Tala smacks our sister. “Izzy,ano ba?” she shrieks, cutting her eyes to her girls.
“Don’t worry, Mama, we know what sex trafficking is,” Maya says solemnly.
“It’s truly horrific,” Paloma says.
“It’s estimated that over forty million people worldwide are victims of human trafficking, with women and children disproportionately affected,” Maya adds on sadly.
Tala smacks Izzy again. “What are you teaching my girls, Iz?! Maya iseight, for fuck’s sake.” She sighs, turning to her girls. “I see you’ve done your research. What do you think we can do about it?” she asks them, the consummate teacher.
“Raise awareness,” Paloma says.
“Donate to charities,” Maya adds.
I motion to Georgia. She stands and moves around the table, giving everyone a hug. “I’m going to make Tito Ollie walk me home,” she tells everyone. “I’m not in the mood to take an Uber anymore. Or ever again, really.”
“It was really nice to meet you, Georgia,” Izzy says with a giant hug.
“Yeah, George, you rock,” Tala agrees, already using a nickname. “Come to dinner again soon.”
I wander outside to leave them to their goodbyes, looking for my parents. They’re in the living room, chatting with some of my titas. “I’m gonna head out, guys,” I tell them. My parents stand up and pull me aside.
“We really love Georgia,” Ma says, kissing my cheek. “Thank you for bringing someone home to us.”
“She was wonderful, Ollie,” Dad agrees.
“I didn’t bring her home, Ma—you literally dragged her here.”
“You work so hard, Ollie. It’s nice to see you so happy and relaxed,” she replies, ignoring me.
“Your mother and I know what a demanding job you have,” Dad says, “and how hard it is to find a partner who understands such a crazy schedule. It’s a taxing day. It’s really the reason your mom and me worked so well,” he says, putting his arm around her and kissing the top of her head.
I think on that for a second, remembering the long hours together in my office after school for the last few weeks, but then shake my head. “Guys, that’s fine, but there is nothing going on here,” I tell them, for what feels like the millionth time. I drop my voice. “And I’m her boss. It could never work. I’ve only known her for two months, at most. Besides, she drives me insane.” I add on that last part weakly.
“Psht, that won’t ever change. I still drive your father insane, even after forty years,” Ma says, kissing the arm that’s wrapped around her shoulder. “Besides, you’re good at sneaking around, Ollie,” she says, waving her hand at me, gesturing towards my body. “Except to me. I always knew you were sneaking out late at night to go to the arcade with your nerdy friends.”
“What?!” Dad asks incredulously.
“See,” she says smugly. Her eyes light up at someone behind me, and Georgia appears by my side. My mom wraps Georgia in an embrace. “We love you, Georgia. You are brave. You are bold. You are always welcome here. Come back for dinner soon.”
Georgia looks at my mom with an indescribable look on her face, then hugs my dad. “Thank you for welcoming me into your home. I had such a fantastic time. The food was amazing.”
Ma claps her hands with glee.How did she know just the right thing to say to her?“I made youbaon,” she says, running to the kitchen, pulling a plastic bag labeled “GEORGIA” from the counter, filled with gallon zip bags of food. She wraps the bag around Georgia’s wrist. Thinking about it for a second, Ma takes the bag from Georgia’s wrist and puts it on mine instead. “You walk her home,anak,” she tells me.
Rolling my eyes, I mumble, “I was already going to.”
“Good boy,” she says, patting my cheek.
It’s chillier now, as we walk south towards Prospect Heights. The air smells cold, punctuated with the smell of burning wood from millionaire gentrifier’s fireplaces. Each of my hands is occupied with ten-pound bags of leftovers, a good thing, in case I get any weird ideas. We walk at a leisurely pace, in a companionable silence, no rush to get anywhere.
I see her shiver, so I pause and place the bags on the ground. I dig into my jacket pocket for my beanie and shove it on her head.
“Thanks,” she murmurs begrudgingly.
I don’t hear, because I’m currently fascinated by the way my hat looks on her waves. I have the urge to run my handsthrough them. Through sheer force, I urge my hands to pick the bags up instead.
We keep walking.
“I think I’m obsessed with your family,” she says, quietly.
