A Cuban Girl's Guide to Tea and Tomorrow

by Laura Taylor Namey

  Then we took an early train back, leaving plenty of night in Winchester. But for what? I’m fastening the last buckle on my gold sandals when knocking sounds.

  My someone?

  “Oh,” I say into the open doorway, then, “Oh!” Orion’s showered and changed into a slim black suit, complete with a silvery blue dress shirt and matching tie. Tan guapo—gorgeous—and everything dapper.

  He steps in, leaning to kiss my cheek. Even though we’ve been back to PG for the last week since St. Catherine’s Hill, no one’s bothered to tell our eyes. Am I staring like a fool?

  His are large and ocean-deep enough to draw me in for drowning, his own siren song. This black-suited boy hugs me again. “You look beautiful,” he says into my ear, my nose full of bar soap and wood-spiced cologne, the tang of styling gel.

  My hands press down the smooth lapels of his blazer. “You clean up well, Maxwell. But you’re a walking superstitious danger to yourself going out with wet hair.” I gently ease my fingers over his washed and styled locks.

  “Danger and recklessness and tons of alcohol are typical for a school dance night around here.” He arches a brow.

  “A what?”

  He slides his other hand from behind his back and my heart jumps. He presents a clear domed box with a pink rose wrist corsage.

  “Is that…?”

  “It is. We wanted to do something special for your birthday-slash-going-away party. Flora had a brilliant idea and you’ll soon see what some elves have been up to while we were in London.” He opens the box and sets it on my writing desk. “English roses for a Cuban girl. Come to prom with me?”

  I nod rapidly as he slides the corsage onto my wrist, then I throw my arms around him. “Thank you. I spent ten minutes on this smoky eye, and I’m about to turn into a raccoon.”

  He pulls me closer, laughing. “No forest creatures. Just us heathens tonight. And I’ll warn you, I’m an even worse dancer than cook, but we’re going to dance anyway.”

  “Before we do, maybe you can explain these?” I reach toward the desk for the ribbon-tied set of teakwood mixing spoons I found on the kitchen island after London. I hold out the attached card.

  To Lila, on the occasion of your birthday. I trust you’ll use these to make many wonderful things back home.

  Regards, Polly

  PS. Your lemon biscuits and fig pastries and Cuban breads were quite edible.

  “Quite edible,” I repeat in my best British accent. “But how did she try my pan Cubano and all the rest?”

  Orion takes the spoons, admiring them. “That’s on me. Polly still comes into Maxwell’s for tea. I’ve been sharing samples of the treats you send home the entire summer.” He shrugs. “I guess this is a bit of a peace offering. A lovely gesture, as well.”

  I shake my head, smiling. “It is. I’ll leave a thank-you note for you to give her.” For when I’m gone—I don’t say this part. I rest the beautiful spoons and grab his hand. “Now it’s time to dance.”

  Steps later, I’m floating down on his arm, catching a few stray smiles from inn guests as we move toward the foyer. Orion hangs a left; the parlor doors are shut, a sign tacked over the entrance. Closed for private event.

  He ushers me into a smaller, cozier version of the senior prom I never had. Cheers and greetings flood my ears as I try to take in everything at once. All our friends are here, even the Goldline members, turned out in makeshift prom finery. Orion’s dad and Cate and Spencer huddle by the big picture window. A strobe light throws bright fragments around the softly lit space. Hugs—everyone comes up. My arms are full of people.

  Jules appears last, rocking finger wave curls and a black strapless dress. Layers of polka-dot tulle poke from under the tea length hem. She squeezes me tight, my words of thanks in her ear. “Aww, we had fun with all this.” She grins. “Happy birthday, my friend. Come look, we moved all the sofas so there’s room for dancing.”

  She and Orion lead me around the transformed space. Remy’s parents brought platters of fruit, chips (and my favorite curry sauce) and mini sliders. All of the parlor tables are grouped near the buffet, but it’s what’s on top that has me staring in disbelief.

  “Wait. Centerpieces?” And then I realize they’re everywhere. Mismatched centerpieces, all colors and sizes, decorate tables and the bar area, even the fireplace mantle.

  “Unfortunately, you can’t take them home and make your mother’s covert floral aspirations come true. We borrowed these from a bunch of local businesses. They need to go back tomorrow, but we thought…”

  “Everything.” He brought Miami to my English party. “You thought of everything. Thank you doesn’t even work.”

  “Your smile does,” Orion says.

  Gordon leans in from behind. “Not an ombre carnation in sight. We made sure of that.”

  My night flows, sweet and dreamlike. Music pipes through and I dance with everyone, even Orion’s dad and Spencer. But all my dancing parts are most at home with a prom date I didn’t even know I was waiting for, on a milestone night I’d wished away.

  Is there a superstition about things you let go of, only to be surprised later with a version of them that’s so much better? I have the better now. But I don’t want to ask Orion anything. I only want to do what I’m doing—dancing with him so closely there’s no room for any holy deities between us. My head sinks heavy on his shoulder and his hands link into the small of my back. Song after song.

  Sometime later, pictures and voices in my head creep over the soft ballad.

  “You went all tense just now,” he says.

  “Before you knocked, I started packing and each item reminded me of something we did when I wore it. And I don’t want to ruin this night, but I can’t stop seeing the ticket.”

  He draws circles on my bare back. “I won’t say any more about day by day because we only have two days left. But look, I didn’t go to my prom either. And now I have this night. I left school thinking I wouldn’t and now I do, Lila.”

  “So do I.” And one cheated moment is better than an entire champagne-gowned life with another boy who was my yesterday, but doesn’t fit into my now anymore.

  And what about mañana? What and who and where fits into that? Orion fits me close, warm, and wanted into his today. But even after the way he kissed me, the way he honors me tonight, he still can’t talk about tomorrow.

  I find ways to snap back, to keep my celebration in focus. I hide my ticking clocks and impossibilities into centerpieces, drowning them in flutes of bubbly champagne. I study the faces of my new friends and try to memorize them. We’ll have texts and FaceTime, but I want all the RealTime skin and bones of them, the hearts and little pieces of them. Enough to last.

  Orion, toting a big plate of chips, finds me again. He turns me around as Jules and her Goldline friends group in the opposite corner. “More surprises.”

  “She’s going to sing?”

  The band members settle into a stripped down, acoustic rig of two guitars, keyboard, and a box drum. Jules grabs a mic that’s been turned low for the inn. “Where’s Lila?” She spots me through the faded light then grins. “Oh, there she is. So in honor of your big birthday, and well, just in honor of someone who is bloody spectacular, I wanted to debut Goldline’s newest song tonight. It’s called ‘Sweaters,’ um, not ‘Jumpers,’ because America and all. This one’s for you.” She blows me a kiss and I’m already teary.

  Orion pulls me into his side as the minor chords strum. Remy videos as Jules comes in with her airy singer-songwriter tone. My heart breaks over beauty when she hits the chorus.

  Sweaters for my shoulders

  Blankets for the cold

  You’re painting stars where

  I colored black holes

  Your embers, my ashes

  Your sugar for this sinking sand

  You cover me again

  You cover me again

  It’s like Jules took everything out of me—the bricks and building blocks of my heart—and s
et it to music. All these weeks she’s been watching, writing my life with lyrics.

  Orion has to hold me steady when the bridge starts. The guitar players grin, standing from their stools. Leah the drummer winks, then the chords, the beat, the rhythmic patterns change: Goldline is referencing salsa. Jules toggles between English and Spanish in the most unique bridge I have ever heard. It’s not out of place, but a perfect mash-up like a Cuban pastry filled with English fruit.

  “What?” I look at Orion and find his face split with a grin. “You knew about this?”

  The music goes on and shifts back to the delicate minor progression. “Only that she was planning a song. She’s bloody brilliant. The Latin groove in the middle slides in perfectly. Unexpected but not out of place.” He kisses my temple. “Just like you.”

  When it’s over, the band moves into more acoustic numbers, but Jules finds my big sandwich hug. “You’re incredible,” I tell her. “Thank you. I’ll never forget this.”

  She draws back. “After that night we had in the kitchen, cooking and dancing, I just had to. I had the lyrics in bits but couldn’t fit all the pieces together. Then it hit me. Maybe it was the Coke and lime.” She laughs, but her eyes mist. “Can I come to Miami to visit you? I’m going to miss you so damn much.”

  I nod into her bare shoulders as we hug again. “Soon—please. Soonest.”

  And then, and not at all surprisingly, we decline as much as the party. Our chaperones head out. Wine and champagne and cider flow and so does sugar from the ice cream sundae bar Cate set up in lieu of cake (for the best baker in Winchester?).

  Another not-surprise, the girls end up together in one corner for a bit, belly-down or crossed-legged on the carpet, shoes flung. Flora, darling in a plum lace minidress, licks her sundae spoon and cracks up as Jules entertains us with parody songs and bawdy jokes.

  “What do you think it’ll be like? Being on the telly?” Carly from Goldline asks.

  “Terrifying,” I say through a laugh. “But hopefully less scary after my sister and I spend about a week salon hopping. Brows and nails and highlights.” My other life tugs—me racing around with Pilar in my Mini Cooper, barely dodging speeding tickets.

  “Yeah,” Jules agrees. “It takes a village to look like we do.” She fluffs her hair.

  My gaze hooks onto Orion, sprawled out across the room with his buddies. Bottles and shot glasses are lined up beside them. He smiles; it unravels loose and lopsided across his face. I chuckle to myself—he could be at any prom after-party I’ve ever heard about. Alcohol moves his limbs with the wobbling sway of marionette strings.

  Back to my girls: Leah and Jules and Carly have moved aside, giggling between pulls of cider and bits of story. But Flora rests her back against the wainscoted wall, just watching me. I scoot closer.

  “I’m still gonna do it. Keep baking like you showed me,” Flora says.

  I toy with my rose corsage. The only centerpiece I want to take home. “Your family will love that.” I meet her eyes. She did a worthy job with gray shadow. “Even though I have to go back, you can FaceTime or call or text, anytime.” I shrug. “If you have cooking questions or just want to talk. That’s how I’ve been staying close to my sister.”

  “Yeah, I’d like that.” She shifts to watch her brother for a few beats. “I’ll make sure he eats right. When you’re in Miami. I mean, you can yell at him over the line about his cheese toasties, but I can do more.”

  Oh, my heart. “You can take care of each other. And your dad, too.”

  A smile lands then lifts off her face, winged. “But I’ll still miss us baking bread and dunking it into that really good coffee you make.”

  I have to close my eyes, throat burning. Hazlo—so clear what I have to do. So right. I remove my golden necklace, slide the precious dove charm off. I secure the bird to one of the corsage ribbons and drop the delicate chain into Flora’s palm. “For you.”

  She lifts her hand, letting the links fall. “I can’t. Your grandmother gave it to you.”

  “For me, it’s more about the charm. I can get another gold chain at home.”

  Flora smiles. “Thank you, Lila.” She lets me fasten the clasp around her neck.

  “Add your own special charm when you find it. But wear this and know someone is always thinking of you.” Not forgotten. Remembered.

  * * *

  Later, only two remain in the parlor and one wears pink flowers. The other’s clutching the door frame for support after shooing out his last friend. I’m quick with my elbow hooked into his. “You. Couch. Now.”

  Orion utters a British noise of assent, teetering on my arm. “Beautiful. You were. Beautiful dancer.”

  I ease him onto one of the sofas. Help him out of his jacket.

  “Mmm, that’s nice.”

  I sit next to him and he’s quick to lean against me. Even his skin reeks of ale and a bar cabinet of hard liquor. “You had quite the prom, didn’t you?” I loosen his tie, pull it out from under his collar.

  A low, breathy laugh before he slumps and drops his head into my lap.

  “Oh. Okay, then. Hi.” Wonderland or fairyland or dreamland, he’s got a ticket to any one of them.

  His eyes drift shut, his lips pulling into a smile then snapping back, and I get my introduction to the sleepy-drunk Orion his friends laughed over.

  “We didn’t,” he mumbles, “do everything. So much more.”

  “So much.” I bite my cheek and caress his.

  He leans into my hand. “I like bookstores.”

  My watery smile. “Me too.”

  “Better. Don’t have to. Give them back. Can dog-ear their pages and write in. Margins. Mess them up.”

  My stomach heats. I push a stray curl off his forehead.

  “Better than. Library books. Can only borrow.”

  In the dim light, I borrow time and read his face. His strong jaw and knife-edged nose. I touch the little cleft at his chin, peering into the space as if it leads to forever. He snores faintly now, out cold. His eyelids tremble.

  In the dim light, my forbidden truth writes across my mind. I dress up as myself, the Lila Reyes who sometimes doesn’t listen to people or reason. Doesn’t protect a damn thing like she should. Sometimes she runs too far and reacts too quickly and hurts herself and her sister when she’s hurting.

  In the dim light, I am still her. Just another flavor of the girl who came here weeks ago. She’ll go home the same and different.

  Sí, claro, I do these forbidden things. I’m reckless with words this time. I swirl them around my mouth and bounce them off my heart. I whisper them in English. I say them in Spanish. I put them into hands that feed cities and will hold Orion until dawn. “Te amo.”

  31

  Two suitcases wait in Spencer’s Range Rover after I’ve said goodbye to everyone but Orion. Down to minutes, we spend them on the church courtyard bench.

  I yawn richly, headachy and bleary-eyed, wearing my dove charm on a silver chain I bought in town.

  “The lady said she wanted to stay up all night and she did.” He nudges me.

  “So did you. At least I can sleep on the plane.” To Miami. Home.

  I was careful about my last day. I didn’t want anything new. No new places or memories. I wanted hours of my old ones and the people I met and loved.

  Recipe for Goodbye

  From the Kitchen of Lila Reyes

  Ingredients: One Cuban girl. One English boy. One English city.

  Preparation: Give Polly her kitchen back and share a genuine smile, from one legitimate baker to another. Ride through the countryside on a vintage Triumph Bonneville. Walk through Winchester, all through town and on the paths you ran. Drink vanilla black tea at Maxwell’s. Eat fish and chips and curry sauce at your friend’s pub. Sleep in fits and bits curled up together on St. Giles Hill.

  *Leave out future talk. Any form of the word tomorrow.

  Cooking temp: 200 degrees Celsius. You know the conversion by heart.

  At onc
e, Orion gets up and paces to the fountain. Is this how it is now? Do we need to practice how to be apart?

  “Flora,” he says. “When I came in to brush my teeth she was covering dough to rise.”

  I rise too, keeping my distance. “I’ll stay close. Talk to her as much as I can.”

  “She loves you.” His hand balls, then lifts to cover a face still turned away. But on his next breath, he spins, jaw fitted as tightly as the stone walls. “You came here and you fed everyone. Not just me and not just sandwiches and pastries. You fed the guests at the inn, and people in town will ask where you are tomorrow. You fed Jules’s music. You fed my friends and you fed my sister with skills and love and now you’re…” He ducks his head.

  I’m shaking at this, realizing the meaning. Today he fights against worlds and universes, not accepting the boarding pass in my purse. Not accepting what he’s powerless to change. Tomorrow, maybe he will. But not now.

  “Orion.”

  He looks up, anguished.

  “You all fed me back.”

  “That’s the fucking hell of it isn’t it? After all that, we’re still starving.” He scrubs his face roughly. “I’m sorry, Lila. It’s not your fault. Your life was yours before you landed here.”

  Teeth clenched, I nod. “You’re a bloody fool if you think I’m going to forget you, or lose you. Do you really think I’d let that happen?”

  “Of course not… But don’t promise any more now. You’re going home to a great future.”

  What if my future falls underneath a different flag? Right now, I can’t even allow this thought. Miami has to be my rightful castle today, not an English ruin.

  He approaches. “Well then. Spencer will be calling for you. It might as well be now as it is in five minutes.” Orion looks me over, head to toe. “Be safe. Ring when you land, no matter the time.” He holds me close. Kisses each of my cheeks then nods once, bidding me home.

  I touch my fingers to my lips, then turn toward the fountain. I won’t watch him walk away. It’s fitting that the water under the sainted statue rests still. I try to turn myself off too. This one time, I want math, need it like Pilar does. I make equations: The square root of Family Style plus flan divided by Miami rain minus South Beach sand. I make more, repeating them until the cool gray of graphite covers all my heart and Spencer’s voice calls from next door.