“God, the smell . . .” she says, covering her nose with her sleeve. “Do I have to eat it?”
I sit down, swallowing my disappointment. “No,” I say. I hear the sharpness in my voice and hold still for a moment. It’s not Izzy’s fault I’ve made her a lunch she doesn’t like. I didn’t ask her if she liked fish stew. Don’t snap, I tell myself. You’re better than this. “But it might surprise you.”
It doesn’t surprise her. I watch her try to swallow down the moqueca and immediately pour her a fresh glass of water, which she downs in one.
“There,” she says, wiping her mouth. “I tried it. Can I eat this sausage and bean thing now? Oh my God,” she says, already taking a mouthful. “Now, that is delicious.”
Well. That’s something.
My phone rings just as we’re finishing eating. Ana.
I glance at Izzy, who is scraping up the last of her farofa, carefully avoiding the tiny amount of fish stew still sitting untouched on her plate. Is this a good idea? The phone is ringing out—I need to decide now.
“Lucas! It looks like you’re eating good food for once!” Ana says in Portuguese when she answers.
Izzy’s eyes go wide as she realises what’s happening. “Shall I . . .” she says, gesturing to the door.
A twinge of nerves moves through me as I turn the screen to bring her into shot.
“Oh, hello, who’s this?” Ana says, eyes turning as wide as Izzy’s.
The mention of another person on-screen brings my mother to the phone at remarkable speed.
“Hi!” Ana says in English. “You must be Izzy!”
I wonder why I’m doing this. The only answer I can dredge up is that I want Ana and my mother to meet Izzy. And I want Izzy to realise that my family are good, kind people. Maybe that will make her see me differently.
“Yeah!” Izzy says, sitting up a bit straighter. “Hi. Nice to meet you.”
“We’ve heard so much about you,” my mother says, and Ana rolls her eyes beside her. “I’m Teresa, Lucas’s mother. This is Ana.”
“Tell us everything, Izzy,” Ana says. “What is Lucas like when he’s at work? Do all the guests complain because he is so grumpy?”
Izzy laughs. I give thanks for my sister, who can be relied upon to smooth over the trickiest moments. Still looking after her awkward little brother even from five thousand miles away.
“No. They mostly love him, actually. It’s me who complains,” Izzy says.
Ana smiles at that. “I bet the kids love him. Kids always love Lucas.” She pulls a face, pretending to be me. “？‘Hello, small person, how are you today? Shall we discuss politics?’ It’s like he turns into Uncle Ant?nio.”
I flinch. Ana clocks it.
“Sorry,” she says. “That was a stupid joke. You’re nothing like him, Lucas.”
“This Izzy is very pretty,” my mother says to Ana in Portuguese, moving the conversation on. The way Izzy’s cheeks redden makes it obvious that it was a fairly easy phrase to translate.
“How are you both?” Izzy says, smiling tentatively and glancing sideways at me. “Are you looking forward to Christmas?”
They both answer at once, in a mix of English and Portuguese, just as Bruno starts crying somewhere very close to the phone. Izzy looks like she is both fascinated and overwhelmed.
“Yes,” I summarise. “They are. And they’re fine. And they miss me.”
“Nobody said that,” Ana says, just as my mother says, “I miss you so much!”
I smile as I clock Izzy recognising the word saudade in there.
“That fish stew looks dry,” my mother adds in Portuguese, peering at the screen. “Did you make that, Lucas?”
“I should go,” I tell them, keeping to English so Izzy doesn’t feel excluded. “But I’m glad you caught us.”
“It does look dry,” my sister says, scooping Bruno up in her arms. “You should come home and have Mum’s moqueca instead.”
My throat aches. “Soon,” I promise them. “Em breve.”
“Oh, who’s this!” Izzy says, smiling at Bruno.
Ana introduces him with pride, holding Bruno up to the camera, which he does not particularly enjoy, judging by his indignant expression.
“He’s gorgeous,” Izzy says.
The moment I see her face as she looks at my nephew, I know why I answered the phone. This is what I wanted: to bring together these things that matter to me so much.