Banished Divinity: Learning to be Human

I cleared my throat—the celestial way. You know the one. A subtle shift in atmospheric pressure, a precise harmonic vibration of the air molecules around my larynx. In any proper realm, even creatures as tall as mountains would quiet themselves immediately, recognizing their place in the hierarchy when a being such as I was about to speak. The wind would hold its breath. The very stones would stop their slow turning.

The kitchen, however, continued its raucous chaos.

My human family—bless their stubbornly deaf ears—did not notice. They did not tremble. They did not even pause. My mother was arguing with my father about the proper way to slice scallions. Mina was still trying her best to convince Mum and Dad that I cheated, her voice rising in that particular pitch she reserved for accusations and tantrums alike.

I stood there, celestial throat still vibrating, utterly ignored.

I resorted to the one method that apparently transcended all cosmic hierarchies: shouting across the kitchen at a volume that would have made a banshee wince.

"IMPORTED ABALONE!" I said.

That, at last, got their attention.

Mina's eye twitched. Her left one. The one that always twitches when she is trying not to scream. "I don't — I never —"

"You said. The good abalone. Imported. You said it in front of witnesses."

"Mum and Dad don't count as witnesses. They're biased."

"I'm not biased," Mum said, wiping her eyes again. "I'm delighted. There's a difference."

"Dad cried when she was born. He's biased."

"I didn't cry," Dad said. "I had something in my eye. For twenty years."

"You literally have a framed photo of you holding her in the hospital with tears running down your face. IT'S ON THE WALL, DAD."

"That's artistic license."

"IT'S A PHOTOGRAPH."

Mina threw her hands up. "Fine. Fine! Abalone. Imported. Next week. But I'm ordering the most expensive thing on the menu too, and I'm not paying for it."

"You said you'd treat everyone," I reminded her.

"I said I'd treat everyone to abalone. I didn't say I'd treat everyone to everything. There's a difference. Read the fine print."

"There is no fine print. This was a verbal contract."

"I'm invoking sister privilege. Sister privilege allows me to reinterpret the terms of any agreement retroactively."

"That's not a real thing."

"It is now. I just made it real. With my sister authority."

"You don't have sister authority."

"I HAVE THE OLDER SISTER CARD. IT SUPERSEDES ALL OTHER ARGUMENTS."

"That card expired when you lost the bet."

"Cards don't expire. That's why they're cards."

Mum stepped between us, holding a wooden spoon like a scepter. "ENOUGH. Mina, you lost. Buy the abalone. Sera, stop making her eye twitch. It's creepy when it does that."

"It's not creepy," Mina muttered. "It's a medical condition caused by stress. STRESS FROM YOU."

---

Human Sera, floating beside me, was laughing so hard she was crying. Ghost tears. Actual ghost tears, dripping onto the floor where no one could see them.

"This is the best day of my existence," she wheezed. "The absolute best. I wish I could see her face. I wish I could —" She stopped. She looked at Mina. Really looked. And her laughter softened into something else. Something that looked like love.

"I wish I could tell her I'm proud of her," she said quietly. "Even when she's being a brat. I'm proud of her. I'm proud of all of them."

I looked at Mina, who was now arguing with Dad about the definition of "imported" — Dad insisting that "imported" meant "came from somewhere else" and Mina arguing that "imported" technically included "the grocery store down the street because the abalone had to be imported to the store from somewhere, so really, she already bought it indirectly."

"That's not even wrong," Dad said. "That's just stupid."

"IT'S LEGAL CREATIVITY."

I looked at Mum, who was already planning the meal, her hands moving in the air as she described the best way to prepare abalone — with butter, with garlic, with a side of Mina's tears.

I looked at the test paper on the table, the C that was not a victory for me but was a victory for them, for the family that had built something out of nothing and was still building, every day, without stopping.

"She knows," I said. "She knows you're proud."

Human Sera looked at me. "Does she?"

I thought about Mina, who had drawn pictures of me with banana faces. Who had left ramen outside my door with notes that said EAT, WEIRDO. Who had challenged me to a war over abalone and was now losing it with the grace of a cat being lowered into a bathtub.

"She knows," I said.

Mina must have heard me, because she stopped mid-sentence — something about "defining imported as a social construct" — and looked at me. Her eye twitched one last time.

Then she sighed. A long, loud, dramatic sigh that could have powered a small wind turbine.

"Fine," she said. "Imported abalone. Next Friday. Everyone gets two pieces. NO MORE THAN TWO. I'm not made of money."

"You're made of spite," Dad said. "Which is worth more these days."

Mina pointed at him. "You're on thin ice, old man."

"I'm on a chair, actually."

"THIN. ICE."

Mum laughed. Dad laughed. Mina tried not to laugh, failed, and then laughed anyway while covering her mouth so no one could see.

And Moo Moo, who had been sleeping in my pocket the whole time, woke up just long enough to say a soft, "Moo," which I translated as: This is nice. This is what family is supposed to feel like.

"Yeah," I whispered. "It really is."