Mom has made bangers and mash. Reckon Cinnamon's first "city meal" must be something else than burgers or barbie.

Mom looks still annoyed, but that's totally in vain, I tell you. I haven't done anything but tried to tell her everything's fine and that I don't boycott Cinnamon anymore.

"I thought you would like this, sweetie", Mom coos to Cinnamon, who nods politely.

"Reckon, Mrs Chevrol... Ebony."

"Hey Mom. That's meat."

"'Course it is. There's no such thing as bangers without meat, is there?"

"I'm a vegetarian. That means I don't eat meat. Remember?" What's wrong with her?

"Give it away, Satin. You have eaten meat before."

"Yeah, but that was before I realized that a piece of Piglet on a plate is something pretty disgusting."

Mom doesn't even bother to answer.

Cinnamon puts her knife down on the plate.

"Satin. I know that you have principles, and I truly appeciate your opinion."

"Belt up, then."

"Satin!" Mom frowns to me from the other side of the table. I grimace to her.

"The idea is", Cinnamon goes on, "– that the animals for slaughter –"

"Don't say that!"

Reckon she said that just for my bad.

"– the animals for slaughter are grown for people to eat them. They don't just decide that 'Oh jolly, let's go and have little Fluffy the lamb killed'. They're grown for it. And besides, even though you'd refuse to eat and starve instead, you can't do anything – the hind leg of dear Honeybun is still there, lying on your plate. I know it sounds nasty, but that's how it goes. The agroindustry won't be stopped because of some random girl in some random place. Eat or don't, but you can't avoid it forever. You have to eat all-around, so –"

"Yeah, sure, I know." I've listened to her with my mouth wide open – I must have looked like a dill. "Our teacher of health studies tells us those same things every year. Reckon she has dementia or something."

Mom makes a weird noise.

"Don't you talk that way about Mrs Hamdram, young lady", she says. "You know she's been my good mate..."

"Yeah. Since college. But she's still an old –"

"Sorry to interrupt your... interesting conversation", Cinnamon cuts me off. "Satin, I admire your try to change the topic, but I won't let you away with it. Just eat the meat and stop whinging. Or eat some bread, then."

"But it's gross." I feel a little taken back by Cinnamon's shut-up-and-listen attitude.

She sighs, looking suddenly zonked.

"Nothing can be. You may not like it, but it still isn't gross. Your mother and I like it, so it can't be gross. As long as someone likes something, it just can't be gross." She says all this very serenely, but her speech makes me feel like a five-year-old.

"That's true!" Mom says excitedly. "What luck to have so smart relatives, right, Satin?"

Cinnamon clearly tries to look innocent when I glance at her, but then she looks up and grins mischievously.

I cry out and fill my mouth with a big bite of banger. After swallowing, I start to chew an enourmous piece of toast.

Cinnamon keeps staring at the plate, but even a stupid one could see this little annoying flash of smile on her face. No matter how hard I resist, though – the joy escapes from Cinnamon's lips to mine. I try to hide it with the toast, but Cinnamon's grin just widens.

Mom watches one more time – obviously ensuring – me eating her bangers, and forms the words "Thanks" with her mouth.

No hoper.

"Cinnamon, you're weird."

"I know. So are you. But at least now you have buttered your bread."

Ha ha ha. A nice little flashback of my morning stupidity waves in front of my eyes. Mom scowls, not getting it.

"Just a little inside joke", I clarify quickly.

"So you're having secrets already? How fun!" When she stands up to fill the water can, I stick two fingers inside my mouth to show how yuckily she spoke. Cinnamon gives an unsure smile, not deciding whether it's approriate to laugh behind someone else's mother's back. It's funny. Even though I'd speak my Mom down to some of my friends, I'd go bonkers if the friend actually agreed with me. Cinnamon seems to think the same.

"Your middle name is Elizabeth, right?" she says suddenly.

"Yeah. Because of that lipstick." I glance quickly at Mom to see how she reacts, but she doesn't seem to notice.

"Then your initials are S. E. C."

"So...?" She's totally beating around the bush.

"Sec means 'dry'. In French", Cinnamon announces and keeps on eating.

"And?"

"Nothing. I finished."

I'm having a hard time deciding whether this was a poor try to start a conversation or is Cinnamon just proving her ability to sink under the surface whenever and wherever.

I think I'll go with the latter.