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I laughed. My two oldest friends had always enjoyed teasing Vitoria. In fact, they’d made it their personal mission to get their little Vivi as riled up as possible.
“I can’t argue with that.” I laughed again. “We all enjoy tormenting you a little bit.”
“You guys all suck.”
The sound of the door opening and shutting again cut through our conversation, and Mom’s voice traveled into the living room. “Toria, come help me with the groceries!”
She groaned into one of the throw pillows and chucked it at me when I laughed at her.
“Tag,” she sneered playfully.
I got to my feet and met Mom in the hall with a smile. “Hi Mom,” I said.
She spun around in surprise, nearly dropping one of the bags precariously cradled in her arms. “Mia!” she exclaimed, quickly setting the bags down to wrap her arms around me tightly.
I held still as all the air in my lungs wheezed out under the force of her hug.
“I’m so glad I went shopping,” she said, letting me go and fluttering her hands over the bags. “Let me get lunch started for you.”
Vitoria’s disgruntled voice reached us as I bent down to grab some of the bags.
“I’m hungry, too,” she whined.
“And you could have fixed yourself something to eat already!” Mom called back, but from the smile blooming on her face I knew she didn’t mean it.
Vitoria and I had been spoiled by Mom’s cooking, and with enough flattery neither of us had to cook if we didn’t feel like it. Mom loved cooking more than she loved her telenovelas.
Which was saying a lot. So we never really felt guilty for it.
We walked into the kitchen and I set about packing away the many groceries she’d bought.
“Help me get the pots on the stove,” Mom ordered from the inside of the pantry.
Silently, I did as she’d asked, rummaging around in the pot drawer for the right ones.
“So,” she prompted. “Where’s your girlfriend today?”
The pot slipped out of my hands and bashed against the rest of them, the sound deafening in the kitchen. Distantly, I heard Vitoria’s squawk of laughter from the living room.
“Mom!” I hissed, my face hot. “Reid is not my girlfriend, she’s my boss!”
“Right, because everyone looks at their boss with goo goo eyes.” She chuckled knowingly.
I glared at her. “You don’t have to say everything out loud, you know,” I muttered, going back to the task she’d given me. “Oh, that reminds me: don’t say anything weird around her, even in Portuguese.”
“Why not?”
“She learned Portuguese, Mom.”
“Oh, she is definitely not just your boss.” She giggled.
I turned around, my hands on my hips. “What is that supposed to mean?”
She grabbed the dish cloth off her shoulder and swung it at me with a loudTHWACK! After living alone for so long I’d gotten slow. Too slow to avoid my mother’s excellent aim, and the end of the dish cloth caught the back of my thigh.
“I raised you to be smarter than that,” she scolded, tossing the dish cloth over her shoulder like it wasn’t a weapon of mass destruction. “Do you know how long it takes to learn a new language?”
“Of course I do,” I said.
