Ambassador Read Free

subcontinent, swapping recipes in every town and working as a chef in exchange for rooms to sleep in. Isabelle studied archeology and went to India to dig around in ancient ruins, even though there were excellent opportunities to dig up ancient ruins without having to leave Mexico—or even go far outside Guadalajara. Her parents had pointed this out to her at the time. She just smiled, nodded, and left anyway. She met Gabe’s father on the other side of the world, and they were married by the time they got back.
    Now Gabe’s dad worked in professional kitchens, but he hated the efficiency that restaurant work required of him. At home he was inefficient. He used as many pots and pans as he possibly could, and changed his mind often about what he was actually cooking. His spice rack—which used to be a bookshelf—took up much of the kitchen. He kept each distinct sort of spice in an unlabeled jam jar and needed four jars to hold all the cumin. Somehow he still knew what was what.
    Tonight Gabe’s father cooked while singing classic Bollywood tunes.
    Gabe strapped each twin into a high chair and buckled their seat belts to prevent escape.
    â€œYou’ve got them?” he asked, passing the child-caretorch to his father and making sure that he noticed it was happening.
    His father nodded and set two small bowls of tasty glop aside to cool.
    â€œYeeeeeeeeh dostieeeeeeeee, hum nahieeeeeeeeee todengeeeeeeee,” he sang, stirring the various pots that bubbled over the stove. He tested the curry temperature with his pinky finger, found it suitable for toddlers, and set the two bowls on the two high-chair trays. The twins both sank their hands into the thick glop and stuffed their faces.
    Gabe grabbed a Coke from the fridge—a Mexican Coke, made with cane sugar rather than corn syrup. All the local supermarkets and grocery stores imported Mexican Coca-Cola in small glass bottles. The newer, American stuff tasted like sweetened battery acid. Superior soda in hand, Gabe fled from his father’s singing and headed upstairs.
    His bedroom contained a bed, a bookshelf, and all three family pets.
    Zora the parrot circled Gabe’s head a couple of times before landing on it. Then she walked back and forth as though patrolling the top of a medieval tower. Gabe winced as the small claws pricked his scalp, but he didn’t brush her off.
    Garuda the iguana sat on the bookshelf and lookedGabe over with one reptilian eyeball. He’d crushed half the city that Gabe had built on that shelf using little plastic bricks. The bricks were a chaotic mixture of several different toy sets, part moon base and part castle and part jungle, inhabited by little plastic characters who were never meant to mix together.
    Dad had wanted to name the bird Garuda instead, but Lupe had thought it suited the lizard better because it kind of sounded like Godzilla. Lupe won. Dad still grumbled about it.
    Sir Toby the silver fox curled up at the foot of Gabe’s bed, pretending to sleep. Gabe could tell by the fox’s ears and the squint of his eyes that this was just an act.
    The Envoy crept along a tree branch outside and watched through the window. No one noticed it except Garuda, who watched the Envoy sideways with his other stoic eye.
    Gabe closed his bedroom door. “Hello, everybody.”
    â€œHello!” said Zora from the top of his head. “Meow!” Noemi had taught her to say “meow,” which only reinforced Noemi’s belief that “meow” was the proper thing to say to all animals—even though there were no cats among the family pets.
    Garuda twitched his tail and knocked over more of the plastic city.
    Sir Toby made a small yip-snore and kept both eyes closed.
    The Envoy said nothing. It curled around the tree branch and listened from outside.
    All three pets were refugees, abandoned and given shelter in Gabe’s house. They used to belong to various neighbors, but they