Banished Divinity: Learning to be Human

Dad looked up, his face wet, his nose running, the photograph still clutched in his hands like a lifeline. "I'm not crying."

"You're literally crying. There are tears. On your face. I can see them. They're reflecting the lamp light."

"Those are... allergies."

"It's August."

"Summer allergies."

"There's no such thing as Summer allergies."

"There is if you're allergic to humid. Which I am. I just discovered it. Right now. In this very moment. Congratulations, I'm a medical miracle."

"Summer allergies," Human Sera repeated, shaking her head. "He's so bad at lying. I love him so much. He once told me he wasn't eating my birthday cake when I caught him with frosting on his face. Said it was 'face paint.' I was seven. Even I didn't believe him."

Mum's eye twitched. Her left one. The same one that twitched on Mina when she was trying not to scream, set something on fire, or both.

"You are sitting in our living room at two in the morning," Mum said slowly, like she was explaining something to a particularly stubborn toddler, "holding a photograph of our daughter, sobbing your eyes out like someone just cancelled your favourite show, and you're telling me you have summer allergies?"

"Yes."

"To hot."

"Very Hot Hot. The hottest hot. It's a new strain. Highly contagious. You should probably stand back."

"That's not how allergies work."

"You're not a doctor."

"I'm a mother. That's basically the same thing but with more emotional damage, less student debt, and I know where you keep the good snacks."

Dad wiped his face with his sleeve, leaving a trail of sadness and snot. "I'm fine. Everything's fine. I was just... admiring the photograph. It's a very nice photograph. The lighting is excellent. Very artistic. Should be in a museum."

"You're crying."

"Admiring."

"WITH TEARS."

"Tears of admiration. It's a thing. Look it up."

"Tears of admiration," Human Sera said, grinning despite the sadness in her eyes. "I'm going to use that next time someone catches me crying over a sandwich. Or a commercial. Or that one time I watched a video of a dog being reunited with its owner. I cried for an hour. Mina laughed at me. I threw a shoe at her. Good times."

Mum's eye twitched again. Harder this time. Her hands balled into fists. "Daniel Lee, I have loved you for thirty-five years. I have cooked next to you, cleaned next to you, raised children next to you, watched you cry at dog commercials and sporting events and that one time a particularly emotional octopus escaped a tank. But I swear on your mother's grave—not mine, because that old shrivelled potato is still alive and texting me about her bunions—and also on your mum's grave, which is a very nice grave, by the way, with excellent flowers—Anyway, that's beside the point, the point is, if you do not tell me the truth right now, I will frame your next physical exam results next to the B."

Dad crumbled. "I miss her," he said. The words came out raw and broken, like they'd been clawing their way out for a long time. "I miss her, okay? I know we said we don't care about memories. I know we said we're just happy Sera on who she is now, suddenly smart again but acting all weird now. But I can't—" His voice cracked again. "I can't just not miss her. She was my daughter. And she's gone, and she's never coming back. And sometimes I look at Sera—the new Sera—and I see her, but I also don't, and it's like losing her all over again."

He stopped. He pressed the photograph to his chest. He closed his eyes.

"I just miss her," he whispered.

Human Sera floated closer. She placed her translucent hands over his, even though she couldn't touch him. Even though he'd never feel it. "I'm here, Daddy," she said softly, her voice breaking despite being a ghost. "I'm always here. I'm just... different now. But I never left. I promise. I never left. I'm still your daughter. I'm still the little girl who used to sit on your lap and watch cartoons. I'm still the one who drew mustaches on Mum's wedding photo. I'm still me. Just... see-through."

The kitchen was silent. The house was silent. Even the crickets outside seemed to have stopped, as though the world itself was holding its breath and waiting for someone to say something stupid.

Mum sat there for a long moment. Her face was unreadable. Her eye had stopped twitching. And then, very slowly, she reached out and put her hand on Dad's knee.

"You big idiot," she said quietly.

"I know."

"You big, stupid, wonderful idiot."

"I know."

"You could have just said you missed her. You didn't have to invent summer allergies."

"The allergies seemed more dignified at the time. Also, I panicked. Crying makes me panic. And panicking makes me lie. It's a whole thing."

"Nothing about this is dignified." Mum squeezed his knee. "But that's okay. We're not a dignified family. We're a family that cries over stupid bets and frames results on the wall and has emotional breakdowns at two in the morning while holding hospital photographs. And we're also a family that has a daughter who definitely heard all of this and is definitely hiding in the hallway right now, aren't you, Sera?"

I froze.

"Busted," Human Sera said cheerfully, floating back to my side. "Mum always knows. She has mom-dar. It's like radar, but for guilt. Also, you're terrible at hiding. I told you."

"Don't think I didn't see you," Mum called out without turning around. "You cast a shadow. It's a very obvious shadow. You're not as sneaky as you think you are. You never have been. You stomp like a baby elephant."

I stepped into the doorway, my face burning. "I wasn't spying."

"You were adjacent to spying. Which is spying-adjacent, which is still spying. That's basic math."

"That's not a real term."

"It is now. I just made it real. With my mother authority. I have a certificate. It's in the drawer next to Mina's report cards and the sad potato."

"Mother authority isn't—"

"MOTHER AUTHORITY SUPERSEDES ALL OTHER ARGUMENTS, INCLUDING LOGIC, REASON, AND THE LAWS OF PHYSICS. NOW COME HERE."

I walked over to the couch. Mum pulled me down next to her. She put one arm around Dad and one arm around me. She smelled like garlic, laundry detergent, and the faint, sweet scent of the perfume she only wore on special occasions. Also, a little bit like tears.

Human Sera floated above us, watching with a soft smile. Her translucent face—my face—held an expression I'd never seen on myself before. Peace, maybe. Or longing. Or love. Probably all three.

"This is nice," she said. "This is what I wanted. For all of you. To be together. To be a family. Even without me. Especially without me. Because I'm not gone. I'm just... here. Watching. Cheering. Making sarcastic comments that no one can hear."

"We're okay," Mum said. "All of us. We're not okay all the time, but we're okay enough. And that's what matters. Okay enough is still okay. And okay is better than not okay. That's... that's also math."

"That doesn't make any sense," Dad mumbled into the photograph.

"That's our brand," Mum said. "Chaos, feelings, and questionable math. Now go to bed. Both of you. It's two in the morning, and I refuse to parent anyone past midnight. That's overtime, and I don't get paid enough to have feelings this late."

"You don't get paid at all," Dad said.

"EXACTLY. NOW MOVE YOUR BUTTS BEFORE I START CRYING AGAIN AND MAKE IT EVERYONE'S PROBLEM."