Grave on Grand Avenue by Naomi Hirahara Page B

to, at least not tonight.”
    “ Querida , you are just a pitiful liar. You’ll spill about your grandfather.”
    “I’ll just avoid talking about the car.”
    Lita shakes her pinkish orange locks. “No, no. I’m going with you.”
    *   *   *
    “Lita, we weren’t expecting you; you must be jet-lagged,” my mother comments as we both enter my parents’ house. Mom’s face says it all: And we’d rather not have you here. But Lita doesn’t have the Japanese “let me read your mind” gene. No, Lita is, in fact, quite oblivious to anyone’s feelings except her own. And she loudly advocates for those feelings, which can be pretty cute or very annoying, depending on what kind of mood you are in. I’m still a bit shell-shocked, so I’m depending on Lita to keep the conversation going.
    “I slept on the plane. And Puerto Rico is practically within the U.S., anyway.”
    She heads to the kitchen, and as her back is turned from us, Mom jabs me in the ribs and we pantomime a conversation.
    Ow! I mouth.
    Did you know that she was coming? she silently gestures.
    No . I lie without saying a word.
    “Oh, it smells just lovely in here.” Lita takes a deep breath and opens the door of the hot oven to take a look. “What is that, chicken parmesan?”
    “No, chicken marsala. Please, don’t release the heat, Estel.” Mom pushes the oven shut and darts me a dirty look.
    “Here, I picked these up at the farmers’ market in Pasadena.” I place a bag of Asian pears on top of the kitchen island. The gift appeases Mom for a moment, until I see her eyes scan Lita’s empty hands.
    Grandma Toma then appears in the doorway. She’s been living with my parents ever since she left some curry boiling on the stove while she was out, triggering the fire alarm and leading firefighters to break through her front door. “Hello, Ellie,” she says and I give her a quick hug. She then looks at Lita. “I didn’t know that you were coming.” Grandma Toma can be a bit no-nonsense, while Lita gets great joy from nonsense.
    “Oh, it’s just been too long.” Lita, who’s about a foot taller, squeezes Grandma Toma toward her. Grandma Toma’s face is smashed against Lita’s ample chest, enveloped in flowy material, and she makes fish lips in her struggle to breathe. Finally released, Grandma Toma escapes to the opposite side of the kitchen.
    Mom opens a cupboard and starts to take out some dishes. I assist by taking down some wineglasses from a high shelf of the china cabinet. I am going to need some wine to get through tonight.
    “So, any leads about the car?” Mom immediately asks.
    “Have you done something new with the kitchen?” Litainterrupts. “I don’t remember this being right here.” She slaps the surface of the island.
    “Ah, that’s been there since we remodeled. Fifteen years ago.”
    “Oh, really? I guess I never noticed.”
    I pick out one of the red wines on display on the kitchen counter. They’re all Two-Buck-Chucks that Mom purchased from Trader Joe’s.
    “Do you know how the Skylark was stolen?” Mom’s not going to give up so easily.
    “Wine, anyone?” I ask, taking out my parents’ high-tech corkscrew from a drawer.
    “Oh, yes, querida , for me,” Lita says.
    My younger brother, Noah, slides into the kitchen in his socks. “And yes, for me, too.” He’s only sixteen years old.
    “I don’t think so,” I say. Noah is on a very short leash and needs to be restrained fairly often. Earlier this year he got busted by my mother, who is scarier than any DEA officer, for his adventures in pot smoking and growing. Perhaps he inherited some outlaw gene from Puddy? I quickly uncork the bottle and pour two very full glasses of wine for both Lita and me.
    “My, my, my! All my favorite women together in one room,” Dad exclaims as he walks into the kitchen. He’s obviously just come home because he’s still wearing his trademark blue Windbreaker, his personal work uniform. He gives both Lita and