I glared at the Last Supper wall clock, begging the minute hand to hasten its voyage between John and Jesus. I even tried giving telekinesis a shot, just for the hell of it.

"You look healthy, Jailen," my grandmother said as she finished setting the table—two hours behind schedule. She'd invited the whole family over for dinner, and as much as I despised these god-awful gatherings, free food was a weakness of mine she'd learned to exploit early on in my college career.

Jay leaned back in his chair, raising his brow in genuine surprise. "¿O sí?"

"¡Sí, por supuesto! Your hair is growing back." She poked his stomach. "And you gained weight!"

"The treatment must be working," my mother decided, beaming at her brother, who shot her a close-lipped smile. She was ten years younger than Jay, but now that she was approaching sixty, she'd acquired a bold set of crow's feet and two defined smile lines. Her hair was still as black and shiny as ever, though, and age hadn't dimmed her vivacity one bit.

"God is looking out for him, mija," Lita insisted.

Jay winked at me. "Him and Ramona."

I offered him a feeble grin, but the deception gnawed  away at Carl. How long would Jay be able to keep his lie intact before the family discovered his charade? Would he ever tell them the truth about his cancer treatment? Or would he die with his secret and leave me to drown in the ensuing chaos?

We both knew the longer the lie lived, the heavier the bombshell would be. And I did not want to get caught in the shrapnel.

After taking her place at the head of the table, my grandmother reached for Papá Noe's hand, then her daughter's. Stifling a sigh, I linked hands with Jay and my father as my mother proceeded to say grace. "Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord."

I looked at Jay, the only other family member with his eyes wide open. We shared a knowing smile before glancing back at our steaming bowls of pepián de pollo—partners in crime, teammates in apostasy.

I was really going to miss that.

My mother paused. "Please, Lord, continue to watch over our family and guide them through these challenging times. Let us live happily and healthfully in Your Love. Hear our prayer, loving Father, for we ask this in Jesus' name. Amen."

"Amen," the rest of us said in unison, and I immediately began stuffing my face with rice, stew, and homemade tortillas. I'd hoped my famished display might postpone my inevitable interview, but after a few minutes of our collective praise for the traditional Guatemalan meal, Lita turned to me excitedly.

"How is e'school, Ramona?" 

"It's great. My next semester starts Monday, so I'm just getting prepped for that."

Papá Noe scrunched his nose, as if he'd tasted something sour, and I knew my interrogation was about to begin. "What do you study again? Neuroscience?"

He'd asked me that every semester since I'd first submitted college applications, and I had a feeling it had more to do with his disapproval than any early indicators of dementia. "Psychology."

"Psychology, huh? What are you gonna do with a degree like that?"

Help people with their religious trauma, was the first response that came to mind, but I chose peace. "I'm not sure yet."

The gray-haired man set down his spoon, clearing the spice from his throat. "You're not sure...you're graduating soon, aren't you?" He glanced at my father—our family's American-born gringo. "You let her waste all that money on something she doesn't like?"

I scowled, jumping in before my father could respond on my behalf. "I do like it. I just haven't decided which direction I want to take it yet."

Mental health counseling, social work, criminology, clinical research, a doctorate in psychology...the options were endless. And yet, I was somehow expected to know what I wanted to pursue without any exposure to the workforce. Without professors who had industry experience and applicable knowledge to share. Without first obtaining a bachelor's degree.

I guess I was just supposed to know my destiny straight out of the womb, since "trial and error" was frowned upon when it came with a bill attached.

Really, a price tag was all anyone cared about. It was like no one saw education as a valuable asset unless it was tied to a profession. And Theo—save for Jay, of course—was the only other person unbothered by my failure to choose an emphasis. The barista didn't care that I lacked a grand plan. He even sympathized with my plight, and his role in my life was as impermanent as they come.

How backwards was that?

The old man released a conceited huff, and I counted my blessings when he didn't dive into a story about working the same blue-collar job for fifty years.

My father used a napkin embroidered with Bible verses to dab at the corners of his mouth. "As far as I'm concerned, a degree is a degree. But hopefully Mona can get an internship soon. She'll need something on her resume other than restaurant work. It's all about who you know these days." He pointed his spoon at me. "Speaking of which...I have a friend from work who's looking for assistants."

"You work at an accounting firm."

"It's a data entry position," he dismissed, completely deaf to the annoyance on my tongue. "You should call him up. At least get your foot in the door. Who knows where it'll take you?"

Data entry for an accountant.

And I thought The Orchard was bad.

My mother piped in, sensing an impending argument. "Mona is also taking a photography class this spring, mamá."

My grandfather scoffed and shook his head, scarfing down another spoonful of pepián to keep the negative comments in his throat. Little did he know, the class fulfilled an elective requirement for my major. Plus, I was paying for the course out of pocket because my father refused to finance a liberal arts minor.

"Ahhh, is she?" Lita exclaimed, her smile causing her eyes to disappear in the folds of her eyelids. "I still have the picture she taken years ago, the one with all the cousins and the childrens in the garden? She should do another at the family reunion. I need more of this photos for my hallway."

My mother nodded. "Her father doesn't see how beneficial it is, but I do. With all those families looking for graduation pictures and wedding photos, it's the perfect way to earn money on the side." She clasped her hands together. "¡Madre mía! Can you imagine when she's a mother? She'll be able to take such pretty pictures of her little ones someday!"

I gagged on a piece of chicken and glared at my mother from across the table. Why did my relatives even invite me to these functions if I was just a topic to discuss, not an individual worth addressing?

Jay eyed me in amusement. "Well, I think it's great, Roe. You've always loved art and photography. Gotta break up all those difficult classes with something that tickles the creative side of your brain."

I sent him an appreciative look, but I was grateful for much more than his timely interjection. Unbeknownst to the rest of the family, Jay had encouraged me to sign up for a photography course my senior year of high school. He'd planted the seed long before I'd even considered it an option.

Who gives a shit what your dad thinks? he'd said. It's your college experience, not his.

But what if I don't like it? I'd asked, afraid of wasting money and even more terrified of destroying my passion for the medium.

All the more reason to give it a go.

"I just think you have a lot of potential, Mona," my father reasoned, those pale blue eyes pinning me in place. His tone was warm, but his gaze was icy. "Let's try not to waste it, okay?"

Like a bug under a magnifying glass, I felt the heat boil in my sternum, spitting acid, ready to explode if I let it. "Yeah. I don't intend to."

Awkward silence fell over the table, and for a moment, all I could hear was the ticking clock and the scrape of metal cutlery.

God. Engaging with these people was like sitting on trial, and I wondered if they knew how far they'd pushed me away over the years. If they recognized the distance between us, or if they couldn't even see past the end of their upturned noses.

"Whatever you choose, it will be as God intended," Lita assured me, doing her best to diffuse the tension. But as I passed her my customer service smile, I couldn't help thinking of the satanic symbol painted on Theo's apartment door—and the unholy activities that occurred beyond it.

Yeah...I really doubt that.

While the men went off on a tangent about liberal professors brainwashing conservative students, my mother and grandmother gushed over the new babies our family tree was popping out back in Guatemala. It granted me the perfect opportunity to disassociate and finish my meal undisturbed.

"You look different, kid," Jay murmured after a few minutes.

"I got a haircut a while back."

"No, I mean you look happy," he said, his brown eyes searching my face. "You finally get a boyfriend or something?" He lowered his voice. "Get laid?"

I gaped at him and his supernatural deductive skills. "No. Why would you say that?"

"I dunno. You've got this...glow about you."

"I'm sweating," I insisted, ignoring his eye roll. "Lita's toasting us alive in here. I don't think she ever learned how to use the thermostat. She just leaves it the same temperature all year round. Pretends she's still in Guatemala."

He chuckled and reached for the tortillero between us. "Whatever you say, kiddo."