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Talia shakes her head no and folds her arms over her chest.
I want to apologize for her stand-offish behavior, but Dejonae doesn’t give me the chance. She gestures something to the three ladies, sweeps a plate with the strange fried dough and motions for Talia to mount the bar stool on the opposite side of the island counter.
I help Talia to sit on the tall stool. She gingerly picks up the fried dough that was given to her. After one nibble, her eyes brighten and she stuffs the whole thing into her mouth, crumbs flying everywhere.
The other children must have noticed that food is being handed out because they gather like moths to a flame. The girl in the wrench-themed shirt takes the seat beside Talia. She slides her cell phone over, initiating a conversation.
Talia gives her a snobby look and I inwardly cringe.
Please behave while we’re here, Talia.
A waving hand catches my eye and I turn to find the woman with the pregnant belly typing in her notes:
I don’t think we’ve been introduced. I’m Kenya. That’s Sunny and that’s Island.
Those two names together sound like she’s describing a café in the Caribbean.
I’m Richard Sullivan
Sunny types to me:
We know. We saw your interview.
Super romantic.
That last note was from Island. The woman with the stylish white hair has extremely long nails and I’m astonished at the speed that she types with them.
“Daughter?” Kenya signs and then she points to Talia.
I take a beat longer than necessary to answer because these women are fascinating to me. The way they switch between signing and writing notes is effortless.
“My niece,” I sign. “But she’s staying with me for a few months.”
She’s shy, huh?Island types.
I think about how to respond to that and can’t find a better word for it, so I shrug and nod.
A second later, I point to the bucket of golden dough.
Fry jacks,Kenya types.
It’s a Belizean breakfast food,Sunny adds,but these people want it for lunch and dinner. Addicts. All of them.
A pale hand pops over the bucket of fried jacks and Sunny smacks it without checking who the hand belongs to.
I glance over at the kids and, to my surprise, it’s Talia nursing her hand. She looks shocked and, frankly, so am I.
But Sunny’s eyes are on her phone as she types. She flashes a message at the crowd of kids.
We ask before we take, understood?
Talia looks at me.
I look back at her.
Someone taps my niece on the shoulder. The girl in the wrench T-shirt slides over her phone. Talia’s expression clears and her lips inch up a bit. She glances at one of the boys knowingly and it seems like they’re all plotting something.
I’m proven right.