SASHA.
Aunt Neisha’s living room smelled like incense.
It hit me the moment we stepped through the door, warm and heavy and comforting, and it settled into our clothes immediately. The room itself was large, a clear sign of wealth and power that was completely different to what I was used to. Thick rugs covered most of the floor, patterned and deep-colored. The furniture was cream and dark wood, and probably cost more than someone’s house. Against the far wall, a wide flat screen sat above a low cabinet lined with framed photographs, along with decorative plates and a shelf with small ornaments arranged with intention.
Behind the couches, pushed to the edges of the rugs, were the coolers. Large ones, stacked in pairs, with smaller bowls and covered trays arranged beside them. The smell
