“Thanks again,” Noah says as we reach the parking lot between Fuller and Smuts. Hopefully next year I’ll be fortunate enough to get a spot up here rather than having to park down the road. “No problem. It was nice meeting your family. I like them.” Noah’s smile seems relieved. “Good. I don’t take many friends home. I never know if Grammy and her rudeness will be too much for people. Damien didn’t like being called ‘that white boy,’ so that visit turned out awkward, to say the least. But Grammy told me you’re allowed to visit again, so you must have made a good impression.” I look down at my shoes and smile to myself. Now I’ve heard both stories: Noah’s visit to Damien’s family, and Damien’s visit to Noah’s family. Sounds like neither of them went particularly well. “What are you smiling about?” Noah asks, tilting his head. “Oh, nothing really.”
