Chapter 4 Sasha
Sasha
Sasha Robinson knew the exact moment she’d first heard the name Angeni Luna.
She was having dinner with her sister, Daphne, and Daphne’s husband, Jay, at their little rundown rental house in Ballard.
Occasionally, Daphne invited their mom to join, but this night wasn’t one of those nights. It was just the three of them.
Daphne was seven months pregnant with her first baby, a fact that astounded Sasha.
Daphne, six years older than Sasha, had been like a mother to her little sister, so it shouldn’t have been hard for Sasha to believe that Daphne was going to become an actual mother.
But it was hard to believe. Or maybe Sasha was just in denial because she didn’t want to share Daphne.
It was inevitable that her sister would have less time for her once the baby came.
Sasha was doing her best to pull away more, to train herself away from needing Daphne so much.
She’d thrown herself into studies—at twenty-five, she was the youngest student in the University of Washington’s feminist studies doctoral program.
Daphne was onto her, said, “I see what you’re doing, sis.
Pushing me away. But you better not miss family dinner. ”
The moment Sasha walked into the house that night, she smelled her sister’s chili.
It was her specialty, something she’d made every week when they were growing up—starting when Daphne was eleven and Sasha was five.
Daphne took it upon herself to become the chef of the house when they were young, mostly because she got sick of Chef Boyardee and the other cheap boxed and frozen stuff their mom kept stocked for them.
Daphne had a magenta three-ring binder with recipes scribbled down on notebook paper.
The chili recipe was titled “Bowl of warmth and love.” Sasha had so many fond memories of that chili.
Or maybe they were fond memories of her sister taking care of her.
They rarely saw their mother during the week.
She came home from her day job at the hospital—she’d started in the janitorial department before moving over to administration—just to change her clothes and go to a night shift at the pharmacy.
It was Daphne who fed Sasha and helped her with homework and cuddled with her until she fell asleep.
It was Daphne who picked out her school outfits and laid them out before bedtime.
It was Daphne who packed her school lunches, always including a piece of Halloween candy from the bucket they kept in their closet throughout the year.
“Wow, that bump is bumpin’,” Sasha said as she walked into the tiny galley kitchen and saw her sister standing at the stove. Daphne flinched—she hadn’t heard Sasha come in.
“You trying to give me a heart attack?” she said, putting her hand to her chest.
“Sorry,” Sasha said. She went to her, wrapped her arms around Daphne in a tight hug, pulling her sister as close to her as the bump would allow.
“I fear something’s come between us,” Sasha said with mock seriousness.
They both started to laugh. They had the same high-pitched laugh, the same wide-mouthed smile.
They both had their mother’s facial features—her nose, her eyes.
Daphne’s skin was darker because her father had been Black; Sasha’s father had been white.
Daphne used to joke, “I’m the seventy-two percent dark chocolate, and you’re the yummier milk chocolate. ”
Jay came into the kitchen and said, “All this giggling must mean little sis is in the house.”
Sasha loved Jay. He and Daphne had been high school sweethearts—a modern rarity. When they’d started dating, Sasha was only ten. She’d grown up with Jay. He was like a brother to her.
“So what’s sis been up to? Still trying for the highest IQ in the world?” he teased.
She play-hit him in the arm.
“Oh, silly me. You already have the highest IQ in the world. Apologies.”
She play-hit him again.
Sasha’s intelligence had never not been a part of her identity.
She started kindergarten at age four and was reading chapter books intended for eight-year-olds by the time she turned five.
She skipped first grade and went right to second, and she probably could have skipped another grade somewhere along the way, but her mother had wanted to be sure she could legally drive by the time she graduated high school.
“What about you, though?” she asked Jay. “What’s new with you guys?”
Before he could answer, Daphne came into the room carrying a giant tray with their three bowls of chili and little bowls with fixings—cheddar cheese, chopped green onions, corn chips, sour cream. Jay leaped from the couch to help her and set the tray on the coffee table in front of the couch.
“I’ll tell you what’s new. Hubby here got himself a promotion,” Daphne said. She gave Jay a kiss on the cheek before lowering herself onto the couch in the slow way that pregnant women do.
Jay was a firefighter at Seattle’s Station 8 in Queen Anne.
“Oh my god, that’s amazing,” Sasha said.
“He gets a fancy title. Driver engineer,” Daphne said.
“That’s awesome, Jay. Really. I’m so happy for you guys,” Sasha said.
Jay gave Sasha and Daphne their chili and then sat back in the armchair with his own. They took their first bites, making the requisite “mmm” sounds in appreciation of Daphne’s culinary talents.
“You guys still don’t want to know the sex of the baby?” Sasha asked.
“One of us would really like to know,” Jay said, pointing a thumb back at himself, “but one of us wants a surprise.”
Sasha made a face like she’d smelled something bad. She hated surprises in life. Even the good ones were unsettling.
“I think it’ll help during labor to not know the sex. I’ll be so excited to find out,” Daphne said.
“To each their own,” Jay said.
“I could never wait to find out,” Sasha said.
Daphne looked at her with a soft smile. “That’s the difference between us, sis. You want all the knowledge. I’m happy not having it.”
Daphne reached over and put her hand on Sasha’s hand. Something about the gesture made Sasha want to cry. Daphne understood her in a way nobody else did. That had to be the crux of true love—feeling seen.
Sasha shook off her sentimentality and said, “Damn, Daph, this chili batch is really good.”
“I’ve got leftovers in a Tupperware for you,” Daphne said to Sasha. “Don’t let me forget to give it to you.”
“Homegirl has gotten so forgetful,” Jay said with a laugh.
“Pregnancy brain,” Daphne said.
“The struggle is real,” Jay said.
“You got my email about the shower?” Daphne asked.
Sasha had gotten her sister’s email about the shower and had promptly marked it unread to remind herself to come back to it.
Sasha hated baby showers, as a rule. She hated how capitalism had turned a meaningful rite of passage into a Pinterest-board extravaganza with ridiculous games.
In the email, she’d been asked to help out with one such game involving placing different candy bars into open diapers so that they resembled logs of shit.
The guests would have to guess the candy bar based on sight and smell.
It was the epitome of stupid, but Sasha loved Daphne, so she planned to arrive with a grocery bag of Milky Way, Snickers, Payday, 3 Musketeers, Butterfinger, Almond Joy, and Baby Ruth bars.
“The candy bar thing,” Sasha said. “Got it.”
“I know you think it’s stupid, and I don’t care,” Daphne said.
Sasha just shrugged. Her sister knew her well.
“I think Mom’s pissed that Krystal is hosting.”
Krystal was married to a coworker of Jay’s, and they lived in a nice house in Queen Anne, the type of house Daphne and Jay were saving to buy.
“I mean, Mom’s place is so small,” Sasha said.
“I feel a little bad. I’m trying to develop a better relationship with her,” Daphne said. She sat up straighter as she said this, as if making a point, as if calling attention to some superiority.
“What does that mean?” Sasha asked, already annoyed. Sasha preferred bonding with her sister over how difficult it was to connect with their mother.
“I mean, she’s going to have a grandchild. I want her to know my child,” she said.
“Well, Mom only works one job now, so I guess your kid will see her more than we ever did.”
Sasha couldn’t help but have this chip on her shoulder.
She knew her mother had had to work as hard and as much as she did.
There had been no other way. But that didn’t mean she was at peace with the fact that her mother had rarely been around.
Even on weekends, she’d had shifts at the pharmacy.
She wasn’t there to shuttle the girls to birthday parties or sporting events or playdates.
If they wanted to go to something, they had to learn the bus schedule and figure it out themselves.
This early independence had probably made Sasha into who she was, but she wasn’t always sure she liked who she was.
“It might be healing for you to resolve some of this stuff with her,” Daphne said gently.
Healing? Resolve? This was not how Daphne usually talked.
“God, are you going to therapy?” Sasha asked.
Jay snickered.
“You know, it’s not a bad thing to seek self-improvement,” Daphne said.
“You are going to therapy?” Sasha asked.
Jay snickered more. “It’s worse than therapy,” he said.
Daphne balled up a napkin and threw it at him.
“She’s a disciple of Angelini Luna,” he said.
The name rang a bell, but Sasha didn’t know why at first.
“It’s Angeni. Not Angelini,” Daphne said. “And I’m not a disciple. I just like her content.”
“She’s on Instagram,” Jay said. “Like, all over the damn thing.”