dinners at amara's were practically tradition by now, ximena using muscle memory to pull into the lot and park. this time they'd brought caldo de res, product of their abuela's typical midweek craving. by forces unknown to them, they'd managed not to spill a single drop on the way, slipping on their mitts and hauling it out of the passenger seat and making their way to amara's. the pot was heavy and hot, so instead of knocking and waiting, they decided to rest the pot on their hip momentarily and push the door open, letting herself in. "amara," she called out in a sing song tone, making her way to the kitchen. "i have caldo, and i'm pretty sure you have wine, so you better come out!"