Breakfast conversation (in Spanish) with my host mom:
Rosa: Do you like coffee?
Me: Yes.
Rosa: Do you like corn flakes?
Me: Yes.
Rosa: Do you like toast?
Me: Yes.
Rosa: Do you like fruit?
Me: Yes, fruit for breakfast.
Rosa bustles around the white kitchen as I sit silently at the table. I stare off into the dining room with my brow knit because I still can’t face the fact that a wall is missing there. All logic is thrown out the window – strictly hypothetically because there is no wall for a window – but nonetheless, I see the dining table, the blue sofa, and then the white floor tiles meet the grass bluntly. I could literally stand in both the dining room and backyard at the same time. They’re putting a glass wall there sometime next week, she says. I briefly wonder if I’ve paid for part of it, but my attention is redirected to Rosa placing my breakfast on the table.
CORN FLAKES. TOAST. FRUIT. COFFEE. JUICE. MILK.
“Nice spread,” I want to say.
Me: Big breakfast!
Rosa: Yes! Do you like sugar with your coffee?
Me: Yes, please.
Half way through the meal I look up guiltily at Rosa.
Me: I can’t food.
She smiles knowingly.
