I ran as fast as I could from Angel’s car, crashed into the door. "“Mud! You’'re tracking mud!”," called my mother from the living room. I wiped my sneakers on the mat and kicked them off.

My mom was burning incense and gossiping on the sofa with her bubblehead friends. As usual, she was in some fancy, silky outfit and a glass of wine in her hand. I slid on the polished hardwood floor and poured myself a glass. "“Olivia."” I looked at my mom from the corner of my eye. “"Merope?"

“"Yes, Olivia, would you please go tell Marge to water the plants?"” Marge was our, uh, gardener. She does a bunch of other things and I think it’s wrong we don’t pay her a whole lot. Her real name is Mariana, which my mom seems to forget since she calls her Margarita.

I ran outside past the grapevines-- we sell grapes to make wine -- and I told Mariana my mom’s order. She started yelling something in a foreign language, probably about the grapes and how she already watered them. She just fertilized them instead, I guess she forgot to do that.

I leaned against Marge’s little house and looked at our 3-story estate. White siding, a patio overlooking a creek, flower gardens. My mom tells me she inherited the house from her granddad. She planned to have more kids to fill the bedrooms but she got scared, because of some incident, and the reason I exist or something.

I’ve never met any of my family. I don’t even know my mother too well, since Mariana and Angel raised me for the most part. If even I didn’t know my family, how could that one guy know them? And how could he be a goddess’s son if it’s all a myth?

But, if I was a goddess, I would probably be pretty angry if someone thought I wasn’t real.. Just because I was old. I'’m probably going to treat my mom like that when she'’s a grandmother, though.