Cris and I took seats across from one another while Rosie passed the platters and bowls around the table. Cris still hadn’t spoken and I wondered if he was annoyed that I’d come. I almost felt like I was intruding. When Cris handed me the heavy enchilada platter, his arm muscles bulged under the dark green polo shirt he was wearing. Even though he was sixty-five with salt and pepper hair and a face full of wrinkles, he clearly kept himself in good physical shape. Andie eagerly piled her plate high with all the food, different to the Italian feasts we were used to, although definitely similarly large servings. When the food made its way back to Rosie she served up Cris first, and then herself. She took extra care in placing the food onto Cris’s plate, making sure the enchiladas didn’t touch the rice or beans. But when she served herself, the food was slapped onto her plate without the same precision, all the food merging into one dish. Just as Andie was about to take a bite, Rosie reached across the table to take her hand and Cris reached over for mine. Andie quickly set her fork back down on the table and uncomfortably both of us reached out our hands, and clasped each other’s as well. Then we followed suit when Cris and Rosie bowed their heads. Cris began saying grace, Rosie nodding enthusiastically as he prayed. As I listened to Cris say words of thanks for the food in front of us, I thought about how different Rosie and Cris were. Rosie had been warm and open, eagerly showing her excitement at my visit, while Cris was withdrawn and hadn’t said one word to me. I tried my best not to take it personally, but since I’d just met him, it was hard not to.

When we were done, Andie dropped the hands and said, ‘Amen. Great prayer, Cris.’

I felt my cheeks warm as I picked up my fork. As much as I loved Andie, I knew she was a lot to take if you weren’t used to her personality. Cris and Rosie both seemed slightly confused by her. They were handling it well, though, smiling and nodding at her comments. Andie had a big smile on her face as she dug into the chicken enchiladas with gusto, groaning loudly.

‘Wow, Rosie, this is so delicious,’ she said, a few pieces of rice falling out of her mouth.

Rosie beamed. ‘Thank you dear, I made the tortillas myself from Cris’s grandmother’s recipe. So that would be your great-great grandmother then, Elizabeth.’ She wasted no time in steering the conversation back to the matter at hand. I shot a side glance at Cris, wondering if he’d join in at the mention of his grandmother, but still, he remained silent.