wax-burning candles. Even I’ve noticed how hard she’s been trying since I confronted her about the Queen’s Award. I can’t bring myself to appreciate it.
“Gil!” she says, and kisses him on both cheeks. “We’re so glad you could come.”
“Yes,” says Mother. “You’ve been so busy lately.”
I glare at Mother, noting the hint of disapproval in her tone, but Gil just smiles. “Never too busy for June.”
Auntie Yaha gives one of her smoothing-over chuckles and then we all sit down. Gil could have a bright future as a diplomat if it weren’t for the dancing.
Well, that and his flamboyant choice in sexual partners.
He and Enki have hardly been exclusive with each other in the last two months, but they remain the golden couple of all the gossip casters. I can always tell when Gil’s been with Enki, because he moveslike he might start dancing at any moment and he hardly hears a word I say to him.
Enki, on the other hand, is a cipher. The gossip casters say he’s with someone nearly every night, but I wouldn’t be able to tell from his demeanor with me. He almost never mentions Gil, and when he does, I can’t tell how he feels about him. I can hardly tell how Enki feels about me . Not that I care, so long as we get to make our art together.
Gil asked me once if Enki loved him. I said that maybe summer kings don’t feel things the way we do. Maybe with everything so compressed and escalated, he can’t really love like a human with another two hundred years in front of her. That made Gil cry, so I stopped talking.
I can smell the food — hot peppers and coconut milk and stewed shrimp and that unmistakable musk of palm oil for deep-frying — but the table is bare. Instead, Mother holds out her hands to either side and after a shocked moment I realize that she means for us to join hands. All of us. Together.
Auntie Yaha leads by example and holds Mother’s and Gil’s hands. Gil gives me a little smile and I hold his and Mother’s.
A circle, complete.
“I thought we’d give our thanks,” Mother says.
We are hardly a religious family. The last time I’ve even seen the inside of a city shrine was a week after Papai died. When he was alive, sometimes Papai would lead us in a song, usually a Christian hymn or a song for Yemanjá, so we could “honor our ancestors.” No one took it very seriously — Papai just loved music, and we’d humor him.
I want to refuse, but Mother looks deadly serious and I can’t bear to make this go sour so early. So I duck my head.
“Yemanjá and Ogum, divine orixás who have blessed this city, may you also bless my daughter, and guide her through these pivotal moments, so that she might keep the gifts of her youth and gain the wisdom of her elders. May she not squander her great opportunities on pursuitsshe might later come to regret. May she reach her full flower as the composed, polished adult I know she can —”
“Mamãe!”
I rip my hand from her increasingly tight grip. Her head snaps up and we glare at each other — she wants to intimidate me, but I’m her daughter, and I learned how to match her years ago.
“It’s a blessing , June.”
“Sounded like a lecture to me.”
“Well, how else can I make you listen?”
“I promise, I’m not listening.”
“Your papai —”
I stand. The chair rocks on its legs, the only sound in the room. “You will not. Not him.”
Auntie Yaha puts her hand on my shoulder. I shake it off. “June,” she says, “honey, just sit down, okay? We don’t have to talk about any of this if you don’t want to.”
I can’t take my eyes off Mother. “ She’s the one who started it!”
“You’re the one who was nominated for the most prestigious award in the city and won’t lift a finger to win it! Do you know what your stepmother has been going through at work because of your neglect?”
“Valencia, don’t —”
“Someone has to say it, Yaha. June has been squandering everyone’s goodwill and
“Gil!” she says, and kisses him on both cheeks. “We’re so glad you could come.”
“Yes,” says Mother. “You’ve been so busy lately.”
I glare at Mother, noting the hint of disapproval in her tone, but Gil just smiles. “Never too busy for June.”
Auntie Yaha gives one of her smoothing-over chuckles and then we all sit down. Gil could have a bright future as a diplomat if it weren’t for the dancing.
Well, that and his flamboyant choice in sexual partners.
He and Enki have hardly been exclusive with each other in the last two months, but they remain the golden couple of all the gossip casters. I can always tell when Gil’s been with Enki, because he moveslike he might start dancing at any moment and he hardly hears a word I say to him.
Enki, on the other hand, is a cipher. The gossip casters say he’s with someone nearly every night, but I wouldn’t be able to tell from his demeanor with me. He almost never mentions Gil, and when he does, I can’t tell how he feels about him. I can hardly tell how Enki feels about me . Not that I care, so long as we get to make our art together.
Gil asked me once if Enki loved him. I said that maybe summer kings don’t feel things the way we do. Maybe with everything so compressed and escalated, he can’t really love like a human with another two hundred years in front of her. That made Gil cry, so I stopped talking.
I can smell the food — hot peppers and coconut milk and stewed shrimp and that unmistakable musk of palm oil for deep-frying — but the table is bare. Instead, Mother holds out her hands to either side and after a shocked moment I realize that she means for us to join hands. All of us. Together.
Auntie Yaha leads by example and holds Mother’s and Gil’s hands. Gil gives me a little smile and I hold his and Mother’s.
A circle, complete.
“I thought we’d give our thanks,” Mother says.
We are hardly a religious family. The last time I’ve even seen the inside of a city shrine was a week after Papai died. When he was alive, sometimes Papai would lead us in a song, usually a Christian hymn or a song for Yemanjá, so we could “honor our ancestors.” No one took it very seriously — Papai just loved music, and we’d humor him.
I want to refuse, but Mother looks deadly serious and I can’t bear to make this go sour so early. So I duck my head.
“Yemanjá and Ogum, divine orixás who have blessed this city, may you also bless my daughter, and guide her through these pivotal moments, so that she might keep the gifts of her youth and gain the wisdom of her elders. May she not squander her great opportunities on pursuitsshe might later come to regret. May she reach her full flower as the composed, polished adult I know she can —”
“Mamãe!”
I rip my hand from her increasingly tight grip. Her head snaps up and we glare at each other — she wants to intimidate me, but I’m her daughter, and I learned how to match her years ago.
“It’s a blessing , June.”
“Sounded like a lecture to me.”
“Well, how else can I make you listen?”
“I promise, I’m not listening.”
“Your papai —”
I stand. The chair rocks on its legs, the only sound in the room. “You will not. Not him.”
Auntie Yaha puts her hand on my shoulder. I shake it off. “June,” she says, “honey, just sit down, okay? We don’t have to talk about any of this if you don’t want to.”
I can’t take my eyes off Mother. “ She’s the one who started it!”
“You’re the one who was nominated for the most prestigious award in the city and won’t lift a finger to win it! Do you know what your stepmother has been going through at work because of your neglect?”
“Valencia, don’t —”
“Someone has to say it, Yaha. June has been squandering everyone’s goodwill and
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