Out of Hands

Wow.

One, two, three… Five people. An elderly woman with a long, white braid and gorgeous yellow and orange sari stands front and center, flanked by a man and a woman (no sari), a teen girl, and little boy.

All beaming at me.

“Hello?” Honestly, Amy, you were raised better. Smile! “Sorry. Hi!”

“Welcome to the neighborhood!”

“I’m Jenny Patel.” The elder speaks with a sort of British accent. “And this is my son Neal, his wife Samira, and my grandchildren, Tara and Amir. We live across the street, two houses down to the left.”

Tara, looking shy and possibly a little embarrassed, steps forward, holding out a covered glass container.

“My grandma made you biryani.” She has an American accent.

“Oh, how nice.” I’m not too familiar with Indian food. I glance at Grandma. “Thank you. Thank you all very much. I’m Amy, Amy Munro.”

The little boy steps forward, thrusting a pot of yellow mums at me with a little bow.

“Thank you!” Holding the glass container and flowers, I look at them.

The children’s mom has a bundt cake...
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I’m out of hands.