During the world cup, Antonio came over every night, supposedly to watch the game with Nathan.  Not that Nathan seemed to notice, but much of the game Antonio spent with me in the kitchen, complimenting my culinary skills.  Having grown up in Texas, the cuisine was similar to stuff he loved.  I had shipped over tortillas, packages of taco seasoning, and ranch, so that I could make enchiladas the way I’d always had them.  Nathan thought I was making them for him, because they were his favorites, but really they were for Antonio.

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