Latkes and Sufganiyah
Tina’s afternoon drags. Though President Piquery has had to be twice as harsh as any president before her (the burdens of being the first female president), she has been generous enough to grant the Goldstien sisters a few days off. However, they all need to go in and submit statements about the recent events of the last three days—for Tina, the sooner the better. She wants to do it while her memories are still fresh, even if they’re painful. Queenie packs her a sack lunch of unleavened grilled cheese sandwiches with pesto and French-cut potato fries.
She isn’t sure what her younger sister got up for the better part of the afternoon, but Tina feels emotionally exhausted. She’d requested to be involved in the investigative team searching for Graves, but Piquery feels that the eldest Goldstein sister’s emotions were still running high and the president did not anyone’s personal feelings to risk the investigation—moreover, she hadn’t been returned to her position as an auror yet.
Tina’s heart sank into her stomach at the statement, morosely wondering why she had thought her part in everything would reverse her demotion in the first place. The thought of coming back to work in a few days time and just being assigned to that sorry desk in the Wand Permit Department left her feeling hollow.
She hangs her hat up as soon as she gets home and tosses her coat on the loveseat in a careless gesture reserved for her most frustrating days. Newt is seated at the table, watching Pickett exploring the cutlery while experimentally eating a piece of raw potato. Queenie is finishing up the last of the latkes, applesauce, and sufganiyah. Her wand-hand in mid-air, Queenie looks over as Tina sighs from her place on the couch and comes to a decision.
“Dessert before dinner, I think.” She states, drawing Newt’s surprise. She winks at him over her shoulder, her smile a bit weak. “Life is too short to always save the sweets for last; you never know if you might die between dinner and dessert.”
That pulls a smile from Tina’s mouth. It had been a common excuse their father gave their mother whenever he was caught giving them treats to soothe scraped knees and bumped heads and upset stomachs.
Queenie’s sufganiyah melts decadently in her mouth, the powdered sugar giving way to crisp dough and sweet, strawberry jam. The tension in Tina’s shoulders uncoils and she relaxes into the cushions with a hum of contentment.
“All right, all right, have it your way,” Newts concedes, tearing off a tiny chuck of doughnut and jam for the bowtruckle to taste. Pickett chirps brightly, and Newt, too, is compelled to smile. “He compliments the chef.”
“Thanks,” Queenie says quietly, “Do you think Jacob would’ve liked ‘em?”
Tina’s heart goes out to her little sister and she leans forward earnestly, resting her elbows on her knees. “Mr. Kowalski told us that your cooking was the best meal he’d ever tasted, Queenie. He’d have loved it.” Newt’s eyes connect with Tina’s. The bowtruckle is pulling on his sleeve, begging for seconds, but he hasn’t yet noticed. “Though maybe not as much as Pickett.”
Queenie laughs.