Minga stayed home on Sunday, saying she was tired. She said she’ll come every other day, and in her place asked me to bring her daughter Daira. I was happy to do it. Daira is the profesora, the one who made it through university and now teaches middle school mathematics.
We ate lunch at the beach, and they always ask — somewhat haltingly — if I mind if they order foofy drinks: sugary sweet fruit concoctions with pineapple chunks and strawberries stuck atop tall glasses, usually no alcohol. Then they have dessert in addition to a full meal. I don’t mind. Daira is to the left, and Lily to the right. Daira is Lily’s aunt.