Chapter 1 #3
“That doesn’t sound random at all; your life is a fucking circus. Of course you’re looking for a cleanse,” Maya says with trademark bluntness.
Wren ignores the reality check. “I just need some peace, ya know? I feel like I need to get all the bad vibes out of my house just so I can close my eyes again at night.”
“Is it worse at night?” Maya asks.
“It’s like a slow strangle at night. It seems like everything creeps out from wherever it was hiding. Maya, my eye bags have eye bags.”
Maya sighs. “It’s Mystical Mama to you, but do you want to hear my honest feelings about this?”
Maya’s family draws from traditional practices rooted in brujería.
Her grandmother Rosalía taught her everything she knew from a very young age.
Maya’s entire life had been filled with candles, herbs, oils, and amulets: all tools of the brujería trade.
She learned to perform cleansing rituals and the importance of eggs in protection spells all before she learned to read.
After their instant connection, Maya began to paint a vivid picture of her big family and her upbringing.
Now, Wren could spend hours listening to Maya’s stories of her grandmother.
Her memories feel like a warm blanket, transforming wherever they are into Rosalía’s kitchen.
Maya has an enchanting way of wrapping you in the smells of cinnamon bunuelos in the oven and the feeling of a home filled with magic and love.
But as much as she loves to hear the stories, Wren finds herself envious sometimes, having never known a grandmother’s hugs or affection of any kind. The only things she heard from her own grandmother were criticisms and strict reprimands, not exactly the warmth she imagines radiated from Rosalía.
Maya told her once that Rosalía was beside herself when her granddaughter announced she would be pursuing a career in law enforcement.
She lectured Maya on how dangerous it was and how she simply couldn’t entertain the idea that something could happen to her.
She passed away the year Maya graduated from the police academy, and one of the last things she did was first petition the aid of Archangel Michael to watch over her grandbaby and then she gave Maya a handmade resguardo, a small bag filled with items to protect her, to bring wherever she went.
Rosalía sewed it shut, so the contents are still unknown. Maya carries it everywhere.
Wren groans, knowing Maya will tell her with complete honesty anyway. “No. Just tell me you can help me.”
“I can help you, but not in the way you think I can.” She pauses, waiting for more pushback. “A cleansing won’t do it for you.”
“Do I need something stronger than that?” Wren asks.
“Not at all. You need to embrace this energy and begin to understand it.”
Wren scoffs. “I need it gone. I need peace.” She pinches the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. “I can’t fathom a world in which I embrace the way I feel every night.”
Maya’s voice is calm. “Richard is part of the energy that you are perceiving as negative. If you cleanse it, you cleanse him too. I can’t let you do that to yourself.”
Her words hit like a punch to the chest. Wren swallows hard, keeping the lump in her throat from turning into a sob.
The idea of accidentally cleansing Richard from her life is too much to take.
She silently chastises herself for even considering something so reckless.
For a moment, she feels so selfish and weak for trying to create peace for herself with complete disregard for anything else.
She’s kept his side of the closet the way it was when they left for Massachusetts.
Every now and then she grabs a T-shirt or a sweatshirt of his to wear, but she never washes them.
His scent has been slowly fading, and she desperately wants to keep what is left of it somehow.
It’s his mug that she uses for her coffee now too, an oversized beast of a mug with the word—
“Wren?” Maya’s voice interrupts her shame spiral. “Are you there?”
“I’m still here,” Wrens answers, her voice quiet.
She can hear Maya sigh. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Wren shakes her head, even though Maya can’t see her. “You didn’t. It wasn’t you.”
“Just try to interpret the energy in your house differently. Try to be open to the idea that this is grief and Richard is all around you.”
Now the tears fall freely. Wren lets her head fall back onto the headrest, and she just cries.
It comes in long, heaving wails, and it’s cathartic but so incredibly painful.
After a few moments, she can barely calm her breaths enough to speak.
“I’m sorry, Maya. I’m so sorry.” She sniffs loudly, looking at her face in the rearview mirror.
Streaks of mascara line her cheeks. Her head begins to ache, the weight of ten lifetimes of sadness pushing against her skull. “I didn’t expect that.”
“Honey, what just happened is much better than some ancient cleansing ritual. Consider your demons exorcised,” Maya says. “At least for the night.”