This year, the Dia de los Angelitos fell on a Friday, and Dia de los Muertos on Saturday. Which would he come? He had been fourteen, but could drive, had worked at the bridge with his uncle, unloading crates. Had made a bebé with Keisha, still in her belly.
Estrella set a sugar skull on the altar on Friday, beside the marigolds and white candles.
Tommy came home late, beer staining his jacket.
"This ain't Mexico," he said, swatting at the altar.
The sugar skull rolled onto the floor.
A pale hand reached for it.
"Miguel," she breathed. "Mi hijo."
Author bio: RS lives in Detroit, where they aim for a zombie theme park. She thinks one already exists in her head. Admission is free: http://rsbohn.blogspot.com
Hijo is part of 101 Fiction issue 2.