As we finished up I gently placed a hand on her leg, hidden by her dress, with its black dots on yellow. I patted her thigh, and then softly pressed m... fingers into the tender flesh. She jumped, but she didn't slap my hand this time. I rubbed her leg for a moment, then went back to eating. I wiped up some yolk with a piece of toast, chewed, and swallowed. Then I grinned at Cindy. Her smile was hesitant, but her tongue touched her lips, and she arose to clear the table. We did the dishes. Dad was another story entirely. 100% Indian, and very closed mouthed, barely spoke to me. Several weekends, we’d go to her home and eat Sunday roast beef.The strangest part, [at this point] was each girl had a part in making dinner. One would take out the roast, thaw it and sear it in a pan. The next sister, would cut up the veggies and Marge would put it in the oven and start the timer.I kinda thought this was a neat delegation of work, at least at the time, but the routine nor the chore for. More

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