SIXTEEN
I walked in to a blinking answering machine and looked at the caller ID. The familiar number on the screen made me sigh. I started to hit the delete button and stopped. I had been deleting Ami’s messages without playing for awhile. She called at least once every two weeks. I had a feeling she spoke to Ma and Baba too when I was not around. It bothered me but I didn’t want to bring it up.
Out of curiosity more than anything else, I decided to hit play and sat down on the couch to listen.
“Hello bayta, “Ami’s voice sounded tired and sad. “Wish I could talk to you and see you. I might be coming to New York in a few weeks, I would love to—”
I stood up and hurriedly pressed delete just as Ma came into the room, a towel over one shoulder.
“Was that your Ami?” she asked, tying her we
