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“You didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t need anything.”
“I know.” She takes the cap out of my hand and puts it back on. “I just wanted you to see.”
“You still hungry?”
“Obviously.”
“Tacos?”
“Three.”
“That sounds ambitious.”
She gives me the look I deserve and heads for the cubbies. I follow while she puts her shoes away, gets her backpack, and carries everything out herself.
By the time we’re back in the G-Wagon, she’s already moved on to whether three tacos counts as dinner or an appetizer.
“Dinner.”
“What if I get four?”
“Financial crisis.”
“You’re rich.”
“Not after four tacos.”
She rolls her eyes and turns toward the passenger window. We make it two lights before she speaks again.
“At the wedding.”
“Yeah?”
“Which side are you standing on?”
“The left.”
“And Mack?”
“Beside me.”
She nods once. “Okay.”
Then, to the window, “Mormor isn’t coming.”
I keep my eyes on the road.
“No?”
“Mamma said June is expensive.” She says it like something she was told once and wasn’t invited to discuss. “She said we’ll do it on the phone.”
“That right.”
“Yes.”
I don’t say one more word about it.
