FAMILY DINNER.

DREW.

Maya and I burst through the villa's doors, barely making it to dinner on time. My mom's eyes narrowed slightly, her expression a mix of exasperation and amusement. But, as always, her maternal instincts won out, and she welcomed us with open arms. "We're glad you made it," she said, her voice warm with affection.

As we sat down to eat, we shared a blessing, and the conversation flowed easily, a comfortable rhythm that came from years of sharing meals together. We caught up on each other's lives, filling in the gaps since our last gathering. I noticed how everyone expertly left Maya's father's topic out of our conversation. After trying to talk to her without getting anywhere he went back to Jamaica to tend to some business and we've all avoided the topic like the plague. She'll talk when she's ready. My dad was home, too, and I suspected my mom had "persuaded" him to join us. He was always a sucker for her charms.