Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

“Of course, you didn’t, because you’re still an immature, selfish little
girl.”
Mamá’s voice interrupts the quiet din of the patio atmosphere, and for
once, I hear the malice threaded in her words. It’s not disguised at all in her
tone, and when she rounds the table in a floor-length, bright red evening
gown, I see it written on her face.
The woman who helped me get ready for my wedding and the woman
standing here now are not the same person.
Not even a little bit.
Kal shoves back from the table, making the dishes clatter with the force.
Murder rims his dark eyes, setting them aflame. “Carmen.”
She grins, lifting a brow, bringing her wineglass to her lips. “Oh, come
on, Kal. I know my daughter. She’s quite the chip off the old block, wouldn’t
you say?”
Sighing, Papá rubs his temple. “Carmen, what are you doing?”
Sitting in the chair at his side, her grin grows, stretching so wide across
her face that it looks painful. She swirls the wine in her glass, gesturing
toward my sisters. “Girls, why don’t you take Nonna to her room for a nap?
We don’t want her falling asleep at the recital.”
Ariana snorts. “I don’t want to miss whatever this is.”
But Stella elbows her, yanking her up from the table; they flank Nonna on
both sides, catching her when she droops forward in her drunken stupor.
“I was going to tell you,” I say, putting my water down. “It just kind of
slipped my mind with everything else.”
“Yes,” Mamá says, leaning back in her chair, “hard to remember
important things like who your family really is, when you’re too busy
spreading your legs for the first man to ever pretend he cared about you.”
My face heats up, bile scratching and clawing at the base of my throat,
dragging irritation up along with it. “What’s wrong with that? He’s my
husband, after all.”
“Because your father wanted him away from me.”