the inside. It’s clean with two vinyl waiting chairs, a small table with a coffee maker and stacked Styrofoam cups, and various magazines spread across an end table against one wall. It smells fresh, like newly washed laundry, and I spot an automatic air freshener mounted to the wall near the counter. No one’s behind the desk so I wait in one of the chairs and flip through an old People magazine. My God, what’s wrong with these young Hollywood actresses? You make millions of dollars, buy some underwear!
    The door behind the counter opens, and what looks like a Yeti enters the room.
    “Good mornin ’, sweetheart, how I can I help you?”
    “Are you Jason?” I ask, getting to my feet.
    “Sure am. How can I be of