“You did what?”

Amy squeezed the back of her neck. What had she been thinking? “I invited Zach to game night this week. That’s okay, right? You’re always telling me how nice it’ll be when I meet a great guy and can bring him around with me.”

Marisa tapped her fingers together and studied her daughter. Amy fought the urge to fidget. Twenty-six years old and still her mom could make her squirm. “You know your father and I both want that for you. But game night is for family. To bring him...you know what this says to me? To your father?”

Amy swallowed. That wasn’t, wait...her father? What about her father would be different? “Mom. It’s just game night.”

“Oh, baby. Not to your father it won’t be.” Marisa cupped Amy’s cheek. “You’ve never brought anyone to game night, not even a girl friend. But bring Zach on Saturday. Come early, I’ll make tamales. Your father’s always begging me to break out Abuela’s recipe, but they take so much time.”

“That’ll soften him up?”

Marisa smiled. “It won’t hurt. Now, let’s get this food out on the table before your father starts wondering if we made a special trip to the Caribbean for his mother’s spice mix.”

Amy laughed and picked up the platter of pork chops. That was a running joke between her parents, even though Mama Harris had passed on the spice recipe early in their marriage and mom had been making it—improving on it here and there—for years. In the dining room, she paused to kiss her father’s mocha-skinned bald head before setting the platter in front of him.

“I was about to send out a search party.” Devon leaned over the food and inhaled deeply. “Mmmm. Your mother knows how to make Sunday dinner.”

“She’s had a lot of practice. I’ll go help her get the rest of the food on the table.” Amy patted her father’s shoulder and went back to the kitchen. She stopped in the doorway and watched her mother fill bowls with potatoes, collards, and grilled fruit salad. Their Sunday meal was always an eclectic mix of the various cultures that made up their family history. It looked like today was a bigger emphasis on the islands. Though Mom had snuck in collards. Dad hated them, but he’d eat some. Was it because he felt an obligation? Mom never pushed, but even when something odd showed up on the table, Dad was the first to take a helping.

“Are you going to help, or just stand there?”

Amy jolted, heat creeping across her cheeks. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Now hurry up and grab a bowl so we can eat before everything gets cold.”

Amy took the last bowl and followed her mother to the dining room. She sat and watched as her father took her mom’s hand, then reached for hers. Bowing her head, she let her father’s prayer wash over her. This was why she never moved out of the city. The neighborhood, certainly. A woman needed to spread her wings a little, needed a space of her own. But her parents were too much a part of her for her to ever go far. There was no home without them. Her father squeezed her hand, and she mumbled an echo of his “amen.”

“So, Amy’s bringing Zach to game night this week.” Marisa dished collards onto her plate and passed the bowl to Devon.

His eyebrows shot up. “Hmm. Do I need to dig out the beginner games?”

Amy shook her head. “I’m pretty sure he can manage more than Crazy Eights, Dad. But I’ll double check and let you know.”

He speared a pork chop and dropped it on Amy’s plate. “What prompted this decision? Your mother and I had given up on you ever bringing a friend to game night. I figured it was because you were embarrassed of our home.”

“Dad. Of course not.” Amy shook her head vigorously. Maybe the neighborhood wasn’t the best anymore, but it was still perfectly fine. If people had bars on the windows it was simply because they were safety conscious. And because not everyone could afford to renovate to keep up with the times, often the landlords weren’t as choosy about renters. “I grew up here, you know. I love this house.”

A smile flirted with the corner of her father’s mouth. “Just checking. You moved into your fancy neighborhood; thought maybe you were too good for us.”

“Oh, Devon, stop.” Marisa swatted her husband’s arm. “You know he’s teasing you, baby.”

“Since he’s the one who talked me into my current apartment, it’s a little rich for him to call it fancy.” Amy lowered her voice into an imitation of her father’s baritone. “Nothing but the best for my baby-girl.”

Her dad laughed and raised his hands. “Fine, fine. You got me. This Zach of yours, does he appreciate your sense of humor?”

Amy started to protest that Zach wasn’t hers then stopped. Wasn’t he? Maybe not completely—not yet—but she wanted him to be. Didn’t she? If she couldn’t answer the questions for herself, it was better not to raise them here. Dad wasn’t one to let things like that slide. And she simply wasn’t ready to delve that deeply. Not yet. She nodded. “He does. And he’s just as committed to the kids at the school—maybe more so. You should hear him talk about trying to find ways to get through to them, to help them see the importance of doing more than just passing. He has a good heart.”

Marisa smiled at Devon. “Sounds like something I once told my own parents.”

“Maybe I understand their skepticism a little better now.” Devon winked at his wife before locking his gaze with Amy’s. “We’ll see what he’s made of on Saturday.”

“Have you seen this?” Terri slapped a piece of paper down on Amy’s desk in the after school care classroom.

Amy shook her head. “Probably not. They got a new long-term sub in today for the class I’ve been covering.”

Terri propped her hip on the corner of the desk. “How’s that work? I thought they gave that sub position to you?”

“Sure, ‘til they found someone else. Since I’m technically full-time in this position, they don’t really like me to sub. They’ll do it in a pinch, but only because it’s such a challenge to get people down here. It’s fine though, we just got a new batch of regulations about nutrition and what the kids can and can’t eat while they’re on school property and, unfortunately, the way my contract and duties are worded, that falls under my purview. Not that school nutrition compliance has anything to do with keeping kids off the street. But it does have to do with justifying full-time pay.” Amy slid the paper closer and peered at it. “What is it?”

“Apparently it’s something you already knew about. This is the memo they sent the teachers about the new nutrition rules. They’re getting rid of all the vending machines, even in the Faculty Lounge. And we’re being encouraged,” Terri made air quotes, “not to bring things on the proscribed list as part of our personal lunches or snacks.”

Amy pinched the bridge of her nose. Was she going to have to deal with frustrated teachers as well as angry students? “I’m sorry, Terri. I don’t have any control over this. It’s all part of the healthy kid initiatives that are a pet project in the White House. All I can say is that I don’t see how they can do anything other than ask you not to bring it. But you’re adults. What you eat is your own business. Unfortunately, most of the kids aren’t bringing food from home since they qualify for free or reduced lunch, so they’re going to be stuck. Some of the changes started at the beginning of the school year, but it sounds like they’re tightening up even more now.”

“I’m sorry. I forgot you had to deal with all this madness. Have you looked at the lunches the kids are getting? I stopped in the cafeteria today, just to see, and now I understand a little better why half my kids’ stomachs are growling during choir and the other half are practically asleep. I’m all for healthy kids, but you do actually have to feed them enough that they can make it through the school day.”

“I know.” Her chair squeaked as Amy leaned back. “I guess I’ll be stocking up on carrots and apples for after school snacks. Maybe with nothing else available, they’ll get eaten.”

Terri scoffed. “Good luck with that. When’s our first rehearsal for the holiday program?”

Amy glanced down at the blotter calendar on her desk, accustomed to the rapid change of subjects when talking to Terri. “Thursday. There’s a football game on Friday, so I knew we weren’t going to get a lot of participation then. Several of the girls who came out also cheer, and we even have a couple of guys on the team.”

Terri nodded. “Thursday it is. My room?”

“If that’s okay?” It’s what she’d already told everyone, but it could be changed if they needed. Meeting in the music room made more sense than rolling the piano somewhere else.

“Of course. I’ll make sure we’ve got enough copies of the first few songs. Will Zach be there?”

“I haven’t asked yet. He said he’s not musical...I was thinking of putting him in charge of sets. So he wouldn’t necessarily have to come to rehearsals unless he wanted to.” Amy chewed on her lip. She wanted him there, but there was no reason for him to come. He wouldn’t have to start on sets for a couple of weeks. It wasn’t as if they had any sort of budget to do something extravagant.

“Can he do sets?”

Amy shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out.”

Terri laughed and stood. “Let me know what else I need to do to help out.”