The smallest gesture of empathy and kindness shouldn’t have been so surprising, but Grace looked at Alix with the same amazement as the hotel clerk had expressed. Who the heck stops to think about the plight of a customer service rep after being denied something?
“Welp, a few hours to kill it is,” Alix said when she hung up.
Grace nodded. “Then I’ve got just the place.”
They compared notes on LA versus Miami traffic, and Grace couldn’t believe anywhere sounded worse than Miami. Although, LA didn’t also have Mad Max-level aggression.
When Grace pulled up to a KFC in a neighborhood that was all 1980s strip malls and squat, ugly little buildings, Alix stared at her. “I know I said I’d eat anything, but I’m pretty sure not even the water is vegan in there.”
Grace laughed while waiting for a landscaping truck to pull out of a space. “Do you trust me?”
Alix gave her another lopsided smile. “Duh.”
Hopeful that the place was still as she remembered, though wishing she’d called ahead, Grace backed into the spot.
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those, Gator!” Alix put her hand over her modest chest after removing her seat belt.
“One of what?” She reached for her bag in the back.
“A backwards parker!”
“Oh, I’m sorry I don’t want to waste time pulling out blindly in case of an emergency.” She locked the car before they started for the building that hadn’t changed in thirty years. A good sign.
Alix was in the middle of making her case for why reverse parking was irrational, when they stepped inside and were greeted by a blast of classic salsa music.
“Well, this is unexpected,” Alix said, cutting herself off.
The hard wooden booths were chipped and the red vinyl chairs peeling, but it was the fried chicken on everyone’s plates that made Grace nervous. When she made it to the front of the long line, she took her chances.
In Spanish, she asked the elderly woman with a headset resting on her neck rather than on her head whether they still had a special menu. The woman, who looked like she could be anyone’s abuela, shook her head.
“No, we only serve the chicken,” she replied loudly, leaning forward like Grace was wearing a wire and she wanted to be sure it picked up her declaration clearly.
Grace was too good at cross-examining witnesses not to know immediately that the woman was lying. But she collected corroborating evidence. In the open kitchen behind the counter, there were only abuelas. A huge, simmering pot was not for some prepackaged gravy.
Continuing in Spanish, Grace swore that she wasn’t from the health department — though she wondered if her tailored jeans and ironed J.Crew T-shirt screamednarc. She explained about her visiting friend and how she wanted to show her the real Miami. For the kicker, she gestured toward Alix and in Spanish said, “Look how skinny she is, poor thing. She doesn’t have anything like this in California.”
Abuela broke. No Cuban woman over sixty could stand to see a thin body. And anyone who didn’t have to get horizontal to struggle their way into a pair of jeans wastoo thin.
“Two family meal deals,” she screamed into an unplugged microphone. “To go!”
“I don’t know what that was, but it was amazing,” Alix said when they were walking to the car minutes later, two paper bags in hand.
“I thought you understood Spanish.”
“So did I,” Alix joked. “But that was so fast and her accent was… indescribable.”
Grace offered a sympathetic nod. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”
In the car, Grace opened the first container to reveal naturally vegan Cuban-style black beans over a mountain of white rice. As soon as she saw it Alix laughed.
“Holy shit! Is this for real?” She took the non-franchise Styrofoam container and inhaled the steam. “This smells so good.”
Grace wanted to enjoy the thrill of having surprised Alix, but her car’s speakers informed her that her mother was calling in surround sound.
“Eat,” Grace said, leaving no room for disagreement.
Alix grinned like she just couldn’t stop since she’d gotten out of the airport. “Yes, ma’am.”
