The Assimilated Cuban's Guide to Quantum Santeria Read Online Free Page A

identified, and returned to their loved ones. One ascent and she was hooked; she joined the team as a full-time volunteer researcher.
    And now we were seeing each other. And things were moving fast. Just four dates in and we were going back to my place.
    I unlocked the door, reached around to flip the lights, then gestured gallantly for her to enter. She curtsied and strolled in.
    And saw the tanks. I still had the smaller Kreisel with my original smack of jellyfish eternally smacking into each other, but what stopped her midstep was the new tank. It took up the wall, a tremendous bubbling cauldron of cornerless glass. In it, the two most enormous jellyfish she’d ever seen pulsed with slow dignity through the water, their blue-white auras commingling. A third one, still just a polyp, trailed behind them.
    “Jesus!” she said. “Wow. Just wow.”
    “Do you like it?” I asked, moving behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist.
    She leaned against me. “They’re so beautiful.” And then, searchingfor a more precise description, “So unearthly.”
    “My son’s an underwater filmmaker. He discovered this species of jellyfish.”
    She turned to face me, rested her hands on my shoulders. “No!”
    “Really. You’ll meet him someday. And I’ll have to show you his masterwork: ‘The Aphotic Ghost.’ He won an Oscar for it.” I directed her attention to the mantle.
    She looked, then turned back to me and smiled. “You are just endlessly surprising, Enrique.” Then, turning herself back to the tank, but belting my arms to her body, she said, “So when do I get to meet the Academy-Award-winning filmmaker?”
    “It’s going to be awhile, I’m afraid. He’s spending time with his mother right now.”
    “Ah. I see. Let me guess. You and she can’t be in the same room together?”
    “Not at all. We’re in the same room all the time. And she’ll always have a special place in my heart. It’s just that … well, let’s just say we come from two different worlds.”
    “Say no more,” she said, squeezing my arm. She turned back to the larger tank and, after a moment’s contemplation, she pointed at the polyp and said, “The tiny one’s cute. Does it have a name?”
    “She does,” I said, pulling Imelda a little closer. “Brumhilda.”

Homeostasis
    Eight seconds of footage, from a security camera so old it surrounds every object in the picture with rainbows. Man at a gas station robbing the attendant. Pantyhose flattening his nose. Waving a small, mean knife like a snakecharmer’s pungi.
    Customer walks in. Good-looking guy, California hair, white as a country club. Has no idea; walks in texting. The robber runs over and slams the knife through the top of his head. In to the hilt.
    Someone with the username “venividivicibitches” tries to troll /r/ funny with an animated gif from the security camera that infinitely loops the last few seconds of the attack and ends with the subtitle “lol.” Unsurprisingly, redditors downvote it into obscurity.

    Angela in the waiting room with her kids. Greg Jr. is painstakingly choosing his playlist. Lucy is asleep, her Hello Kitty purse wobbling treacherously on the precipice of her knees. Chase is unknotting his shoelaces. He’s only learned to tie them, likes to practice.
    This is the end of everything
, thinks Angela. It’s her only thought; it repeats like that animated gif she saw of Greg on Reddit. She has luminous wet patches beneath her eyes, remnants of the tears she obliterated before her children could spot them. Thank God for norun mascara.
    An IC nurse is jogging toward them. It’s Bonnie. She is 270 pounds, wears pediatric scrubs covered in cartwheeling pandas. Still a full first down away from the waiting room, she yells, “Ms. Justice!”
    Greg Jr. yanks out his earbuds; Chase stops playing with his laces; Lucy opens her eyes instantly. She had been fake-sleeping.
    “Greg?” asks Angela.
    Bonnie reaches the waiting room. Stops, stoops,