Photo: SC Martinez
Published in The Hooghly Review, April 20, 2025 (Easter Sunday)
Nominated for a 2026 Pushcart Prize.
Celeste’s family was due to arrive at our loft in Brooklyn for Easter dinner. I triple-checked to make sure everything was tidy—not easy with all the art supplies and equipment we had. Celeste monitored the progress of the scalloped potatoes and the ham in the oven. A homemade apple pie was on the counter. This was their first visit, and we were making an effort.
“Ben, we should go outside to wait for them now.” Celeste grabbed her keys.
“Good thinking.”
No one in our building had a doorbell. Visitors would shout from the street to the people with lofts in the front, but our place was in the back. Explaining to her family about calling us from the phone booth on the corner was more complicated than waiting for them on the loading dock in front of the building. Sundays were quiet in our neighborhood with all the factories closed. Hoping we weren’t setting ourselves up for a disaster, we waited holding hands until we spotted her parents’ silver-blue Impala slowly turning onto our street.
“Hello and welcome.” Celeste waved like a kid. “We’re so glad you’re finally here.”
I directed Celeste’s father to a safe parking spot near the building. Her parents, Joe and Bernice, with Celeste’s younger siblings, Tina and Carl, emerged from the car, scanning our street as if they’d arrived in an alternate universe.
“Quite a neighborhood.” Joe double-checked his car door locks.
Tina handed a plant to Celeste. “We brought you an Easter lily.”
“It’s beautiful,” said Celeste, hidden by the leaves. “Thanks for coming.”
Bernice frowned at the dirty façade. “What kind of building is this, Ben?”
“It used to be the Brillo Soap Pad building. Now it’s artists’ lofts.”
Suzanne C Martinez 