When the morning comes

17 | small talks

"Zev." She gave me a quick smile, led me inside and closed the door.

"Ciao." I mumbled out. Politely, I took off my shoes, felt sheepish when she told me I could have left them on. The awkwardness that had surrounded me in my teenage years slowly seeped back in, but I didn't really know why.

When I noticed she had left me alone, I awkwardly invited myself over to the living room, where she was busy arranging the documents. A watery glaze had fallen over her eyes and it made me frown. My feelings faded, within a moment I was seated beside her on the couch. "Hey, everything alright?"

She blinked a few times, shook her head. "It's Gloria. She has to leave the country."

"What?" I furrowed my eyebrows as silence engulfed us for a while, thoughts taking over, as well as the utter confusion. I thought of the small black girl, her bright smile, her dark brown eyes that held traumas, her dancing, her softness, her tight buns. "What do you mean, she has to leave the country?"

"Yeah, alone." Salomé wiped her face and tried to smile. "I'm sorry. I-" More tears rolled down her cheeks. I wanted to wipe them away, but my mind knew better. Fishing a clean handkerchief out of my jeans, I handed it over to her. She forced a smile, thanked me quietly.

"Take your time." I mumbled out, my eyes raking over the documents, craving for the information right now. The uncertainty and suspense made me feel irritated, but I tried to hide it. It wasn't her fault, obviously she was upset about it and my guts told me I would be too, in a minute.

Salomé dried her face, took a deep breath and shoved a plate towards me. "Gulab jamun. Sorry if it's not pronounced well. It's Pakistani."

The fact that she had made something that belonged to my roots made me feel warm, even when I didn't feel much connection towards that part of my identity because my father hadn't been a part of my life. In fact, I had despised it for quite some years. It was foreign to me, everything was. From the food to the language to the traditions. I grew up English, mixed with Italian traditions when I married Aurora.

Put that all aside, she genuinely surprised me with her sweet gesture. I was at loss for words for a moment, because even when she was deep in her emotions, she still thought of me. Didn't that say enough of who she was, even when before this, I barely knew her.

"I thought, well.." Salomé chuckled and if my eyes weren't deceiving me, I could see how her cheeks colored rosy. "Maybe it would make you feel like home. Unlike me. Who doesn't feel home in her own home. Ironic." She chuckled. It lightened the atmosphere for us both.

"Thank you." I smiled. "Really thoughtful." I bit into the sweet looking ball of fried dough. I hummed in satisfaction of the taste. The texture was soft, melted onto my tongue. Oil and syrup dripped down the corners of my mouth onto my chin. It really had been a while since I had eaten anything so good. The last time was Salomé's cake, too. The time before was Aurora's cooking.

Salomé looked amused. She handed me a napkin. "Good?"

"Amazing."

She laughed. It sounded soft and sweet. When it faded, I remembered what I was here for.

"Are you ready to tell me?" I licked off my fingers before wiping them on the napkin she had given me.

She nodded, but the tears flowed out right away. "Gloria's father lied about his identity while coming into England. He'd made false documents, trying to avoid the refusal he would most likely get if he hadn't done it. The state found out."

I frowned. "Why? What has he done for him to false documents? That's a rather.. risky thing to do. He should have known that."

"Criminal records from when he was in Nigeria. He'd been in prison for a few years."