On St. Patrick’s Day, Rosa wore her “Kiss Me, I’m Irish” pin with pride. Unlike so many of the people that wore their green memorabilia and drank their green beers, Rosa actually was Irish. Well, half-Irish, though her Irish blood had manifested strongly in her appearance. With her red hair, green eyes, fair skin, and freckles, she most certainly had an Irish image.

Coming from such a strongly Irish family, St. Patrick’s Day was a day for family get-togethers. Everyone wore nice, tasteful clothes, all outfits sporting some green. When Grandmother was in attendance, things were supposed to be kept tasteful and uncommericalized – she insisted that St. Patrick’s Day celebrations outside of Ireland were often a load of nonsense – and yet Rosa wore her pin and ignored the disapproving looks the family matriarch sent her way.

When the food was ready, Rosa and her family took their seats at the dining table, Grandmother sitting at the head. Her mother had been cooking all day with Rosa lending a hand, and together they had churned out an impressive amount of food: lamb chops, baked potatoes, cabbage and bacon, soda bread, and a chocolate cake with green frosting (a certain little sibling had to have chocolate cake).

A quick blessing was said over the meal – even Grandmother knew better then to keep a bunch of young people from their food – and then everyone dug in. Plates and bowls were passed around and forks engaged in pointless battles over the “best” portions of food. A pitcher of Guinness was passed around, and even Rosa was offered a sip, but she declined with a wrinkled nose. Small hands reached for the pitcher that Rosa had declined, but a stern look from the head of the table stopped them in their tracks.

Once everyone had their food, the initial ruckus died down, everyone too busy stuffing themselves to do much talking. Of course, that didn’t deter Grandmother.

“ Rosa dear, you’re awfully scarce these days. I haven’t seen you or your little friends in some time. How are they?”

Some time ago, Rosa had been forced to get together with “friends” – fellow Senshi in their civilian guises – at her Grandmother’s house, so as to avoid unwanted attention from her parents and siblings. Grandmother had been pleased that Rosa was making more friends, even if she wasn’t especially impressed with the quality of the friends she had made; unimpressive friend still beat no friends.

Rosa was aware of Grandmother’s thoughts. With her two elder siblings going their separate ways, she had decided that it would fall to Rosa to become the next head of the family, the next Matriarch. For a while, Rosa had chafed at the idea; that had landed her at Crystal Academy. Then she became a Senshi and a lot of her views changed. She could better understand the importance of family and the desire to preserve history. She still didn’t appreciate how Grandmother expected her to fill the role, expected her to learn to act in a way more befitting her ideals, but she at least understood where she was coming from. In truth, the idea of becoming the next head of the family would have some appeal if it wasn’t for the whole Senshi thing.

She was getting better at balancing the different aspects of her life – daughter, sister, student, Senshi – but she still wasn’t perfect at it. Lies had become an unfortunate fact of life. If she had trouble keeping everything separate and straight now, she couldn’t see how she’d do it when she had a job and family. Not unless she won the lottery, became a millionaire, and cultivated the image of “mysterious millionaire recluse.” Somehow, the image didn’t fit.

“ Fine. We were busy with a project for a while, but we went our separate ways with the new semester.”

Partial truth. The group she had brought to Grandmother’s house was her attempt at making a Senshi team. That had been their only meeting though. After that, there was no time, no way to get everyone together, and eventually everyone drifted apart; some she hadn’t seen since. Rosa – Pomona – had kept fairly busy though, and had gotten stronger and maybe even a bit smarter since then.

And that was a random, amusing thought. The Latin-Spanish flare of her Senshi appearance had grown stronger as she leveled up. Here was Rosa Sullivan, proud of her Irish heritage, decked out in green and digging into an Irish-inspired meal. Tonight though she would be Sailor Pomona, Senshi of Peppers, fighting evil in a fuku that wouldn’t look out of place in a Latin dancing competition. In the past she had lived on a planet of Spanish space hobbits, and as quaint as some might find Planet Pomona, she was by no means ashamed of it. So what did that make her? An Irish alien? A Pomonian leprechaun?

She supposed it didn’t really matter. This – Victor glaring at his vegetables on his plate, Flora trying to grab mom’s dangly earring, dad joking with Milo, Alex teasing Quintus – was her family now. The past – her heritage - was important, but it wasn’t more important than the present. She’d have to do the best she could. Maybe she could be the eccentric cat-lady Matriarch.