Chapter 1 #2
“Before that. Her ancestral home,” she pushed impatiently, like she was on the verge of a major breakthrough.
Auburn wasn’t the most diverse of places, and my mother—a woman of Indian descent who’d been born and raised in Saskatoon—had been quite the topic of conversation when she’d felt called here to meet her final soul bond and had chosen to stay.
“One of my fathers is from Wisconsin, and I couldn’t believe it when the call led me there to meet Noble.
You need to be open minded about these things, Grace.
Maybe your bonded are in your mother’s ancestral home.
” Serenity gave me a pointed look, like the three-day trip she’d taken to Milwaukee with her three existing bonded was exactly the same as me going to India—a country I’d never been to and knew almost nothing about.
Not that I’d ever felt any soul bond call to go there anyway.
Her heart is in the right place , I reminded myself unenthusiastically. I should have made an excuse and stayed home today. All the pity made me feel the kind of rage my kind weren’t supposed to be able to feel, and I didn’t need yet another reminder of all the ways I was different. Defective.
“Let’s pray,” Verity Mae called, bringing the conversation to a halt.
The room fell silent, everyone’s head dropping diligently downwards, eyes closed.
“Anesidora, thank you for the blessings you have provided us all. For our soul bonds, our children, our families, our health, and our happiness. Please guide Grace B., a good and devoted daughter of yours, on her journey to discover her own soul bonds, so that she may experience the overwhelming happiness of your gift. Láthe biōsas .”
“ Láthe biōsas ,” I murmured along in response with everyone else, twisting my fingers roughly in my beige cashmere sweater. A constant, daily reminder that our purpose was to serve the humans who knew nothing about us.
They just want what’s best for you , I reminded myself as I smiled thankfully at Verity Mae for the prayer. My internal voice was beginning to sound suspiciously like my mother, chastising me for my ingratitude and general array of personality flaws.
These kinds of events had challenged my self-control for the past three or four years now, I should have gotten used to it. Used to showing up alone, used to pitying smiles and well-meaning prayers. Why wasn’t it getting any easier?
“Okay, everyone,” Verity Mae said with a clap, shooting me another painfully sympathetic look. “Let’s cut that cake!”
And because being the focus of their prayer and pity wasn’t embarrassing enough, my bad luck kicked in the moment I leaned over the table, knocking over the whole thing. Including the five-tier cake that was on top of it. Right before I fell butt-first into the mess.
* * *
Fortunately, after apologizing profusely and explaining that I’d gifted a woman at the store good luck before I’d arrived, I was able to make a fast escape.
It was no secret among the agathos in Auburn that I had the gift of good luck, Eutychia , and therefore bad luck followed me around like a bad smell.
And while I wasn’t ungrateful—I wasn’t —my life would certainly be easier if I had the gift of moral virtue, Arete , like Verity Mae did. Little slips in my own moral virtue in return for guiding a human were a lot less unpleasant as far as consequences went than bad luck.
Basically, I drove home in a borrowed dress and a cloud of shame, sniffling the entire way.
It wasn’t like I would have stayed late anyway.
Most of them lived within walking distance of the party, and acted like I lived across the country since I’d finally convinced my parents to let me move to Milton to be closer to my job at the shelter and get away from the judgmental stares of the agathos community.
It was a decision that exactly one person in my life was happy about, and that person was me. Never more so than in that moment, smelling like vanilla sponge cake and tears.
The smooth roads out of Auburn were lined with well spaced colonial mansions and hundred-year-old trees, but as Auburn gave way to Milton, the scenery changed rapidly. Mansions became abandoned factories, row houses and crumbling condos. Smooth roads were suddenly filled with bumps and potholes.
Driving into Milton always felt like entering a different world.
It consistently ranked as one of the worst cities in the country to live in, with a high crime rate, high unemployment and a weak job market.
It was a city that had peaked in the late 19th century and had been struggling along ever since, but it called to me for some reason.
Not the call , like my friends had felt towards their soul bonds, but some other kind of calling.
The short commute was definitely a plus, but I worked with plenty of other agathos, and none of them had felt called to hang around here after the work day was done.
They all happily rushed back to their brand new SUVs and kept their foot pressed to the gas until they got back to the safety of Auburn’s city limits.
Fortunately—thanks to my mother’s diligent PR work—the wider community believed I had moved to Milton because I had a servant’s heart for helping others.
That it wasn’t enough for me to just work at the agathos-run shelter during the day, I had chosen to live in the community I served because I was just that selfless.
I wasn’t sure my motivations were that altruistic.
She couldn’t lie, but she was selective about the truths she told.
Marvin Gaye on the radio cut off as my phone started ringing through the car speakers and with a heavy sigh I hit ‘accept call’ on the dash.
Speak of the… shmevil.
That was an unkind thought.
“Hello, Mother.”
“Terrible news,” Mother began with no preamble as per usual. “Joy Lyon died.”
“That’s awful,” I breathed, genuinely surprised. I barely knew the woman, but she was only 40 with three young kids and four bonded mates. Her death would rip a lot of people’s worlds apart. Sugar, those poor children.
“It is,” Mother said, and I could hear the grimace in her voice. “Just happened today. Car accident. I’ll let you know when the public memorial is. Next week, I assume.”
“Yes, keep me updated,” I murmured, although I’d probably hear it from my boss first, since she’d roster all human staff on that day.
It was unusual for a bonded agathos woman to die young, or at least to die alone.
We didn’t suffer from human illnesses—a trade-off for dedicating our lives to humans I supposed—and usually, women were cosseted and protected by their bonded at all times.
“How was the baby shower?” Mother asked. “What did you wear? You were meant to send me a picture of your outfit before you left your apartment .”
Mother had a way of saying ‘apartment’ like she was saying ‘prison’, it was genuinely impressive, even as I fought the very not sweet urge to roll my eyes.
I supposed, compared to the five-bedroom, five-bathroom sprawling home in Auburn where the rest of my family lived, my one-bedroom apartment seemed quaint.
“The pale pink pleated skirt Mercy found for me and the beige cashmere sweater I got in the city.”
I was sure she’d hear about the food incident at some point, but I wasn’t going to volunteer that information. I would definitely cry again if we talked about it now, and nothing frustrated my mother more than my tendency to weep whenever my emotions got the better of me.
Mother hummed disapprovingly. “You know I don’t like you in beige. Pale colors brighten your complexion.”
“I like my complexion.”
There was an indignant scoff on the other end of the phone that made me cringe.
I wasn’t about to fight that particular battle again, though.
At this point, I felt I was better focusing off my energy on preserving my own self-worth and my cousin Mercy who lived with her than trying to convince my mother she was beautiful the way she was—that we all were.
At least she wasn’t as hard on my brothers about their appearance.
Yet, anyway. Maybe once they hit middle school.
Be sweet. You know it was difficult for her when she first immigrated to Auburn.
“You could have stopped by the house,” Mother added. “You were just around the corner. Mercy will be disappointed that you didn’t want to see her.”
My jaw was starting to ache with how hard I was clenching it, so I forced myself to relax.
I saw my family every Friday night for dinner.
My cousin, Mercy was only 17, but incredibly understanding about why I didn’t visit more frequently than that.
Each dinner I would sit silently at the table and have my self-esteem ripped apart, one shred at a time, and spend the entire week building it back up again.
“Oh well,” Mother continued. “We all knew this would happen when you moved so far away. You’ll have to come here to get ready before the memorial so your dress doesn’t wrinkle on the way.”
That was a more creative version of ‘I need to approve your outfit’ than I usually got.
“Of course,” I murmured. “I should concentrate on driving now, Mother.”
“Indeed. We’ve lost enough of our women to car accidents today,” Mother replied absently, and I flinched at the bleak assessment. It wasn’t wrong —agathos couldn’t lie even if they wanted to—but it was still callous. Poor Joy Lyon.
As always, Mother hung up without saying goodbye, and the soothing sounds of I Heard It Through The Grapevine came through the speakers again.
I exhaled a long breath, forcing myself to concentrate on happier things, like what early 2000s rom coms I was going to watch tonight to pick myself up after my emotionally exhausting day, or the mint chocolate ice cream in the freezer I was going to indulge in for dessert.
Every conversation with my mother required breathing exercises and relaxing music afterward to aid the recovery process.