Lizzie can still remember when she was younger: everyNoche Buena, her grandfather would sit out by the pig, monitoring the cooking all day in a lawn chair with a cooler of beer. Her Tíos and cousins all congregated around him to give their insight on how it was going. Children would go peek at the pig’s head, the bravest daring to touch its snout or hooves.
Abuela was always inside, working on side dishes like twice-fried plantains called tostones orboniato, the Cuban sweet potato. Thecafeterawas on a constant cycle: brew, pour, enjoy, repeat. Lizzie’s Tias sitting at the counter, gossiping about the holidays or complaining about how much the men were drinking.
Lizzie had sent in her final report yesterday. She had hoped that perhaps Will would respond. Give her some feedback; Maybe even a goodbye message. But nothing. She even checked her email once more this morning. Crickets.
After the victory over George Wick, she felt that it would be selfish to now pout about not gettingeverythingshe wanted. So she decided right then and there not to let it get her down on her favorite of all holidays.
She showered and dressed in one of her favorite dresses; She’d gone full fire-engine red, the kind of dress that looked innocent from the front and illegal from the back. The fabric was a soft, stretchy jersey that hugged every curve like it had been sewn onto her body: deep V-neckline that stopped just shy of scandalous, three-quarter sleeves that made her arms look soft and strong at the same time, and a wrap front that cinched tight at the waist before flaring into a skirt that hit mid-calf and moved like liquid every time she breathed. The color turned her skin golden, made her dark curls look like midnight, and turned the gold sandals on her feet into actual weapons. Simple gold hoops, red lips, and a gold bangle on her delicate wrist—just enough to remind everyone she was still Miami. This was it; she was ready to face the world, face the family, face the questions on why she wasn’t settled down yet, and the glazed-over looks whenever someone asked about her work, but then lost interest about five minutes into her explaining it. She felt bold, confident, and ready to celebrate the night ahead.
Lizzie, as expected, ran into Abuela and herTiasin the kitchen first. Her Tia Maria literally screamed at the sight of her. “You look so beautiful! I thought you were a ghost!”
Lizzie tilted her head to the side, confused by the comparison. “Thanks, I think?” Hugs and kisses all around, and then she offered Abuela some help.
“No, I have everything under control.” Then, looking at her phone, she added, “Oh, can you do me a favor, and bring me some mint from the plant out front forMojitos?”
“Oh, I think I have some in the fridge I picked the other day, it’s…”
“No,chica!” She said, swatting her away from the fridge. “I need fresh!”
Lizzie put her hands up and backed away, “ok ok, I’ll get it.”
Out front, Lizzie walked past all the cars parked out front and headed towards their little herb garden. She turned at the sound of glass breaking.
Will stood about 10 feet away, in a crisp whiteguayabera, linen pants rolled at the ankle, and a bottle of wine shattered at his feet, the dark red wine spreading across the gravel like spilled secrets.
“Will?” Her voice came out smaller than she meant, as if she weren’t sure he was real.
That seemed to break the spell as he blinked and looked down at the mess he’d made. “Shit!” He said. “I have more,” he indicated to the broken bottle.
“What are you doing here?”
Will’s face went scarlet. “Your Abuela invited me.”
“Of course she did,” Lizzie muttered.
He took a few steps towards her. He was close enough that she could smell cedar and clean linen. “Is it… okay that I’m here?” He actually sounded nervous.
“Yes! God, yes.” She took a step closer, words tumbling out before she could stop them. “I’ve been practicing what to say to you for two weeks, and it all sounded insane in my head and—”
Will shook his head fast. “Don’t. Please. You don’t owe me anything. Can we just… not do the apology tour? I’d rather pretend the last month of my life wasn’t complete torture and enjoy the fact you’re standing here in that dress.”
Lizzie’s mouth opened. Closed.
He stepped closer, voice dropping. “Because Lizzie, you in that dress is doing things to me that would probably get me banned fromLa Misa del Gallo.”
Misa del Gallo, or the Rooster’s Mass, what many Cuban’s called Midnight Mass, although for many it was just an excuse to make a lot of noise at midnight and kick off the official start of Christmas
Her laugh came out shaky. “We have hours still before that!”
“Thank God for that.”
Now it was Lizzie’s turn to blush scarlet. She didn’t know what to say. She just smiled. Somewhere inside, someone started playing “Obsesión.” Will swallowed hard. “We should probably go in before Abuela sends a search party.”
Lizzie laughed, shaky. “Yeah. Before she decides, we need more mint.”
Neither moved right away. The music from the house seemed to envelop them, and both seemed hesitant to ruin the moment.
Then Will offered his arm to her. Formal. Old-fashioned. As if this was the only way he trusted himself to touch her. Lizzie took it. He was warm and steady, and together they walked towards the house.
