Thing is, I want my mother to be happy, but it’s clear to me that she’s searching for happiness in the wrong places; Harvey and Lake Crescent are just her latest destinations. Maybe this time it’ll finally work out. For my mother’s sake, I certainly hope so. But I’m not holding my breath. Not even for a second.

“Enjoy yourself,” I say, knowing from experience she wants some semblance of my approval. “And be safe. Try to avoid being featured in a National Geographic documentary as a cautionary tale. No selfies with black bears, okay?”

She smiles and throws an arm around my shoulders, giving me a light squeeze before she stands. “Take care of yourself, Dean.”

“Always do,” I say, forcing a smile.

I don’t mean it as a dig, but her face goes pale anyway. I suppose a guilty heart perceives blame even when it isn’t warranted.

Chapter Four

Solange

Yesterday I crashed a wedding and rode an emotional roller coaster dealing with the aftermath. So today I’m desperate for maternal affection—and snacks. The absolute best place to get both is Rio de Wheaton, the Brazilian grocery store and café my mother and her two sisters operate out of a strip mall in Maryland. Lately, it’s become a Sunday ritual of sorts too: I gorge on free food and soak in their attention, then my mother and I volunteer together at my neighborhood’s community garden.

When I open the shop’s door on Sunday afternoon, I spy my mother muttering to herself, her brow knitted in concern as she wipes the top of the salgadinho display case. “Mãe, what’s wrong?”

She immediately straightens and relaxes her expression. “Everything’s fine. A lot on my mind, that’s all.”

“Filha, fecha a porta,” Tia Viviane says as she whizzes past me without pausing. “You’re going to let the flies in.”

I scoot inside and close the door behind me. “Sorry! I should know better.”

If my mother and her sisters were each one of the seven dwarves, Natalia’s mother, Viviane, would be Grumpy; my mother would be Bashful; and Lina and my cousin Rey’s mother, Tia Mariana, would be Happy.

With mischief in her big brown eyes, Tia Mariana puts her hands around her mouth and addresses the Brazilian regulars loitering in the café section. “If you’re planning to get married, don’t invite this one to the casamento.” She cackles through her next words. “Ela dá azar.”

Oof. I can’t argue with her there. Just yesterday, I was thinking the same thing. But knowing you’re a magnet for bad luck and having your aunt declare it in front of everyone are two entirely different annoyances. Shaking my head, I pretend to tap her with a magic wand. “Go to sleep, Ruthless Dwarf.”

“What does that mean?” Tia Mariana says, peering at me suspiciously.