Cece called Mia next.
"Yes, Mia, I am alive. Tell me, what's wrong?"
"Can you stay in touch, please? Look, I never interfere in your life or your decisions, but I would like to know if there is something significant going on in your life."
The running water behind her, and the sizzles of hot oil and spices indicated Mia was in the kitchen. What most people did not know about Mia was the fact that she was a great cook. On Sundays, or any given day when she was not working, she was taking care of the household. Cooking, cleaning, washing, and doing all the regular, mundane yet deeply rooted chores most women of this age and this city would not prefer to do. It was inconceivable for her clients, her acquaintances, and even for some of her friends. But her cousins, siblings, and close friends had seen her in oily, sticky aprons or in dirty and soapy gloves.
