Page 218 of Bad Prince
I already know what I want.
She comes back with a glass of water.
“¿Lista?”
Ready?
I nod.
“¿Puedo tener enchiladas verdes? Con arroz y frijoles… y un agua de horchata, por favor.”
Can I have green enchiladas? With rice and beans… and a horchata, please.
Her smile widens just a little.
“Claro que sí.”
Of course.
When she walks away, I sit back in the chair.
Let the noise wash over me.
The clatter of plates.
The hum of voices.
Spanish wrapping around me like something familiar.
Like home.
I didn’t realize how much I missed it.
Not just the language.
The feeling.
The lack of pretense.
No one here cares about Stanford.
About athletes.
About rumors.
About T&T.
I drop my bag to the floor.
Slide my laptop onto the table.
Don’t open it.
For once?—
I don’t force productivity.
I just sit.
