The table is all laid out. The first plate, loaded and heavy, was served for me. I was to take the first bite. It's a dinner for me, after all.
I can feel the little lumps and divets in the maize tortillas as I fold them across succulent barbacoa - a tactile reminder that my mother made them herself. This final, homemade meal I'll remember fondly.
My mother and father will serve themselves next.
MAMA: Come bien, because the first thing you miss from home is the food.
LIBERA: Si, claro, I'm going to enjoy this as much as I can.
MAMA: You'll probably miss my food first, and then you'll miss me.
PAPA: What? Shouldn't it be the other way around? Ja ja ja!
MAMA: Ja ja ja!
LIBERA: Ja ja ja!
ALEJANDRA: ...
My sister doesn't serve herself anything.