Chapter 3

3

Since we were babies, since even before our mother took off in an ugly old truck with presumably an ugly-hearted man, Nadia has insisted we celebrate two important events: the spring equinox and Día de Muertos. These dates are more important than any other holiday combined, or at least that's how it feels with the gravity Nadia gives them. And this is a lady who hasn't missed Mass probably since before she was conceived into existence.

"What's with insisting on honoring these two dates?" I once asked her. "Isn't it a little too witchy? Doesn't the Catholic Church think that celebrating any equinox is pagan and that Día de Muertos is some evil ceremony from before our ancestors were saved?"

Nadia just raised one of her skinny, auburn-lined eyebrows at me and said, "Everything the Church believes in has been either made up or stolen, mija. If this were not the case, then the Church would have been there the day this Earth was created." She stuck one of her blunt, bloodred nails in my face. "Pero no. The Church was made up by a group of men, and they took ideas and stories from all the religions that came before and were alongside it." She smirked at the look on my face. I guess I wasn't expecting a real answer, after her dragging me and my sisters, kicking and screaming, to St. Theresa's until we were adults.

That was the moment I realized Nadia wasn't that kind of Catholic after all.

Nadia's in the kitchen with Sky right now, and they're beating a couple of cold flans from their glass pie pans onto serving dishes while I light all the prayer candles Nadia had me carry up from the basement. Almost every single one is of Maria Magdalena.

I was never into religion. I was always the kid who frustrated the Sunday school teachers with my incessant questions, like How could people who lived before Jesus be saved if they never knew Jesus would even exist? and Why did God murder innocent babies when he flooded the world for Noah's ark? I didn't even think I believed in God. Which might sound kind of weird, considering my emotions have controlled the region's weather since I was a child. Not that our family's gifts automatically mean there is a God, but that maybe I should have had a predisposition toward understanding that this world has some serious mysteries working behind it. But I guess, deep down, I assumed there was some rational explanation for our power, even if, to my knowledge, no one had figured out what that explanation might be.

That all changed when we found Sky.

There is no way science can explain how she was kept in a tree outdoors for eight summers and eight winters, and just walked out of it one day with her skeletal and muscular and circulation systems just fine and dandy. I mean, it makes more sense that what she says happened didn't actually happen. Like, maybe a human stole her and kept her in their basement or something. Or that the entire town is right about her—she was a runaway, and now she's back and full of lies about where she had been.

I believe my sister, though. Which means I'm beginning to come close to the fact that there are serious mysteries working behind this world. And even though I don't want it to, I feel hope flaring in my belly as I consider it. As I light the final Mary Magdalene candle, the flame as hot as a curl of lightning in my palm.

Because if God exists, then that means miracles happen.

And if miracles happen, then maybe I can fix whatever is broken inside me.

My eyes turn to the only framed photo Nadia keeps of our mother. She's pregnant with Sage in it, wearing a white dress with horizontal green and violet stripes that flare over her big belly. She was sixteen, but I swear she looks no older than thirteen. She must've been scared out of her mind.

It doesn't make what she did right, though.

Not for the first time, I think about what it would take to find her. To make her give back what she took from me.

"You done with the candles, Teal?" Nadia calls. "We need a little help here."

I leave all the lit-up Magdalenas and find Nadia in the kitchen, trying to pry open a bottle of seltzer water. "We need your muscles," Sky tells me.

I take the bottle and twist, the fizz of carbonation sounding immediately. Just as the top pops off, there's a knock at the door. "Why is Sage knocking?" I mutter, but when I open it, it's not Sage there. It's Sonya. Nadia's sister and our grandmother.

My jaw drops a little. She raises an eyebrow and scowls at me. "Amá," I finally sputter out.

Amá Sonya and I do dinners at her place once a month, and we also meet for brunch every second and third Sundays at this upscale restaurant downtown that offers complimentary glasses of "orange-essence champagne." Of all her grandchildren, she and I are the closest, even if with Amá, "closest" means that she spends more time criticizing me than either of my sisters.

It's not the sight of my grandmother that's shocking. It's the sight of Amá Sonya here that has me furrowing my brow.

The last time I saw Sonya at Nadia's, it was after Mama left. Only once. Only then.

"Uhh," I say as she leans on her hip and crosses her arms.

"Uhh," she says, mocking me. I don't take it personally. We all know that Sonya's a bitch. "Aren't you going to let me in? Your own abuela?"

I step aside. "Welcome to our humble abode, Amá."

She snarls as she takes a look around. "It looks…" I can tell she is searching for some kind of compliment. "The same." She looks pleased with herself. It must've taken a great deal of effort to not make an offensive comment about the brightness of the yellow walls, or maybe the obscene shine of the olive linoleum floors. Or maybe the fact that it looks like people actually live here.

Amá Sonya's home looks like the inside of a fridge. Like, one of the new ones they have lined up at Best Buy, smelling like cleaner with undertones of new plastic. Only instead of cleaner and plastic, it's built with granite and quartz, and the underlying scent is of Louis Vuitton's Spell on You. That's her style—she acts like she's country-chic, but the truth is she's pure luxe. Right now she's got on a cream tweed skirt-suit that looks custom-made for her small frame. I'm pretty sure it's Chanel. Her pointed stilettos match the outfit exactly, all except for the bloodred sole. She's covered in pearls and diamonds, and she pushes her peachy matte lips out in distaste. I once looked up the price of the lipstick she uses. It's exactly three of my car payments.

She looks just a little out of place here, amid Nadia's homemade curtains, vintage dining table, and herbs growing from coffee tins along the windowsills. Not to mention us. Sky's got on old, patched-up bell-bottom jeans and a tank top covered in what is probably real baby eagle feathers. Nadia's adorned herself with one of her floral-patterned cottagecore dresses, almost vibrating with the brightest pinks and oranges imaginable. I'm wearing my usual—matchy-matchy spandex athletic gear in all shades of purple. It's an "I work at the gym" style I still haven't kicked even though it's been weeks since I've set foot in a gym of any kind.

Nadia puts her hands on her hips. "What brings you here, Sonya?"

Amá Sonya huffs. "Can't a woman visit her sister anymore?"

"Ay," Nadia responds. "Que drama."

"Que drama nada. Are we celebrating the return of la luz or what?"

Before Nadia can respond, Sage appears in the doorway. She's got on jeans stained with dirt paired with a neon blue tank top. On her ears are turquoise set in silver, probably handmade by Sage herself. "We're heeeere!" She sings like an opera singer, only terribly off-key. Next to her stands Laurel, her best friend, wearing a white linen wrap dress and the cutest kitten heels, matching her red lipstick exactly. She carries a giant bottle of Patrón in her arms as she greets us.

"Come in," Nadia calls.

Sage stops short when she sees Sonya. "Oh, hey, Amá. I didn't think you'd be here."

Amá throws up her hands as best she can, since a giant Celine satchel probably filled with bars of real gold sits on her forearm. "Everyone thinks the matriarch of this familia would miss a spring equinox."

"Well, you haven't been to one in…" Sky begins, but fades out as Sonya levels a glare at her that could freeze hell.

"When's the last time you were at an equinox?" Sonya demands of Sky. "In the flesh, mija. Not as a half ghost."

"What Amá means is of course she's been to every equinox ever," Sage says. "We may not have any sort of proof, or memory of it even, but she was there."

"Yeah, she was there all right, just like you, Sage," I mutter, then wince. My MO is to get mad at everyone, especially when things around me get chaotic. For years, Sage was my go-to symbolic punching bag. And once, a literal punching bag. But I'm trying to be better now. Trying is the key word.

"What was that?" Sage narrows her eyes my way.

I lower my eyes as my cheeks heat. "Nada."

"Okay!" Laurel says, lifting the tequila again. "Who's ready for a shot?"

Every single one of us answers in the affirmative at the same time. Even Amá, who I have never seen drink anything besides sparkling water sourced from some Swedish mountain, Kona coffee, orange-essenced champagne, or, on very special occasions, extra-dry Manhattans.

Sky and Laurel prepare the drinks as the rest of us settle in the living room. Unlike the kitchen, which is painted marigold yellow and is always bright with sunlight pouring in thick as bright silk through its two enormous windows, the seating room has always been dark. There's only one window facing in from the north, which does nothing to lighten the walls painted a deep forest green. Nadia's filled up the room with all kinds of antique lamps, from brass floor lights glowing with amber, to Tiffany-style, composed of glass shades as colorful as tropical fruit. We only have two lamps on tonight, though. The candles are doing the work of lightning, making everything look like a shade of underwater blue flicked with startling orange and gold highlights. It's like the set of some dark academia film. That or horror.

Nadia begins the celebration by reading her favorite Joy Harjo poem. It's called "Remember." I'm probably not the sort of personality that would take to poetry, but you can't grow up in this house and not have poetry become some part of your emotional body. Nadia didn't read Dr. Seuss to us when we were little ones—she read Linda Hogan and Octavio Paz and Margaret Atwood.

To me, this particular poem is a blessing for someone new to this earth. Or maybe an older person who has been made new in some cosmic way. I hold my breath until Nadia reaches the lines I love and hate the most, on mothers: "You are evidence of / her life, and her mother's, and hers." I have to turn my head away at this part every year, so no one sees my eyes welling up. But it's no use. There's no way anyone misses the way the clouds instantly darken outside, the way rain falls as fast as a heart breaks. Everyone's nice enough to pretend they don't notice.

I throw my shot back the second she reads the last word. "More, please," I say, lifting up my empty glass.

As I sip my second shot, Nadia serves the sangria she'd made the night before. It's her own recipe, made with white wine instead of the traditional red, and she adds just a little seltzer water for "especia." She and Sky had cut up apples, limes, oranges, and strawberries to soak in it overnight. It tastes exactly like summer in Cranberry—thick and bright and sweet.

Laurel jumps up to help Sage cut the flan. One is coconut, the other traditional, with the flavors of vanilla and burnt sugar taking center stage. Soon we're all stuffing our faces. Well, everyone except for Amá, who cuts tiny pieces of her flan with a fork and knife, wincing as she eats, like anyone would believe it's not fucking amazing. I'm convinced Nadia can't produce a subpar flan even if she tried.

This is when the chisme portion of the event begins.

"So, when are you all going to get a man?" Sonya begins, glaring at everyone except for Sage. Not even Laurel, who is not related to us at all, is immune from Sonya's pointed, accusatory gaze.

"You want us to share a man?" Sky asks, completely deadpan, and I almost spit out a large gulp of sangria.

Sonya smacks Sky's knee. "You know what I mean."

"What if we want a woman?" Laurel asks.

Sonya raises her eyebrow, considering. "Just like any man, she better have money." She turns to Nadia. "What about you? When's the last time you've been on a date? A decade? Más? Don't you think it's time to do something other than—" She lifts her hands, as though gesturing to the air explains what she means.

Nadia narrows her eyes. "Other than what, Sonya?" Her voice is dangerous and low.

My sisters and I look at each other in alarm. The last time these two viejitas had a real fight, supposedly Sonya walked away with a bloody nose and Nadia walked away with a poltergeist haunting her. That's Sonya's gift, by the way. Ghosts.

"Teal has a date to Nate's wedding!" Sky announces, pointedly ignoring my wide eyes.

"Who're you going with?" Sage asks. Then she narrows her eyes. "Oh, wait, no . Teal. You didn't."

"Didn't what?" asks Laurel.

Sonya tsks disapprovingly at me. " You should be the one marrying that Nate Bowen boy. Now he has money."

"Did you, though?" Sage asks, ignoring Sonya and pointing at me with her wineglass in her hand. It looks like she hasn't taken a single sip. "Did you seriously ask—"

"Sky refuses to update her wardrobe from the early aughts!" I announce.

"Hey!" Sky glances down at her outfit. "There's nothing wrong with this."

"Not if we're in the year 2006, there isn't," I respond with a smirk.

Sonya wrinkles her nose, then turns to Nadia. "You didn't take her shopping yet? She's been wearing her eight-year-old clothes for all these months?"

"When am I supposed to have time to take her shopping, Sonya? Some of us actually do work for a living."

"I work, Nadia." Sonya's hand is nearly crushing her glass.

"Spying on your neighbors to report them to the HOA doesn't count as work, hermana."

It's like watching a NatGeo doc of two wildcats circling each other as they prepare a battle for dominance. These two need a shiny, glittery distraction to keep them from attacking each other, but I desperately don't want any distraction to include the word Carter . "Back to the topic of Sky's ugly clothes." I ignore Sky's cry of offense. "Sky won't let anyone take her shopping, Amá. That's what I was saying before."

Sonya gives me the stinkeye next. "?Y tú? Why do you always dress like you're about to do a push-up? Haven't we talked about this?"

I groan. "Yes, Amá. We have. Many times." I have a feeling she's going to continue this conversation anyway, and Amá doesn't disappoint.

"To attract a high-quality man, you need to dress con elegancia. No más"—she tosses a hand at my body—"looking like you're competing in the Tour de France."

"I bet all the ladies competing at the Tour de France have high-quality men, Amá."

"You think you're being cute, Teal, pero all that sass will repel a man." Sonya sips her sangria. "Who are you taking to this wedding anyway?"

I inhale too fast and get slightly light-headed. "Jesus. Why does everyone care about my date? Shouldn't we be focused on the dateless?" I glance around "Who are you taking, Laurel?"

"I'm taking Alex Ramirez."

"?Quien?" both old ladies ask.

"She's the sheriff."

Amá frowns thoughtfully. "How much do sheriffs make? It needs to be six figures at least, mija. Or you've got to let her go."

"Carter."

With that one word, we all whip our heads to Sage. Her shot of tequila sits right in front of her, untouched, and Laurel takes it for herself. "Teal's taking Carter Velasquez to the wedding."

"You don't know that for a fact," I say.

"You're not denying it."

"I'm not confirming it, either."

"Ha!" Sage lifts her hands. "That's exactly what all the celebrities say when they're in rehab for meth."

"Is Carter that skinny boy who was in love with you?" Amá asks. "What does his income look like these days?"

Sky is watching me closely. I think she can sense something in me, even before lightning appears in the distance, through the window and over the water like a flicker of a star. I can't help but grit my teeth and tense my jaw. I can't have everyone talking about me and Carter like this. What he and I had…our friendship, I mean. It was precious to me. And then I broke it. To let everyone dissect it here, now, feels like balancing the most fragile egg on my head and then being forced to perform one of Shakira's viral dances for TikTok. Sky looks at me questioningly and I nod my head.

Sky clears her throat loudly. "Amá Sonya? Have you ever had your ass eaten?"

There is dead silence for several seconds. Laurel and Sage glance at each other with wide-eyed thrill. Nadia is also amused. As for Amá, I have never seen her look so legitimately shocked in my life. Her mouth opens and closes, but not even a breath comes out. "?Qué es esto?" she finally sputters. "Are you asking me about ass sex ?"

This is when Laurel, Sage, and Nadia explode. They laugh for so hard and for so long, tears stream down their faces. As they laugh, Amá gets more and more infuriated. "What's so funny?" she's yelling. "Why is my nieta asking about sex of the ass so hilarious to all of you?" Then she points at me. "What is going on with you, Teal? What is with this boy Carter? Why do you all keep changing the subject about him?" She lowers her voice. "Is he on the meth?"

I go from laughing to panic so fast, thunder rumbles the moment I stand up. "Sage hasn't had a single sip of alcohol all night."

Everyone whips their head toward her. She can't hold her poker face for more than a second. She begins to beam, and Nadia gasps. "Sage…" she says.

"It's true." Sage slides a hand over her belly. "It's really early, but…I'll be nine weeks along on Sunday."

Then we're all screaming. Shrieking, jumping, hugging. Outside, the clouds clear, and long rays of rose gold, peach-pink, and fuchsia stream along the horizon line of the blue topaz sea.

It's the prettiest sunset I've ever seen.

Sage and Laurel are the first to leave, with Sage claiming exhaustion. I don't doubt it. She's growing a whole new human and all now. She tries to bat Sky away as Sky tries to give her two hugs—one for Sage, and one "for the belly."

Sonya gives us all a dirty look as we all linger at the front door. Or, maybe, that's just kind of how her face is. "Well?" She gestures to Nadia, and then Sage. "What is it? ?Chico o chica?"

Sage puts her fingers in her ears. "Don't tell me! I don't want to know!"

"It's a boy," Sky says.

"Es la verdad," Nadia confirms.

"You guys!" Sage growls, but then she holds her palms over her still-completely-flat belly. "Really? A boy?"

"Nadia knows ," Sky explains. "And humans are animals, remember. I can already hear him!"

Sage bursts into tears. "Oh my God," she says. "I've got to get home and tell Tenn."

"Maybe you could name him Montana," Sky says. "Or Maine! Keep up the theme, you know?"

Sage responds by crying even harder. See what I mean? Ella es la Llorona now, weeping over every dang thing. And now she's pregnant so it can only get worse.

"Let's get you home," Laurel says, wrapping an arm around Sage's shoulder. From there, it takes another fifteen minutes before they're out the door. I just shake my head as my sisters and Laurel keep coming 'round to hug. Latine people and goodbyes.

After that, Sky says she has to check on her woodland friends, so she goes on a short walk. I'm still a little tipsy, so I start my way upstairs but stop and look back at the mess still in the living room. "Stop being selfish," I remind myself, and I begin to pick up platas and glasses.

Nadia and Sonya are muttering in the kitchen. I assume they're just trading farewell insults until I hear one word that stops me in my tracks.

Cora. Sonya's hissing it at Nadia.

Cora. That's our mother's name.

They're talking in fast Spanish, which means I can only understand every third word. I linger in the shadow just outside the kitchen entrance, trying to angle my ear in as much as I can without being seen.

"You're telling me you don't know ?" Sonya whispers, switching back to English.

Nadia shrugs, then responds in Spanish. It's a question and I think it's something like "Why would she come back now?"

"Es mi hija. She does whatever she wants. There's no sense to any of it. She's always been that way."

"But you didn't even see her, Sonya."

"I'm her mother! I don't need to—"

They both freeze when a cup balanced on a plate in my arms slides, making a disturbingly loud screeching noise. I walk in the kitchen immediately, humming. I stop when I see them both narrowing their eyes at me. "What is it?" I demand.

"Nada." Sonya points her pointy acrylic nail right at my heart. "Next week I am taking both you and Sky shopping. No more of—" She waves a hand over my body. "This."

"Gee, thanks," I respond, but Sonya's out the door before I can finish my sentence.

When I turn around, Nadia's gone, too.

I put the dishes in the sink, my heart beating fast.

A milagro.

This feels like that. Like a miracle is close by.

When I go upstairs, before I wash my face and change into my nightgown, I stop at my dresser. I grab the small carved wood box, curl open its lid. Inside, I keep my most precious jewelry. Big, gold-filled hoops from Nadia that spell Teal in a flowing font. A pair of two-carat flawless diamond studs from Amá. The moss agate necklace Sage made for me last year. She carved both herself and Sky an almost-identical necklace with the same stone. "It's us," she'd said when she showed it to me for the first time. The stone captures all the colors of sage, teal, and sky put together.

I don't touch the jewelry, though. Instead I reach for a small, roughly folded-up piece of torn paper. I spread it out, sliding my fingers against it to smooth the wrinkles.

New Year's Resolutions for Teal Flores

Stop being selfish.

Make it up to Sage.

Make it up to Sky.

Become best friends with Carter again.

Leilani had made fun of how "negative-energy-filled" these wishes are. "Come on, Teal! There's nothing but love in the world! Focus on that ."

But this is all the shit I'm struggling with. Even tonight, when an opportunity came up to criticize my sister for leaving us, I couldn't help myself. A few years back, when Sage was visiting us when she lived in Philadelphia, I punched Sage in the face for trying to convince me to leave my abusive ex. What kind of sister does that?

And even before all that, almost nine years ago now, I was the one who convinced Sky to tightrope-walk the rusty gate that blocked off the cliff we'd been hiking up. It's not like I thought either of us would ever fall. But because of me, she lost eight years. Eight. Years.

If it were up to Leilani, I would've written a list full of expensive self-care options like getting acupuncture, hot-stone massages, and traveling halfway around the world to try, I don't know, some type of hallucinogenic botanical to heal my bipolar disorder. And I'm not saying those wouldn't work for some people, but for me? I needed to clean the mess I'd made, and somehow in the process reshape myself into a good person. A good sister.

Maybe then I'll earn a miracle. The miracle I've been praying for—to heal this half-formed, broken gift inside me. To be able to cry or kick a punching bag in rage without worrying that I was going to hurt someone with a wild lightning storm.

That's my biggest goal. To be totally human, sadness and all, and not have to worry about it one single bit.