“Well?” she says. I’d almost forgotten she’d asked me a question.
Again, I try not to lie. “Yes, I’m Sparrow James.” I’m sure I must be staring at her like a creeper.
“Superlative,” the woman says. “My name is Etta White.”
I gape at her.
“And yes, I get the irony. But what’s even more ironic is that my husband was white. Don’t ever let it be said that God doesn’t have a sense of humor. He brought us together and, no matter how silly taking his last name was going to sound to people, there was no changing our mind that we were meant to be together.” She smiles and her eyes sparkle.
“Uh, it’s nice to meet you, Mrs. White.” My mind seems to be stuck in neutral.
“Oh no.” She waves her hand at me. “None of that Mrs. business. We’re going to be roommates, after all. Call me Etta.”
My eyes
