“Yes, of course. I’ve been working with Camilo’s agency. Training some of the women in their economic mobility program.” Soon she was launching into a detailed explanation of the expansion. My mom had started working as court interpreter in New York City when I was finishing middle school, after years of night school and working minimum wage jobs to support us. Once she’d been in it for a while she noticed there was a lack of interpreters from Haiti, Cuba, Puerto Rico and Dominican Republic who could better accommodate people from those countries when they needed to testify in court or to be deposed. So she decided to start a business that specialized in court interpreters from the islands. After only a few years, business was booming. She had over fifty interpreters now. She favored women in her hiring, because she wanted to help those who, like her, were trying to make it here.

“You are killing the game, Odette.” That made her preen, and she had plenty of reason to. She had put her all into that business, and I was so damn proud of my mother.

I always had an amazing example to follow. My mother paid a steep price to be able to start her business, but she’d made sure she never had to ask for help again. That was something I never ever forgot.

We both looked at each other as if we were thinking the same thing. But before we could go down memory lane we heard the doorbell and I stood up to get the door, and could already hear my two best friends arguing on the other side of the door.

“Juan Pablo, just call her.” I found Camilo giving Juanpa epic stank face, while J just stood there unresponsive.

“Do I even want to know?” I asked, as I ushered them inside.

“Just trying to talk some sense into him.” I raised an eyebrow, because with Camilo that could mean anything, since he freely told us what to do about pretty much every aspect of our lives.

He rolled his eyes at the puzzled look on my face. “Priscilla.” Oh. No wonder Juan Pablo wasn’t talking.

I was going to tell Camilo to leave him alone when the doorbell rang again. I opened the door and found Camilo’s mom, Dinorah, and Juanpa’s parents, each holding a dish of something. My mom jumped up as soon as she saw them.

“Finally, I thought I was going to have to sit and hear these three fight all night,” she said as she passed Camilo, Juanpa and I, delivering double kisses to them as she went.

After the routine hellos, which with a mix of Caribbean people and J’s Italian mom, took some time, we all went in and started helping get dinner on the table.