Dean and I choose to sit on a high-backed padded bench, and I cozy up next to him, hoping to convey the natural ease between us. He picks up on my cue and settles a hand on my lap. It’s an act, a simple arrangement of our bodies meant to convey our familiarity with each other. But to me, it’s infinitely more complicated than that, because in that moment, with Dean’s finger gently circling the top of my thigh, I imagine what it would be like to be his true partner, to absorb tiny intimate touches like this one as if they were commonplace.

My brain’s got a lot of explaining to do.

Peter lifts a menu off the table and skims it for a few seconds. “Solange, any advice on what to order?”

Bless you, Peter. Just the kind of question to get me out of my head. But also: Go to hell, Peter. It’s a Spanish restaurant. Why would I be an expert on the menu? “Not really. I’ve never been, so I can’t really recommend anything.”

“Oh,” Peter says, frowning. “I just thought since some of the food descriptions seem to be in Spanish that you’d have some insight.”

“Brazilians speak Portuguese,” I say matter-of-factly. “Different colonizer.”

Someone snorts, but I refuse to look anyone else in the eye. If Peter’s expression were captured in a photograph, it would be captioned “Damn you to hell.”

“Have you ever been to Brazil, Solange?” Kimberly asks.

I nod, grateful for the redirect. “Several times. We usually travel to Rio as a family and plan one big reunion when we get there.”

“Nia and I vacationed there after college graduation,” she says. “It was the best gift we’ve ever given ourselves.”

“Where’d you go?” I ask.

“A week in Rio, a few days in São Paulo, and a week in Salvador da Bahia. It was a whirlwind, but we had a blast. The people were so lovely. I’d read about Bahia, about the heavy African influence there, but seeing it firsthand was a different thing entirely.”

Nia nods enthusiastically. “And can we talk about the food? Amazing!” She turns to Kimberly. “Remember that little place in Rio? The one just a few minutes from our hotel? It had the most amazing bread and these little snacks I couldn’t get enough of.”

Oof. She’s making me hungry just talking about them. “You’re probably thinking of salgadinhos. Fried dough stuffed with vegetables or meat or cheese? Sometimes all three?”

“Yes!” Nia says, pointing her finger in agreement. “That’s it! I could eat those all day every day.”

“Solange knows where you can get them close to here,” Dean says, waggling his eyebrows. “Her mother and aunts own a Brazilian grocery store and café in Wheaton, and let me tell you, the tias know how to cook.”