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He spoke in a bullet list. “Tacos al pastor. Refritos. Red rice. Grilled onions.”
Everyone helped set out the food and gathered around the table. Sally and Henry Dale watched Eli top his first taco with minced onion, green sauce, lime juice, fresh cilantro, and bits of pineapple. He devoured it in two bites while Mira, Rowan, and Iris fixed their own plates.
“I’ve never seen a taco like that in my life,” Sally declared. “No lettuce? No cheese? No tomatoes or salsa?”
“It’s more traditional,” Eli said. “Go easy on the green sauce; it’s pretty hot.”
Henry Dale didn’t say anything, but it amused Eli to see how carefully the old man added everything to the corn tortilla, like he was playing Jenga and one wrong move would collapse his meal. He went light on the green sauce, heavy on the lime, and the first bite put a big smile on Henry Dale’s face.
Rowan had their phone out. “It says here that tacos al pastor were invented by Lebanese immigrants in Puebla, Mexico, in the 1920s. Originally, they were calledtacos arabesand they used lamb.”
Eli grinned. He’d done the exact same thing when he tasted these, looked up the history of the dish. “Yup. The recipe wastweaked by local cooks—hence the spices and marinade—and they switched to pork because it’s more popular in Mexico.”
Rowan ate another taco. “Oh, interesting! This article says that in the early 2000s, a chicken version of pastor arrived in Lebanon, and it’s calledShawarma Mexici.”
“And we come full circle,” Iris intoned. “But while we enjoy the delicious grub, we have something important to talk about.”
Henry Dale said, “I think I know what this is about already.”
“Don’t keep the rest of us in suspense,” Sally urged.
Mira folded her hands and looked attentive while putting pineapple on her second taco. Eli let Iris take the lead since this was her house. While she hesitated here and there, she got the problem into the open eventually, leaving everyone silent in the shocked aftermath. People swapped looks, but he couldn’t read what those measuring glances meant.
“Does this mean we have to move out?” Rowan asked, their face still and sad. “I was the last person in, so I should probably—”
“No,” Eli cut in. “Definitely not. I’ll go if it comes to that, which it won’t. The whole point of this get-together wasn’t the taco chat.”
“Though that was fun,” Sally said cheerfully.
“Why aren’t you worried?” Henry Dale asked.
“Isn’t it obvious? Because we’ll figure something out. So many smart people in one room? There’s no way we don’t knock this problem on the head before dessert.”
Mira laughed. “I so enjoy the way you put things. And I agree with you. It’s not great news, but there has to be something we can do.”
“Off the top of my head, the quickest solution is marriage,” Sally suggested. “We get some legal families, and boom, we’re set. I nominate Rowan and Mira and…Eli and Iris.”
Rowan dropped their taco with a shocked splat. “What the heck! I’m only nineteen. Why don’tyoumarry Henry Dale?”
Sally narrowed her eyes, pointing a forkful of refritos in retaliation. “My backside! I’d rather marry the raccoon who rummages through our trash.”
“Me too!” Henry Dale snapped.
Iris sighed, rapping her knuckles on the table. “Nobody’s getting married. Let’s confine our discussion to reasonable, actionable ideas.”
“No doubt,” Rowan mumbled. “Are we coming up with a feasible plan, or are we doing a ‘wrong ideas only’ meme?”
“Hmm,” said Sally. “Well, I could stay part-time at Ethel’s place. I believe you need more than thirty consecutive days for residency.”
Eli shook his head. “That still leaves us with one too many. And we’re trying to avoid having anyone leave. I like things as they are.”
“Me too,” Rowan whispered.
Henry Dale didn’t chime in, but Eli could tell he felt the same way. While they didn’t qualify as a traditional family, theywereone. Mira shot a poisonous look toward Susan’s house, though it wasn’t visible from the kitchen.
“If I end up joining Ethel’s coven, I’m so hexing that wench.”
Eli blinked. “Why can’t you do it on your own?”
