“Why did you pick Rainbow?” Britt asked.
“I didn’t pick it. Spirit bestowed it upon me.”
Spirit.Rainbow used this term often. Britt didn’t want to ask what it meant. Rainbow spoke of it with such reverence that Britt thought she’d seem stupid for not already knowing.
“I think the name captures the different shades of me,” Rainbow went on. “I am not monochromatic. I am a color wheel.”
Britt had no idea what she was talking about, but she was still intrigued. What name would she choose if she could choose anything?
Rainbow served them homemade macaroni and cheese, rich and creamy, nearly overflowing from a casserole dish that Rainbow had pulled from the oven. Rainbow poured herself a glass of wine and tall glasses of grape juice for the girls. She lit a candle in the middle of the table. They took a moment to thank Spirit for the meal before them. Britt was always starving because her mom didn’t keep enough food in their house, but she told herself to eat slowly. She matched Becky’s pace, let herself get accustomed to the laid-back rhythm of their mealtime. Britt and her mom only ate at the table if Bill was over. Every other time, they ate in front of the TV, and often Britt’s mom didn’t eat at all. Britt had suggested once that they eat at the table together, “like a normal family,” and her mom had laughed at her as if she’d just told the funniest joke, and said, “Britt, you are too much.” It was true—anything Britt wanted was too much for her mother. Britt’s basic existence was too much for her mother.
As they finished dinner, Rainbow’s friends arrived—two men and two women who also looked like they’d stumbled out of Woodstock. They all had wavy hair, greasy at the roots, and they were all wearing Birkenstocks. Rainbow asked them if they minded if Becky and Britt witnessed the proceedings, and they said they didn’t, that they thought it was beautiful for “young souls” to participate.
The two men were named Wilder and Zephyr. The women were Indigo and Julie.
“Julie is the one who’s changing her name,” Becky told Britt, as if that needed to be clarified.
“What’s she changing her name to?” Britt asked.
Becky shrugged. “They say they don’t know and then the name comes to them during the ceremony.”
Spirit.
The ceremony involved all of them, Britt and Becky included, sitting in a circle in the living room, holding hands, eyes closed. They’d turned out the lights, their faces lit by a collection of candles in the center of the circle. Rainbow started humming a tune, and they all joined in like it was a ritual they performed on a daily basis.
“Julie, we are so honored that you are choosing a spiritual path with us. Please share with us the name that is coming to you in this moment.”
Britt opened one eye to peek at what Julie was doing. Her head was titled toward the ceiling, eyes still closed. She took several deep breaths, inhaling and exhaling dramatically. Her eyelids fluttered.
“The name that is coming to me is ... Angeni,” she said.
“Angeni,” Rainbow said.
“Angeni,” they all repeated.
“Welcome, Angeni,” Rainbow said.
They resumed their humming for several minutes, during which Britt repeated the name to herself in her head—Angeni, Angeni, Angeni. She’d never heard the name before. It was as pretty as it was unusual.
Angeni.
Chapter 4
Sasha
Sasha Robinson knew the exact moment she’d first heard the name Angeni Luna. She was having dinner with her sister, Daphne, and Daphne’s husband, Jay, at their little rundown rental house in Ballard. Occasionally, Daphne invited their mom to join, but this night wasn’t one of those nights. It was just the three of them.
Daphne was seven months pregnant with her first baby, a fact that astounded Sasha. Daphne, six years older than Sasha, had been like a mother to her little sister, so it shouldn’t have been hard for Sasha to believe that Daphne was going to become an actual mother. But it was hard to believe. Or maybe Sasha was just in denial because she didn’t want to share Daphne. It was inevitable that her sister would have less time for her once the baby came. Sasha was doing her best to pull away more, to train herself away from needing Daphne so much. She’d thrown herself into studies—at twenty-five, she was the youngest student in the University of Washington’s feminist studies doctoral program. Daphne was onto her, said, “I see what you’re doing, sis. Pushing me away. But you better not miss family dinner.”
The moment Sasha walked into the house that night, she smelled her sister’s chili. It was her specialty, something she’d made every week when they were growing up—starting when Daphne was eleven andSasha was five. Daphne took it upon herself to become the chef of the house when they were young, mostly because she got sick of Chef Boyardee and the other cheap boxed and frozen stuff their mom kept stocked for them. Daphne had a magenta three-ring binder with recipes scribbled down on notebook paper. The chili recipe was titled “Bowl of warmth and love.” Sasha had so many fond memories of that chili. Or maybe they were fond memories of her sister taking care of her. They rarely saw their mother during the week. She came home from her day job at the hospital—she’d started in the janitorial department before moving over to administration—just to change her clothes and go to a night shift at the pharmacy. It was Daphne who fed Sasha and helped her with homework and cuddled with her until she fell asleep. It was Daphne who picked out her school outfits and laid them out before bedtime. It was Daphne who packed her school lunches, always including a piece of Halloween candy from the bucket they kept in their closet throughout the year.
“Wow, that bump is bumpin’,” Sasha said as she walked into the tiny galley kitchen and saw her sister standing at the stove. Daphne flinched—she hadn’t heard Sasha come in.
“You trying to give me a heart attack?” she said, putting her hand to her chest.
“Sorry,” Sasha said. She went to her, wrapped her arms around Daphne in a tight hug, pulling her sister as close to her as the bump would allow.
“I fear something’s come between us,” Sasha said with mock seriousness.
