DANIA
fter a hectic week of cohabitating, Violet was attending classes at Wilson Middle School—Every Child, Every Chance, Every Day—and said that the kids were “all right,” and the teachers were “boring,” except for the political science teacher, who was a “badass with dreads and a nose ring.” It was a reason to celebrate with grass-fed, free-range, filet mignon from the Armenian market on Altadena.
Strolling down the aisles, salivating over jars of brown sauce, stuffed grape leaves, Middle Eastern spices, and mixed beans, Dani mentally tallied future recipes; food was the love she had to offer her niece.
Rounding a corner, headed to the meat counter, smiling and hungry, the dizziness hit. And then, she was on the floor, surrounded by cans of stewed tomatoes from a display pyramid.
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