Neda giggles and I hang back to let Ryan work his charm.
As we walk toward the corner, Holden slides his arm around my shoulders. “Is the rest of spring break going to be so full of local color?”
“Why else would you come?”
“I came because you said Nassau was dull and Cancún was ‘obvious.’ And because you promised me nude beaches.”
“Admit it.” I slide my hand up his chest as we walk down the cracked sidewalk, and the heat in his eyes resurges. “You haven’t been bored for a second since we stepped off the plane.”
93 HOURS EARLIER
MADDIE
I wake up at dawn and find Abuelita alone in the kitchen, pouring Masarepa cornmeal into a glass mixing bowl. A canister of salt and a small bowl of melted butter sit on the counter. The scents of black coffee and fresh mango trigger memories of childhood visits. Though Uncle Hernán flies her to Miami for most holidays, I haven’t been in my grandmother’s house since I was a small child.
“¡Buenos días, Madalena!” She pulls me into a hug as soon as I step into the room, the brightly colored tiles cold against my bare feet. “You’re up early for a Saturday.”
“¿Arepas con huevo?” I guess.
Abuelita smiles. “Sí.Are they still your brother’s favorite?”
“¡Por supuesto!”Anything edible qualifies as Ryan’s favorite, but Abuelita’s egg-stuffed corn cakes hold a special place in his heart. And in his stomach.
“¡Qué triste quetu madrenever mastered the art!” She says it with a smile, but she means every word. My mom issecond-generation Cuban American, and in Abuelita’s eyes, Cuban food cannot compare.
“¿Van otra vez a la playa con tus amigos?” my grandmother asks as she forms small cakes from the cornmeal mixture.
“They aren’tmyfriends, Abuelita. Genesis and the Dior divas have appointments at some spa this morning, but they’ll probably want to party tonight. I doubt I’ll go.” Not after the fool I made of myself in the bar last night.
“Your cheeks are pink,flaquita.” My grandmother’s eyes brighten as she smiles. “Did you meet a boy?”
“Their tongues certainly met.” My brother pads into the kitchen on bare feet and slides onto the bar stool next to mine.
Yes, I kissed Sebastián on the dance floor. But Genesis went into a dark hallway with Abuelita’s handyman, right in front of her asshole boyfriend, and no one seems to thinkthat’sworthy of public broadcast.
The double standard in my family never seems to work in my favor.
“You’re such a pretty girl.” My grandmother smiles at me over a growing collection ofarepas.“A little too thin, maybe. You deserve some fun. You’ve been through so much ...”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” The man gives my shoulder an awkward pat, and his words play on in my head as the sentiment echoes down the receiving line. I stare at his dress shirt. There’s a stain on theunderside of his belly. He shuffles to my left to shake Ryan’s hand.
My brother smells like whiskey, and our mother hasn’t even noticed.
“Maddie, please let us know if there’s anything we can do.” The woman next in line takes my hand, but I hardly feel her grip. I’ve hardly felt anything in days. I stare at her shoes until she moves on.
The coffin is closed, and if I can’t see my father’s face, I don’t want to see anyone else’s either.
“Are you taking care of yourselves?” Abuelita slides the first corn patty into the hot oil with a gentle expertise perfected by fifty years’ experience. The cornmeal sizzles, but the oil does not pop.
“¡Desde luego!Which is why I can’t have many of those.” I nod at the carb-heavy fried corn cakes, which would wreak havoc on my blood sugar.
“Uncle Hernán gave her an insulin pump.” Ryan glances at my stomach, where a slight bump at my waist betrays my most obvious concession to my illness. “So she doesn’t have to mess with needles anymore.”
Abuelita nods. “Hernán has always taken care of us.”
I bite my tongue to keep my thoughts from spilling out. The truth is that every time my father came to Colombia with the nonprofit organization he worked for, he spent as much time with his mother as he could.
My uncle hasn’t set foot in Colombia since he left as a teenager. He just sends money.
