“Lilies, black, yada yada,” Verlaine said.
But Mateo shook his head. “No. It’s a cheerful day. A great day. You don’t go there to cry; you go there to celebrate. To remind yourself what you loved about the people you lost, and have fun with them like you used to when they were alive. People bring chocolate and pan de los muertos and sugar skulls like this one.”
Nadia thought about it. “So all the happy skeletons on the wall of your dad’s restaurant—”
“Exactly.” Mateo grinned. “In Spanish, la catrina means ‘the rich woman.’ I think the name was originally to kind of make fun of Grandma. But the skeleton of a rich woman with flowers in what ought to be her hair—that’s one of the figures people celebrate on the Day of the Dead. Like all the other ‘happy skeletons.’ They’re reminders that we all die, but even death isn’t the end. Not if people remember you, and remember the love you had while you were still here.”
“I still think it’s kinda morbid,” Verlaine said, but she nibbled on the edge of the sugar skull anyway.
Seize the moment, Nadia reminded herself. Better to have loved and lost. At least you can remember. Even remembering Mom didn’t hurt as much any longer.
And, as she looked across at Mateo—grinning at her over Verlaine’s head—Nadia knew the only way you ended up with any love to remember was by daring to love right now.
She didn’t intend to waste any more time.
Smiling brilliantly, Nadia said, “I think it’s beautiful.”
But Mateo shook his head. “No. It’s a cheerful day. A great day. You don’t go there to cry; you go there to celebrate. To remind yourself what you loved about the people you lost, and have fun with them like you used to when they were alive. People bring chocolate and pan de los muertos and sugar skulls like this one.”
Nadia thought about it. “So all the happy skeletons on the wall of your dad’s restaurant—”
“Exactly.” Mateo grinned. “In Spanish, la catrina means ‘the rich woman.’ I think the name was originally to kind of make fun of Grandma. But the skeleton of a rich woman with flowers in what ought to be her hair—that’s one of the figures people celebrate on the Day of the Dead. Like all the other ‘happy skeletons.’ They’re reminders that we all die, but even death isn’t the end. Not if people remember you, and remember the love you had while you were still here.”
“I still think it’s kinda morbid,” Verlaine said, but she nibbled on the edge of the sugar skull anyway.
Seize the moment, Nadia reminded herself. Better to have loved and lost. At least you can remember. Even remembering Mom didn’t hurt as much any longer.
And, as she looked across at Mateo—grinning at her over Verlaine’s head—Nadia knew the only way you ended up with any love to remember was by daring to love right now.
She didn’t intend to waste any more time.
Smiling brilliantly, Nadia said, “I think it’s beautiful.”
