She pointed toward my plate.
“The mayor wants royalties.”
“Better.”
My phone vibrated.
For one stupid second, I thought it might be Annie.
It was my mother.
The screen showed her third call that day.
I had ignored the first two.
Not because I did not want to speak to her.
Because speaking to her required explanations, and I had reached my daily limit before breakfast.
Rosa glanced at the screen.
“Answer your mother.”
“You don’t know what she wants.”
“She is your mother. She wants information and for you to wear sunscreen.”
Accurate.
I answered.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Finally.”
“I was working.”
“I called at seven-thirty.”
“I was avoiding you then.”
“I appreciate the honesty.”
Rosa pointed toward herself as though taking credit.
I turned away.
“How are you?” Mom asked.
“Fine.”
“No.”
The word sounded exactly like mine had when Annie claimed she was all right after the market.
I closed my eyes.
“Mostly fine.”
