When we entered the kitchen, the Rivera family was in full swing. Emilia was in a highchair, squishing different pieces of fruit with a plastic spoon. Dax's mother, who I was informed to call Dia, was frying eggs in a large cast iron pan on the stove while simultaneously flipping tortillas on a warmer. Darcy was stirring a large pot of rice, also multitasking with stirring a pan of black beans. A man I had not been introduced to was cutting tomatoes, limes, avocados, and peppers skillfully with a knife. Dax's face lit up at the sight of the man.
"Papá!" Dax exclaimed as the man stood, embracing Dax in a warm hug.
"Hijo mío, es bueno verte." Dax's father smiled happily, and I wondered why I hadn't met him yesterday with the rest of the family.
"Ha pasado demasiado tiempo." The embraced a
