Mercedes and Micah talked to Tomas out in the reception area before Nathaniel and I went over. We didn’t want him to feel like we were ganging up on him. He agreed almost right away, which I hadn’t expected, but as Nathaniel pointed out, I had just saved his life. That might give me more street cred with anyone.
We went back into the break room. Mercedes wheeled Tomas beside the couch, so we had a conversation grouping, though I got one of the chairs from the table, so I could sit on the other side of Tomas, rather than on the couch. It was too low for me to sit and have good eye contact with Tomas without one of us turning our heads oddly. I liked eye contact, and for important talks I liked it even more. Micah sat on the arm of the couch, Nathaniel beside him. Mercedes took the far corner of the couch, not sure Tomas would talk in front of her, since he hadn’t talked to any of his family much yet. She’d already told Micah that if the boy wouldn’t talk in front of her, she’d leave us to it.
Tomas had been the smallest kid in school for years, taking after Manny, but he was all arms and legs in his tuxedo now. He had to be at least his mother’s five-eight, but since her brothers had all turned out to be six-five, except for one who was six-three, nicknamed Bambino not for his birth order but for being “short,” Tomas would probably hit at least six feet someday. The brothers looked like a defensive line on the edges of the dance floor, until their wives dragged them onto the floor, and then they were surprisingly graceful, like watching bulls pirouette through a china shop.