Before You Let Go
Marisol stood near the counter, directing people like she had inherited her mother’s full command energy.
“Miro, stop eating before prayer.”
“I’m taste-testing,” Miro said, now seventeen and tall enough to look ridiculous when he pouted.
“You’ve been taste-testing for twenty minutes.”
Nica and Sassa, both taller now and still impossible to tell apart when they wanted to mess with people, started laughing.
“Kuya Miro, takaw,” Sassa teased.
“At least hindi ako nahulog sa deck as a kid,” Miro shot back.
Sassa gasped. “That was low.”