Two hours after we returned from the airport, Laila and I cooked pasta in their kitchen for Constantino. He hadn’t said much about what he had to do, but he had looked stressed when he left. So, I’d thought it’d be nice for him to come home to a warm meal.
“Can you grab the strainer?”
“The strainer?” Laila asked, glancing into the pantry.
“The strainer is a metal bowl with holes in it,” I said. “It should be in a cabinet.”
Laila didn’t know the first thing about cooking. Honestly, I wasn’t sure she had cooked a day in her life. And I mean, I wasn’t the best at making pasta, especially the Italian way, but we were trying our hardest to make something … edible.
best edible.“Laila!” someone screamed from outside the door, banging harshly. “Let me in!”
Stirring the pot of spaghetti, I fr
