“Rosina’s mom is the head chef,” Grace says. “And Rosina’s working tonight, so you get to meet her.”
“Oh, good!” Mom says, and she seems genuinely excited. “I can’t wait to meet one of your new friends. And I’ve heard great things about this place.”
She makes it sound so normal, Grace thinks. One of your new friends. As if it isn’t a miracle.
Rosina spots them as soon as they set foot in the restaurant. “Gracie!” she calls as she runs over to give her a hug.
“Gracie?” Grace says. A hug? Something’s wrong with Rosina.
“Is this your mom?”
“Hi, Rosina,” Mom says. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
“So nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Salter,” Rosina says, shaking her hand. “Or should I call you Pastor Salter?”
“You can call me Robin,” she laughs.
“Where do you guys want to sit?” Rosina asks. “The booths are comfy.”
“A booth would be perfect,” Mom says.
As Rosina leads them to their table, she whispers to Grace, “Guess who just came over to my house after school?”
“Melissa?”
“Yes!”
“You’re like seriously swooning.”
“I know!”
“It’s kind of disturbing how happy you are.”
“My mom’s been yelling at me all night and I totally don’t care!”
Rosina seats them and takes their drink orders, then dances away.
“She’s sweet,” Mom says.
Grace can’t help but laugh at that description. “She’s usually a lot grumpier. But I think she’s in love.”
“How nice,” Mom says. “What about you, Gracie? Anyone catch your eye?”
“Ugh,” Grace says. “No.” But maybe she’s lying just a little.
“It’s okay to date, you know,” Mom says. “I know the culture back in Adeline was a little backward about stuff like that. But I want you to know it’s okay with your dad and me. As long as he treats you right.”
“Noted,” Grace says, racking her brain to find something to say to change the subject.
“Or . . . she?” Mom says.
“He, Mom,” Grace says. “But thanks.”
“Honey,” Mom says. “Is there anything you want to know? About dating? About . . . being intimate? We can talk about these things, you know.”
“No,” Grace says. “Thanks. I’m okay.” What she really wants to say is how do you expect me to talk about that stuff when we haven’t really talked about anything lately?
Rosina returns with a tray of chips and waters in one hand, her other hand tugging the sleeve of a woman behind her who must be her mother. Rosina’s mom is half a foot shorter than Rosina and much plumper around the middle, her black hair up in a tight hairnet-covered bun, her face a mix of hesitance and surprise as Rosina drags her across the restaurant floor.
“This is my mom,” Rosina announces. “Maria Suarez.”
Rosina’s mother wipes her hands on her apron and smiles shyly. “I’m happy to meet you,” she says with a girlish voice. This is the evil tyrant Rosina is always complaining about?
“Hi, Mrs. Suarez,” Grace says. “I’m Grace. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Hello, Grace.” She smiles. “It’s nice to meet you, too.” She seems to genuinely mean it.
“I’m Grace’s mom, Robin,” Mom says, extending her hand for a shake.
“Thank you for coming to the restaurant,” Mrs. Suarez says.
“See, Mami,” Rosina says. “Grace is totally normal and totally a good influence on me.” Both sets of moms and daughters laugh.
“Rosina is a good influence on me, too,” Grace says.
“I doubt that,” Mrs. Suarez says, but with a hint of her daughter’s signature sass.
“Maria!” a man calls from the back of the restaurant.
“Tío José beckons,” Rosina says, rolling her eyes.
“I have to return to the kitchen,” Mrs. Suarez says. “It was very nice to meet you, Grace. And Mrs.—?”
“You can call me Robin.”
“Very nice to meet you, Robin. I hope you enjoy your meal.”
Rosina bounces away after her mom, and Grace can’t help but smile, imagining her as a little girl with pigtails, full of the same fire but in a much smaller and less coordinated body.
“Seems like you’ve settled in pretty well here,” Mom says.
“Yeah,” Grace says. “I guess I have.”
“I’m proud of you, honey,” Mom says. “I know things ended kind of badly in Adeline with your friends.”
Grace feels the sting of sudden tears in her eyes, but she shrugs in feigned indifference.
“People can be very cruel and closed minded when faced with things they don’t understand.” She pauses and looks down. She smoothes the napkin on her lap. “I want you to know I’m sorry. You suffered because of things I did. That wasn’t fair to you. I wish it could have been different.”
“You were called,” Grace says. “You had to answer.”
“That’s true.” Mom smiles. “But I’m taking you with me, aren’t I? I never asked you if you wanted to come.”
“I was mad at you for a long time,” Grace says. Something in her body is different. Her bones are harder; her blood is thicker. “But now, I think maybe it happened for a reason. For you, obviously. But for me, too. Those girls weren’t ever really my friends if they could drop me that easily. What happened brought us here. And I think I like it here. I think I’m happy.”
Grace realizes the truth of these words as they come out of her mouth. As much struggle as she’s had here, as much heartache, she has found something she never had in Adeline, something she never even knew she wanted.
“Oh, honey,” Mom says. “That makes me so glad.”
“So thank you, I guess,” Grace says. “For totally destroying my life and making me move across the country to this weird town.”
“You’re very welcome,” Mom says. She raises her glass. “To us.”
“To us,” Grace says, raising hers.
*
Grace and Mom sit on the living room couch, eating mint chip ice cream out of the container.
“I can’t believe I even have room for this after that dinner,” Mom groans. “It was so good.”
“Remember, all Salters have a separate dessert stomach,” Grace says. “That stomach is still empty.”
“Ah, yes,” Mom says. “Right you are.”
“What should we watch?” Grace says, clicking through the channels.
“I don’t know. I haven’t had time to watch TV in so long. I don’t even know what shows are on anymore.”
Grace stops clicking. She blinks. She wonders if she’s hallucinating.
The title on the screen reads: TROUBLE AT PRESCOTT HIGH SCHOOL.
“My school’s on the news,” Grace says, turning up the volume.
“Oh, yeah,” Mom says. “I can’t believe I forgot to tell you. They interviewed me this morning about all the vandalism that’s been happening and the secret girls’ club—what’s it called?”
“The Nowhere Girls,” Grace says.
“That’s right. Do you know anything about it?”
Grace hesitates. “No,” she lies, and something twists inside her as she does. Why can’t she tell her?