by Vi Keeland, Penelope Ward, Lucy Score, Marie Force, Tijan, Kennedy Ryan
I have a boyfriend at seventy-six.
The notion is so funny as to be laughable.
Livia Giordino, Vivian’s mother-in-law, my best friend and favorite sparring partner, comes in from the garage, carrying the huge arroz con leche, or rice pudding, that she makes every year after I showed my Italian friend the secret years ago.
“Did you remember the extra sugar?” I ask her, as I do every time she makes it, because pushing her buttons is so much fun.
She gives me her trademarked withering look. “I make it better than you do.”
“No way.”
“Yes way.”
I could fight all day with her and never get tired of it, but today I don’t have the time—or the energy—to go ten rounds with her. “I saved room for it in the kitchen fridge. Thanks for making it every year. We all look forward to it.” See? We can be nice to each other once in a while. Blame it on the holidays that put us all in a festive mood.
“Thank you for hosting and letting the Italians in. We appreciate it.”
“What is it we always say? Everyone is Cuban on Nochebuena.”
One of my greatest pleasures is seeing my grandchildren—and Livia’s—enjoying the traditions we brought to Miami from our homeland more than sixty years ago now. My mother, siblings and I fled with the clothes on our backs after my father was executed in the days leading up to the revolution. I vividly remember the last Nochebuena we celebrated at home in Havana and how stark our first Christmas Eve in Miami was by comparison.
But the exile community opened its arms to us, and by the second Christmas, we were once again embracing our traditions. No matter how many years pass, however, I’ve never forgotten that first Christmas in Miami. I think that’s why I carry on with hosting Nochebuena, even if I’m ready to hand it off to the next generation.
One more year…
Alfredo returns from the garage, carrying the buñuelos, or yuca doughnuts, made by Elena, mother to Nico, Maria, Dee and Milo.
Elena follows him in. “Maria texted that they’re still scheduled to land at six. Austin’s parents are going to bring Everly to meet them here.”
“I’m so glad she’ll make it in time.” Our sweet Maria adores Nochebuena and looks forward to it all year. I adore the way our Italian family members embrace my Cuban heritage on this special day.
“The bakery was absolutely mobbed,” Elena adds. “I’m glad we ordered ahead. Lorenzo is bringing the Cuban bread and pastelitos.” She’s married to my son-in-law Vincent’s brother, but we’re all one big happy family. I wouldn’t have it any other way, especially on Nochebuena.
“Excellent.” It’s all coming together.
Alfredo puts the buñuelos on the counter and comes over to me.
I smile up at the handsome man who has become so special to me over these last few months. “Thank you for all the help.”
“My pleasure, but you look tired. I want you to sit for a bit and put your feet up. You need to pace yourself.”
A few months ago, I would’ve scowled at any man who tried to tell me what to do. Decades of widowhood made me fiercely independent, but Alfredo wants only what’s best for me, which is why I allow him to take me by the hand and lead me into the front parlor that’s always ready for guests.
For four years, he asked me to have dinner with him every Saturday night at Giordino’s, the Cuban-Italian restaurant Vivian and her husband, Vincent, own and run with my help and Livia’s—and now Dee, the new general manager. Every week for four years, I declined Alfredo’s kind offer. Until I finally said yes, which was the best thing I’ve done for myself in years.
When we’re seated together on the sofa, still holding hands, he turns to face me. “You’re running yourself ragged.”
“I do that once a year.”
“You do it every day, but today more than the others. What a production this is!”
“You have Nochebuena in your family, too.”
“We do, but yours is spectacular by anyone’s standards.”
“What’s that English saying the kids like so much? Go big or go home?”
“Ah, yes, one of my favorites. Speaking of going big or going home… I’ve been thinking about you and me and our special friendship as we count down to the holidays and the new year.”
“What about it?” I ask warily.
“Don’t give me that look,” he says, smiling. “It’s all good things. Such as whether I might convince you to marry me one of these days.”
“Marry you?”
“You told me to speak English to you, right? That you want to learn?”
“Yes, Sofia and I are learning together,” I say of the young woman our family has “adopted” since Jason saved her young son’s life.
“So you understand what the word ‘marry’ means.”
“As I have been married in the past, I do understand.”
“Excellent.”
“I don’t want to get married again.”
He frowns. “Why not?”
“Because.”
“That’s not an answer, Marlene.”
“It’s the only answer I have, Alfredo. I like things the way they are. We have a nice time together. Why does it have to be more than that?”
“Because I love you, and I want to be with you all the time and not just some of the time.”
I knew he cared for me, but to hear him come right out and say he loves me and wants to be with me all the time comes as a surprise. Well, sort of a surprise… It hasn’t been so long since I lost my husband that I don’t understand the difference between friendship and romance. My time with Alfredo is most definitely the latter. I just learned that term—latter—in English class last week. There’s former and latter. While I enjoy my friendship with Alfredo, it is indeed a romance.
“And I’m a fool,” Alfredo says, “because today is certainly not the day to have this conversation when you’re preparing for the biggest party of the year. My apologizes, sweetheart. We shall revisit this at a more appropriate time.”
He’s so dear and so kind and so… well, everything, that I reach for his hand and cradle it between both of mine. “Will you give me some time to think about your kind offer?”
“Of course. Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere. I just… I want you to know that the time we’ve spent together is the best time I’ve had since I lost my dear wife. You are so very special to me.”
“And you are special to me. Very special indeed.”
“It’s enough for now to know that.” He leans in to give me a kiss on the cheek. “Have you eaten anything since breakfast?”
I think about that for a minute. “I can’t say that I have.”
“I’ll go find you a snack. Be right back.”
After he goes, my mind races with thoughts I never expected to have again. Marriage. My goodness, the man is full of surprises!
Livia comes into the room. “There you are.” She’s as tall as I am petite, and while my hair has gone snow-white, hers is still dark with streaks of silver running through it.
“Alfredo made me take a break.”
She sits next to me and puts her feet up on my coffee table, as at home here as she is in her own home. I wouldn’t have it any other way. “He’s a good man.”
“Yes, he is.” Lowering my voice, I tell her, “He wants to get married.”
“That’s no surprise.”
“It was to me!”
“Because you’re stupid that way. Can’t see the forest for the trees when you’re standing in the middle of them.”
“Can we talk about the ways you’re muy estúpida?”
“We’re talking about you right now. That man is hopelessly devoted to you, and of course he wants to marry you.”
“We’re old, Livia!”
“So what?”
“What in the world am I going to do with a husband at my age?”
“Are you so demented that you really need me to tell you that?”
> I scowl at her, which only makes her laugh. The bitch. That’s one of my favorite English words. “There hasn’t been anyone since my Jorge passed.” I lost my husband suddenly a lifetime ago, when we were forty-two. “I’m not sure I could do… that… with someone else.” Jorge was my one and only, my one true love.
“You could.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“I see a man who adores you and would do everything he could to make you comfortable.”
“I can’t picture it, no matter how hard I try.”
“So, you have thought about it…”
She makes me want to smack her, which of course she knows.
“I wish I could find a nice man like Alfredo.”
That shocks me. “You do?”
“Yes, I do. I’m tired of being alone. Aren’t you tired of it?”
“No,” I say, glancing at the doorway. I wouldn’t want Alfredo to overhear us.
“You want to hear a secret?”
Siempre. “Always.”
“I have a crush on my flight instructor.” Ever since Vincent decided the four of us needed lives outside of work, Livia has been fulfilling a lifelong dream of becoming a pilot.
“How old is he?”
“Sixty.”
“That’s fifteen years younger than you!”
“Believe it or not, I was able to do that math myself. And besides, it doesn’t matter. I like him. He likes me, and if he asks me out, I’m going to say yes.”
“You’d be a cradle-robbing cougar.”
“I liked you better before your English was so good.”
That makes me laugh harder than I have in days. I’m still laughing when Alfredo returns with a bowl and a glass of iced tea with lemon, just the way I like it.
“I never know if I’m going to find you two laughing or locked in mortal combat.”
“It’s a minute-to-minute thing,” Livia says, standing to give him her spot on the sofa.
“Don’t get up on my account,” Alfredo says.
“I need to go check on the boys and the pig. I heard Domenic is taking regular samples,” she says of her grandson, who’s home from New York City, “and with his appetite, there won’t be anything left for the rest of us if he’s not stopped.”
“Get right on that, then,” I tell her, well aware of Domenic’s ferocious appetite. Although not even he could put a dent in the gigantic pig roasting in the backyard.
“Sofia was putting the finishing touches on the moro,” Alfredo says of the black beans and rice that are a Nochebuena staple. “She wanted you to try it.”
The smell has my mouth watering as I take the steaming bowl from him. As I take the first bite, flavor explodes on my tongue. “Oh yes, that’s muy bueno.”
“Your protégé is coming right along.”
“Yes, she is.”
“Lovely Sofia has blossomed under your tutelage and Livia’s this year.”
“She’s a wonderful young woman, and we’re thrilled to have her as part of our family.”
“I think you’re a wonderful woman with the way you made her and her son part of your lives. You have no idea what you’ve done for her.”
“She’s a very special person and so is her little Mateo. We’re the lucky ones.”
“And you wonder why I love you.”
“Actually, I don’t. I’m very lovable.”
His laughter rocks his entire body. “Yes, you are.”
“I want you to know… I appreciate having you in my life, and I’m very happy I finally said yes to you after all those years of you asking me to join you for dinner.”
“But?”
“No buts. Just that. I will think about what you asked me.”
He leans in and kisses me. “You make me very happy, mi amor.”
I use another of my new vocabulary words to sum things up. “Likewise.”
Sofia
I’m keeping careful watch over the moro after Marlene taught me how quickly the rice and beans can become mushy. After I turn down the heat on the gas stove, I stir the huge pot to keep the rice from sticking to the bottom of the pan. Marlene taught me it’s a delicate balancing act. I had to look up the meaning of that expression and learned it means to carefully manage two or more things. Today, I’m managing the rice and beans and the attention of a man who makes my heart race when he looks at me the way he does.
Nico Giordino.
His sisters and cousin have warned me away from him.
Maria says he’s toxic with women. I had to look up the meaning of the word toxic, too. I found out that means his behavior would add negativity and upset to my life, which is the last thing I need after what I’ve gone through with Mateo’s father.
Speak of the devil… That’s another phrase I learned from Livia. Anytime I hear something I don’t understand, I ask for the meaning. Since the medical emergency that brought me to Dr. Jason Northrup and the Giordino family, I’m determined to learn as much English as I can. While I was blessed with wonderful translators who helped me navigate the medical maze, I decided that I need a basic understanding of English, too.
Marlene, who committed to learning English after her first trip “home” to Cuba since the revolution made her realize that Miami is now her home, has been my partner in learning English. While we will always be proud native Spanish speakers, we’re pleased with what we’ve learned so far at our ESL classes.
Back to the devil… He’s due any minute to deliver our son to me for Nochebuena and Christmas morning.
Joaquín Diaz was my childhood sweetheart, who somewhere along the way fell into the wrong crowd, got himself into trouble with drugs and petty crime and made my life a living hell for years with intense emotional abuse that later became physical. I’ve finally broken free of him, thanks in no small part to Marlene and Livia, who heard about our plight when Mateo was sick, offered me a job with benefits and quite simply saved my life—and my son’s. Thanks to them and a friend who’s a lawyer, I’ve filed for divorce and received a protective order that requires Joaquín to stay five hundred feet from me. The only exception to the order is when we hand off our son between visits.
Sometimes I still can’t believe it’s come to a need for official protection from the man I loved for most of my life.
“Sofia,” Nico’s cousin Domenic says. “Someone’s asking for you outside.”
I experience a moment of pure joy at the thought of seeing my little boy that’s quickly followed by the dread of having to see his father. After washing my hands, I ask Dee to keep an eye on the moro for me and go out through the garage to greet my son.
He’s doing a lot better than he was, but he’s still got a long way to go in his recovery from brain surgery to remove a cancerous tumor. Thankfully, Jason got it all, and he recommended a course of radiation that’s now completed. But the damage to his fine motor skills, another English term that has become familiar to me, was significant, thus the ongoing physical and occupational therapy.
Nico pulls up in his father’s truck as I emerge from the garage into bright South Florida sunshine. Marlene sent him to pick up the keg from a nearby liquor store. He approaches Joaquín’s old red sedan, which is parked in the driveway. “I’ll take him,” he says to Joaquín.
I stand back and allow Nico to intervene on my behalf, not willing to admit what a relief it is to have him deal with Joaquín so I don’t have to.
“I need to speak to my wife,” Joaquín says in Spanish as he tightens his hold on Mateo.
“She’s not your wife any longer,” Nico reminds him, also in Spanish, as he reaches for my son.
“Back off, dude.”
I step forward before the two of them get physical. I wouldn’t put it past either of them. “It’s okay, Nico. I’ve got this.”
Glaring at Joaquín, Nico takes a step back but stays nearby. Just in case.
I take Mateo from Joaquín and hold him close. He smells like cigarette smoke, which enrages me. How can Joaquín
smoke around him—or allow anyone else to—after what he’s been through? “What do you need?”
“I want you to come home for Christmas,” he says in Spanish. “Where you belong.”
“I’m sorry, that’s not possible,” I reply in English.
His scowl turns a face I once found handsome ugly. “You’re so fancy now, you can’t even speak your own language?”
“I’ll see you on the twenty-seventh.” I turn away from him to carry Mateo inside. He’s looking forward to swimming in Marlene’s pool before the party begins later this afternoon.
“Don’t take another step,” Nico says to Joaquín.
I continue on as if I didn’t hear that. I trust Nico to make sure Joaquín doesn’t follow us inside. But the minute I’m safely in the house, I rush to the front window to look out to make sure the situation isn’t escalating. Mateo snuggles into my embrace, seeming relieved, as he always is, to be back with me. I cringe to think about what goes on when he’s alone with Joaquín, but the court requires one overnight a week with his father.
The two men are exchanging words, but that’s all it is.
After Joaquín makes an obscene gesture at him, Nico walks away, his fists rolled tightly by his sides. My heart races at the sight of him, angry on my behalf. Why does that mean so much to me? Maybe it’s because for years no one was ever angry on my behalf while Joaquín was bullying me into doing everything his way.
Nico comes to find me in Marlene’s dining room where the huge table is covered with serving dishes and other party items.
“Gracias,” I say to him. “Lo siento.” When I’m upset, I revert to my native language.
“Don’t thank me or apologize to me,” he says in a harsh tone that’s not directed at me.
How do I know that? I couldn’t say other than he has never been anything other than sweet to me, but Joaquín can make the sweetest person angry in a matter of seconds. I never saw that side of him until after we were married.
“I don’t like the way that guy acts as if you still belong to him.”
