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Waffles
Uriel
Nora dropped the rag, putting her hand to her chest. The beads of sweat pouring from her head were wiped away with her palm. “Oh, dear,” she reached for the rag on the floor and frantically wiped the counter.
“Um,” she hummed to herself, engaging with putting all the food on the serving cart. “I think that conversation would be best with Parisa,” her voice trailed from the conversation. I picked at my fingernails again, watching the pale pink polish flick to the floor.
Stop that.
That isn’t sanitary in the kitchen.
I sighed heavily. Everyone was dead set on not telling me. Turning away from Nora, I picked up the two special plates I made for my two favorite boys and put a silver covering over the top.
“Okay, okay, wait.” Nora patted me on the shoulder. Was it that big of a secret what a mate was? Everyone else knew and threw out the word in everyday language. My parents used it. I just thought it was a
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