Chapter 7

I got the message. “Cornelius,” I said gracefully, my eyelid twitching, “Would you like to…” but he had turned and walked into the living room with his uncle and my father. I was at a loss, feelings coming up at me that I didn’t want—who the hell did he think he was? And a bit of feeling sorry for myself, which I suppose is what ‘Cornelius’ would have wished for.

I wandered back into the kitchen. Mrs. Gomez shook a wooden spoon at me and I broke into a big, if tentative, smile. Jesus gave me a hug, while the other two stood there gaping. Jesus winked at them and they blushed and got back to work, embarrassed. Mrs. G. narrowed her eyes. She looked me right in the face and said quietly, “Go fake it. They don’t care. You be proud, like Jesus.”

Jesus smiled. “Mama,” he asked, “Can I spit in Cunt’s food?”

Her smile disappeared. “Jesus!” she gasped. “You watch your mouth!”