“Four,” he answers, leaning in. “Plus my Aunt Nia, who isn’t really my aunt but was best friends with my aunt Patrice growing up and practically lived here.”

I glop a huge spoonful of mashed potatoes onto my plate and put the spoon back. I point to the floor. “Here? Meaning, this isn’t your house?”

“This is my house, honey,” Mawmaw Barb butts in from her end of the table. “Daniel’s momma lives a few blocks down.”

“Oh.” I feel stupid for not realizing.

“These are my daughters—Tiffany, Patrice, and Desiree. Daniel’s momma, Irene, is working late tonight. And Wanda, who you know from the café, will be by later.” They all smile and say hello in between loading their plates up with boiled shrimp, okra, rice, and sautéed peppers.

A younger woman, maybe in her late twenties, smiles at me from across the table. “I’m Angela. I’m Daniel’s sister.”

I see the resemblance right away—the same soft slope of nose, the dip of lashes, the strong chin. “Nice to meet all of you,” I respond.

I am ten minutes into my rice and okra when Daniel’s grandmother breaks the silence. “So, Cat, tell us about yourself. You live here a long time?” She asks this last question as if she knows the answer already.

“No, ma’am. I only just moved here from upstate. My grandmother passed last week.”

“Last week?” Daniel’s Aunt Desiree practically chokes on her corn cob.

“Poor child,” Patrice says.

“You were living with her then?” Mawmaw Barb questions.

“I was. I’m with my mom now. She’s been here in New Orleans for several years.”

The old woman scrutinizes me. “Mmhmm.”

The table falls into talk about the latest political scandal and honorary aunt Nia’s on-again-off-again boyfriend. I eat my meal in silence, feeling Daniel’s warm and solid presence beside me. Once or twice, he squeezes my leg under the table. I realize he is trying to reassure me. As I listen to their conversation, I try to imagine what a family this large and dynamic feels like. It has always been just me and my mother or me and Moony. Never even the three of us. I have lived my whole life on the precipice of being alone, one great loss away from having no one. Daniel’s family operates like a large safety net, like those schools of fish you see in nature documentaries that all move together.

Brittni takes a chair next to me as everyone clears the table after dinner. “Where are you zoned?” she asks brightly.

“Zoned?”

She grins. “What high school will you go to?”

I feel foolish. “I’m not sure yet.”

“Probably Warren Easton. But I can help you figure it out. What was your old school like?”