Chapter 4

I should have stayed in my room.

That was what I always did when my cousins were in the main hall. I'd learned early that showing up uninvited meant handing them free ammunition. But my mother had asked me to come down for breakfast, said it would be good for all of us to be together, that the family needed harmony right now.

My mother still believed in harmony with those three.

I went downstairs.

Beatrice sat at the head of the long table — the seat technically reserved for my grandmother, but one Beatrice occupied every time Grandma wasn't present, as if rehearsing. She wore a white dress, blonde hair falling in perfect waves over her shoulders, with the posture of someone born knowing the world was made to admire her.

Beside her, Latoya. Black hair falling straight to her waist, luminous skin, eyes that smiled in a way that never quite reached genuine kindness. Latoya was the kind of beautiful that intimidated before she opened her mouth.

Janiely sat facing the window, blonde like Beatrice but with a more restless, nervous energy. Of the three, she bothered me least because at least she was predictable. When she was about to strike, I could see it coming from a distance.

All three of them stood five foot nine.

I was five foot three.

I never felt shorter than when we shared a room.

I grabbed a plate, served myself without looking at any of them, and sat in the chair farthest from the head. My usual strategy. Physical distance didn't solve anything, but at least I didn't have to watch their expressions up close.

It lasted two minutes.

"Ellowen." Beatrice's voice had that specific tone I'd known since I was eight — sweet on the surface, sharp underneath. "Did you sleep well? You seemed worried last night when you left the hall."

"I slept fine." I didn't lift my eyes from my plate.

"Of course." She paused with calculated timing. "It must be hard, right? Getting news like that when you don't have anyone."

The fork stopped in my hand.

Latoya seized the silence.

"It's not that she doesn't have anyone, Bea. It's that nobody wants her. There's a difference."

Janiely laughed.

I breathed deep. Felt the cold begin at the base of my spine and climb slowly — that familiar sensation I'd spent years trying to suppress. A thin layer of ice started forming on the surface of my coffee cup.

I didn't let any more than that show.

"We already have everything lined up, you know?" Beatrice continued, as if I hadn't responded, as if I were part of the room's decor. "Me and Latoya. Janiely's working on her situation too. In three months it'll all be settled."

"Good luck to you," I said.

"Good luck is what you're going to need." Beatrice's voice dropped lower, more direct, shedding the false sweetness. "Look at yourself, Ellowen. Seriously. Look. You've got freckles on your nose, hair that looks like it caught fire, and a magic that's useful for what exactly? Freezing flowers? Making people wear coats in August?"

"Beatrice." My mother walked into the room at that moment, a bowl of fruit in her hands. "Enough."

"Aunt Enora, I'm just being honest." Beatrice opened her hands in a gesture of innocence so rehearsed it was nauseating. "Ellowen needs to understand reality. We don't have three months for niceties."

"The reality," Latoya said, inspecting her nails, "is that to get pregnant you need a man to be interested in you. And a short redhead with refrigerator magic isn't exactly what men are looking for."

The temperature in the room dropped three degrees.

No one had noticed yet.

My mother gave me that expression I knew well. Worry mixed with that gentle helplessness that was her trademark. She wanted me to stay quiet. Wanted me to endure it one more time and go upstairs and let it pass the way I always did.

But Janiely opened her mouth.

"She could at least try to fix herself up. I don't know, Ellowen, put in a little effort. You can't approach a man looking like that. You literally look like you just crawled out from under the snow."

"That's enough," my mother said.

"It's fine, Mom."

They all looked at me.

I raised my eyes from my plate for the first time since sitting down. Looked at Beatrice first, then Latoya, then Janiely. Slowly. No rush.

"I heard you." My voice came out calmer than I expected. "I've been hearing you for fifteen years. And that's fine. Keep going."

Beatrice arched an eyebrow.

"How mature."

"It's not maturity." I stood, picked up my plate. "I just don't need to waste energy on this anymore."

"Oh, how scary." Latoya smiled. "The refrigerator learned to talk back."

I stopped at the door.

I shouldn't have stopped.

But I did.

"When I win," I said without turning around, "and I will win — I want you to remember this conversation. Every word."

I climbed the stairs to the sound of all three laughing behind me.

I walked into my room and shut the door.

I sat on the floor with my back against the bed because my legs weren't steady and I didn't want to give my own body the satisfaction of seeing me shake.

It wasn't from fear.

It was from contained rage with nowhere to go.

My bedroom window was completely frozen. The carpet around me had tiny ice crystals on the tips of the fibers. The air was thick and cold, and I breathed deep — once, twice, three times — until I felt the temperature begin climbing back to normal.

I stayed there for a stretch of time I couldn't measure.

Then I picked up my phone.

Opened the browser.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

Beatrice had someone. Latoya had someone. Janiely was working on it.

And I had nothing.

I had never dated. Never been looked at the way you look at someone you desire. I was twenty-three years old and the list of men who had shown genuine interest in me was completely empty.

Latoya's voice echoed in my head.

"To get pregnant you need a man to be interested in you."

I closed my eyes.

When I hated myself, I got angry at myself for giving them that power. When I stopped hating myself, I got angry at them. That afternoon I was angry at everyone, including myself, which was exhausting but at least honest.

I opened the browser again.

This time I didn't close it.

I started searching.

I didn't know exactly what I was looking for until I found it. A discreet site — no photos, no explicit name. Just a description of services and a form with a field for preferences.

I read it three times.

Then I started filling it out.

Dark hair. Green eyes. Tall. Discreet.

In our family, dark hair meant elegance, meant power, meant everything I had never been. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it right. I was going to choose the exact opposite of what I was.

My fingers hesitated over the keyboard for a second.

Then I kept going.

Because my cousins could laugh all they wanted.

But I wasn't going to lose.

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