wanted the gift. There was nothing I wanted less.
“They’re clear enough?”
“Are you able to pinpoint time, date, and location? Seeing a vision isn’t much use if you don’t have the context. What happens when you get one? Walk me through the process.”
I detailed the flavors—what each signified, how I became a conduit for the prediction, and the lack of control or consent over what I was about to say. The prophecy controlled me.
“It shouldn’t be a painful process,” Aunt Evelyn said. “When I get a vision, I see everything as if the event were unfolding before my eyes in slow motion. I can take in whatever information I need to weave the prediction.”
The stern aunt I remembered from my childhood had resurfaced: stony expression, her knitted brows, and the unforgiving line of her lips. I was six again, watching the clock for the painful lesson to end.
“I’m sorry I’m not as adept as you,” my rebellious inner child replied.
She frowned.
“Sorry. Old habits die hard.” I reached for her hand across the table. She returned the gesture and squeezed.
“These next few weeks will be painful,” she said as her expression softened. “For both of us.”
“Why can’t I see more details?”
“You’ve been fighting against it all your life: your skill is stunted.”
Of course I had fought. People treated me differently. But if I had the kind of control my aunt wielded, things would be different—I would be different.
“My own aunt, and her cousin before her, shared our abilities,” she continued. “Aunt Charlotte’s command was more powerful than my own. She taught both Beverly and me. From her I learned our fate with love. This is why there has never been a passing of the gift from mother to daughter: it travels along the family tree, surfacing when it finds the right recipient. Had you allowed me to teach you years ago, it wouldn’t be so difficult now.”
“Are you saying I brought this all on myself?”
Aunt Evelyn set down her teacup and smacked the tabletop. The china clinked in sympathy. “Stop acting like a victim, Vanessa. You have a gift. It’s not a curse. If you want to continue to blame it for everything wrong in your life, you don’t need to be here.”
Seventeen
Ma said I was a good girl until forced to do something I didn’t want to do. Aunt Evelyn had learned this when she had tried to coax me to drink tea as a child. I’d already had a habit of blurting predictions and knew what drinking tea would cause. She coaxed, cajoled, and then commanded. I defied her with every molecule of my being. I felt the same now.
Rebellion bubbled close to the surface like a simmering broth. This cursed “gift” both fed and fueled my defiance. With childish logic, I had held my aunt responsible. It was unfair then, and it was unfair now. She shouldn’t have borne the brunt of my frustration years ago, nor should she be its target now.
“I’ll be better with my attitude,” I said.
Aunt Evelyn transferred a chocolate éclair onto my plate. “I understand it’s hard for you. Right now, you don’t have any control. Mastering your gift will open the possibilities.”
“Did you ever see anything involving your life?” I asked.
“No. Aunt Charlotte never did either. I wish I had visions of my future. I’m like everyone else: there’re a few things I’d like to change in my personal history.”
I doubted she’d tell me if I asked. The disclosure of regrets was reserved for those who had earned it. I was beginning to think I might never.
She continued: “It’s not possible to see our own path. Imagine how easily we could interfere and abuse our gifts. You’ll learn the limitations have a specific purpose, to protect us.”
“There has to be room for negotiation. There must be,” I reasoned.
“Of course you’d resort to this tactic. After all, who else taught you better than your aunties?”
I couldn’t help but laugh.
Bargaining was an Olympic sport among the aunties and was further divided into two subcategories: hunting and negotiating. Auntie Gloria once stalked online auctions and local flea markets for a year to find a rare starship Enterprise cookie jar. The haggling left the seller in tears. Auntie Gloria didn’t have a cookie jar collection nor did she care about the sci-fi television series, but Auntie Ning did, and she, in turn, was holding a decommissioned Lladró figurine hostage. As far as I knew, no items had exchanged hands because the negotiations were still ongoing.
“Do you know