Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

how badly Mamá misses me.
“I mean, she sits on your balcony every single night, staring out like
you’re dead or something.”
Sadness weasels its way into my soul, the idea of being the source of my
parents’ heartache not something I like to entertain. Even if their own
motives aren’t necessarily always the most selfless, my lot in life has been to
not add to the unhappiness rife in our world.
It’s something I plagued myself with, even as a child, going to great
lengths to be what my parents wanted. The perfect little mafia princess,
docile and submissive, willing to do anything to make them proud.
Anything for a chance at seeing the glimmer of pride in my father’s dark
eyes, or for my mother not to look at me like a younger, worse version of
herself she could live through.
Still, I am where I am, who I am, because of them and their choices. The
least my mother can do is cut me a little slack, and yet she’s still trying to
make me feel guilty, still trying to control me, when we aren’t even sharing
the same land.
“In the States, most people who grow up and get married move out of
their parents’ houses,” I tell Ariana, picking at a dead piece of mint, tossing it
into the garbage disposal. “In fact, it’s a little embarrassing I didn’t leave
sooner.”
“Not that you’d have been allowed to go anywhere,” she says, and when I
pick up the phone, reloading the video chat, I’m met by her big brown eyes as
she leans into the camera, applying a thin layer of makeup to her water line.
“You’re lucky Kal got you out when he did.”
I raise my eyebrows. “That sounds ominous. What are you not telling
me?”
She grins her little lopsided grin, twirling a strand of her chestnut-colored
hair around a manicured finger. “Nothing, really. Just... things changed a bit
when you left.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Everyone got really tight-lipped; Papá hardly comes out of
the study, and when he does, there’s this weird look in his eyes, like...”
She trails off, and I grip the edge of the marble counter, waiting for her to
continue. “Like what?”
“Like he’s a dead man walking.” Ariana glances at something past the
camera, widening her eyes slightly in an annoyed gesture she’s done since we