“Of course. Do you work crazy hours like Carly used to?”
“I try not to. If there’s nothing urgent, I leave around five. I don’t tend to take work home, but lately there have been a few extra reporting requirements.”
“So what do you do after work?”
“I’ve been catching up with my reading and overdosing on comic book TV series.” He waited for her reaction.
“Ooh, what are you reading?” She leaned forward, grinning.
He loved her enthusiasm, and the fact she read fantasy novels as well made him feel far less of a geek. “The latest Jane Dargatz.”
“I haven’t read that series yet, but I’ve heard it’s good. What do you think?”
“I love it,” he said and went on to explain why. By the time he was done, they’d both finished eating.
“I’ll have to add the series to my to-be-read list,” Zita said, scrunching up the packaging. “Do you want to wander around the stalls?”
“Sure.” He’d pretend to be interested.
Reaching the first stall, he let out a soft exclamation of surprise. Home-made jewelry— earrings, bracelets and necklaces— all professionally worked. The next stall had leatherwork and the next, second-hand furniture that had been lovingly restored. This flea market was letting craftspeople show their wares. It was a celebration of creativity, not a junk yard.
Zita went from stall to stall, chatting with the owners, praising the quality of the work and asking at the recycle stalls what she could do to help the environment. She was so in the moment and encouraging. He could tell each owner felt good talking to her. That was an incredible talent.
Along the way she also bought things: a bottle of lotion from one stall for Alejandra, a scarf from another for Beatriz. “Mama will love this,” she said, holding up a beaded necklace. “How much?”
After she’d paid for the jewelry, David asked, “Have you bought anything for yourself?”
She smiled at him. “I don’t need anything.” She moved on.
She was fascinating. Whenever he went shopping with his mother and sister, they bought so much— clothes, makeup, jewelry— all for themselves, even though their wardrobes were already overflowing. Was that the difference between growing up rich and growing up poor? You understood the value of an item more when you couldn’t have it.
The next stall had a collection of metal pieces— fob watches, necklaces, all very steam punk. Zita picked up a watch, and ran her thumb over the intricate links in the chain.
“This is beautiful,” she said to the owner.
“Thank you.”
She put it down again with a sigh.
“Do you like it?” David asked.
“I love it,” Zita admitted.
“So why don’t you buy it?” He was curious. She had no problem buying things for everyone else.
“I don’t need it. It’s just a fancy.” She turned to walk away.
He placed a hand on her arm. “Does your mother need the necklace you bought?”
“Well, no.” She bit her lip.
“So why did you buy it?”
“Because she’ll love it.”
“Like you love that watch?”
She looked longingly at it. “Yes.”
