Page 71 of Time Stops With You

I hate that I’m lashing out at him. I hate that my concentration is more and more shot these days. I’ve been off-kilter ever since the cafe meeting with Sunny and Darrel Hastings. There’s an ever present disquiet in the center of my stomach. No matter what I do or where I am, it strikes me suddenly and without explanation.

Grabbing a giant spoon, I scrape the rice into the garbage, wincing as my hard earned cash ends up in the trash.

“Are we in trouble?” Josiah asks.

My eyes flit up to him. “Why would you say that?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“We’re not in trouble.”

“You’ve been acting weird since last week.”

“I havenot,” I argue.

“You missed a turn on the freeway and had to drive all the way around to take me to school. And then you told me you’d pick me up every day after school, but you keep forgetting. I end up missing the bus because I wait too long for you. Then yesterday, you bought bananas from the grocery store instead of plantain?—”

“Anyonecould have made that mistake.”

A thoughtful wrinkle appears between his eyebrows. “No Belizean would.”

He’s got me there.

“Everything is fine.” The metal spoon makes a loud noise as it scrapes the stubborn remnants of rice. “You’re overthinking.”

“Mom asked if you’re dating someone,” Josiah says.

The spoon goes limp in my hand.

“Are you?” Josiah asks.

“No.”

“You’re not dating Big T?”

“Absolutely not,” I say quickly. “Did someone tell you that we were together?”

Josiah shrugs.

Stressed, I take the pot from Josiah and set it on the counter. “Go brush your teeth.”

“Do Ireallyhave to go with you to sell today?” Josiah groans.

“I gave you a choice and this is the punishment you chose.” I notice him sulking, and add, “Have you changed your mind? Because you can stay home and the phone can come with me instead.”

Josiah clutches the phone to his chest as if it’s his precious child. “I’ll brush my teeth.”

While my brother patters away, I set the rice pot in the sink and fill it to the brim with water.

Thankfully, I have enough potatoes in the cupboard to salvage today’s menu.

I cringe as I set a pot to boil and start peeling the potatoes. Stew chicken and rice and beans belong together. Mashed potatoes with Caribbean food is a huge no-go.

I wouldn’t be able to sell a plate of this in Belize. But, thankfully here in America, fusion dishes are all the rage. I’m confident I can make this work.

Josiah returns to the kitchen, his mouth filled with foam. “Mom’s calling.”

“Why are you announcing it to me?” I ask, avoiding his eyes guiltily.

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