Anchored Hearts

by Priscilla Oliveras

  Oh, he understood, all right. As far as Victor Miranda was concerned, his elder son couldn’t get the hell off this island fast enough.

  The unfairness of the blame laid solely at his feet made Alejandro’s blood boil with anger.

  Why was he the bad guy when she was the one who had reneged on their plan to see the world, find their place in it, together? When he simply hadn’t settled for a life he’d always made clear he didn’t want to live? When he had followed his father’s edict and stayed away from where he was no longer welcome.

  But the questions remained unspoken. This was an old argument he would never win. Not with her. And never with his father.

  “Look, I’m here only as long as I have to be.” Alejandro popped two pills in his mouth, then washed them down with a gulp of water. “I don’t plan on seeing Anamaría again. She’s safe from me.”

  His father humphed and took the meal tray off Alejandro’s lap, then strode from the room without another word. Not that there was anything left to say. His papi had made his feelings clear. He hadn’t wanted Alejandro to return. There would be no fatted-calf celebration for this prodigal son.

  Feeling like he’d aged fifteen years in the last fifteen minutes, Alejandro leaned back against the pillow behind him and closed his eyes.

  First Anamaría, now his papi. What a fucking messed-up first day back.

  At least he’d told his dad the truth. He had absolutely no intention of seeing Anamaría while he was here. Being around her stirred up too many emotions, too many what-ifs he preferred to ignore.

  The only wrinkle in this plan would be whether or not their mothers stayed out of it. Then again, when had a determined Cuban mami ever stayed out of her children’s business?

  Shit. Alejandro thumped his head against the wall behind him. The answer to that question would be never, which did not bode well for his bid to recuperate in solitude.

  Not. At. All.

  Chapter 4

  “So, nena, how was Alejandro when you saw him earlier today?” Anamaría’s mom asked.

  Seated across their familia’s dinner table, Anamaría’s younger brother laughed, turning it into a fake cough at her glare.

  Her obvious annoyance didn’t stop Enrique from rubbing his thumb against his fingertips, indicating she and her two older brothers would have to pay up as losers in their wager. Not a single plate was filled yet and already their mami had started henpecking about Alejandro’s return. Anamaría had bet they’d make it halfway through the meal, at least until someone went in for seconds. Luis and Carlos had placed their money on dessert and during cleanup—like there’d been any chance at all their mom would wait that long. Ha!

  Pay up, losers, Enrique mouthed, his eyes laughing at her.

  She wrinkled her nose and was about to mouth, Bite me, when Sara leaned toward her on Anamaría’s right.

  “Ignore him. He’s being infantile,” Luis’s fiancée advised.

  “But you still love me,” Enrique shot back with a cheeky wink.

  “Not nearly as much as she loves me.” Luis, Anamaría’s closest sibling, older by barely a year, set his glass of water on the table so he could wrap his arm around Sara’s pale shoulders. “Right, cariño?”

  The endearment brought a pleased blush to Sara’s cheeks. Luis hugged his fiancée closer. Sara laid her head on his shoulder and gazed adoringly up at him. Anamaría’s brother’s bronze skin and black, close-cropped hair were a striking difference to Sara’s peachy coloring and wavy blond tresses, but the couple was a perfect match when it came to their temperaments.

  The secretive half smile that had garnered Sara over half a million social media followers broadened into a pleased grin when Luis brushed a lock of hair off her forehead and dropped a kiss on her nose. She tipped her chin and he obliged, pressing his lips to hers.

  Anamaría marveled at the change in her formerly sedate, guarded brother thanks to his relationship with the gregarious social media influencer who managed to pull him out of his shell. Bringing him back to the land of the living after he suffered a devastating loss years ago. One that had torn Luis and their younger brother apart. Until Sara.

  Luis’s life wasn’t the only one changed thanks to Sara. With her soon-to-be sister-in-law as her business mentor, Anamaría’s AM Fitness brand and online presence had grown exponentially over the past year. She’d taken Sara’s advice and transferred it into hard work, garnering a sizeable increase in athletic-training clients, social media buzz, and, most recently, a potential agent.

  “Bleh! Kissy-face mushy stuff!” little Ramón complained from the other end of the table. “My papi and mami do that all the time.”

  “And one day, you’ll understand why, hijo.” Seated next to the younger of his two sons, Anamaría’s burly oldest brother, Carlos, ruffled Ramón’s dark hair, then linked fingers with his wife, Gina, in between their dinner plates. The high school sweethearts exchanged an innocent peck on the lips, with Carlos adding a loud muah for special effect.

  Their eight- and six-year-old sons’ scrunched faces matched their loud groans of “Gross!”

  Nudging her nephew José with her left elbow, Anamaría hunched closer with a conspiratorial grin. “At almost nine you think it’s gross, but let’s see how you feel when you’re nineteen.”

  “That’s so ooooold!” he whined, drawing laughter from the adults around their familia’s table.

  Anamaría chuckled as she grabbed the dish of oven-fried chicken Sara passed her. Dios mío, at nineteen she’d been—

  Don’t go there.

  It did no good to think about that time.

  Too bad the pesky memories of her nineteenth birthday wouldn’t be deterred.

  By the time that particular December fifteenth had rolled around, Alejandro had been gone nearly six months. Impressed by his work, the photographer had offered to make the temporary apprenticeship that had lured Alejandro away a permanent, paying job.

  Alejandro was thriving in Europe . . . traveling and taking amazing pictures and learning more about his craft . . . living his dream.

  The morning of her birthday, he called. As he had every birthday morning since she’d turned fourteen. Only this time they’d wound up fighting about her enrolling in spring classes instead of flying out to join him.

  “I don’t get it. What about coming out here?” he had asked.

  “I just . . . I’m not ready yet,” she hedged. “I can’t go.”

  She broke off, that supersize tsunami wave of fear and doubt gaining momentum, crashing over her like it did every time she thought about leaving the island, her familia.

  What if something happened to Papi or Mami, one of her brothers, or someone else she loved while she was away? God forbid they were gone before she made it home! She had lived that loss before when her abuelo suffered his fatal stroke during her eighth-grade trip to DC.

  Papi’s heart attack the week before her and Alejandro’s high school graduation had unearthed the devastation she’d hidden after her grandfather’s death. Faced with her mami’s and abuela’s gut-wrenching sorrow over the loss of their father and husband, she had buried her own. Nearly losing her papi had made it all come flooding back.

  “I just . . . I need more time,” she told Alejandro. “Caring for Papi over the summer, taking my health and nutrition class during the fall semester. They gave me a sense of purpose. I think I want to earn my EMT certification.”

  “Are you kidding—” His huff of frustration blew through the phone line. “And then what?”

  “I’m not sure,” she had admitted softly, torn and confused. She had stared at their prom picture on her nightstand. Missing him desperately. Afraid to leave when she felt so unsettled inside.

  He was so sure about himself and what he wanted. While she . . . she’d felt lost. Like a boat unmoored in stormy waters.

  “So, what are you saying? Are you considering fire college, like your brothers and dad?”

  His words had been more accusatio
n than question. An unfair reaction that had her throat tightening with unshed tears.

  “I don’t know. Maybe? I’d make a good paramedic. But I’m also enjoying experimenting with healthy recipes for Papi, so I might be interested in studying nutrition.”

  “Okay, can’t you do that online, from here?”

  But where would “here” be? He hopped around from photo shoot to photo shoot.

  She was trying to find the right path for herself. Aimlessly following her globe-trotting boyfriend around like a groupie, without having some purpose in her own right, didn’t feel like the right solution.

  “Can’t you come home for the holidays?” she had asked, hoping it would help them reconnect. “Then we can—”

  “No. How can you even ask me that? You know what my father said. I’m not coming back. Not until he apologizes. You promised to come with me. Are you giving up on me, too?”

  Dios mío, how his words had stung. The unfairness had fractured her tender heart.

  Going away for the summer was one thing. That, bueno, that was an adventure.

  Going away for good like he wanted? That was incomprehensible.

  He’d been unfair. Changing the game plan by applying for the apprenticeship without telling anyone. Accepting without even discussing it with her.

  Yes, the apprenticeship had proven fortuitous for Alejandro. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, begrudge him what had been the opportunity of a lifetime.

  For her, though, things had been different. And he wouldn’t or couldn’t understand.

  What should have been a happy birthday morning call had ended with their first big fight. Unknowingly, the beginning of a long, drawn out, agonizing end that had left her heart battered and bruised.

  “Are you done?” José nudged the platter of chicken she held aloft, pulling her back to the present. The memory of Alejandro’s terse disappointment as they hung up dissipated.

  “Uh, yeah,” she mumbled. “Here you go.”

  Her nephew took the platter, his skinny arms wobbling with the weight. On either side of him, her mom and Anamaría steadied it, waiting while the young boy grabbed a chicken leg. After serving herself, Anamaría’s mom passed the dish off to Carlos.

  “Elena tells me that Alejandro will be home for a few months recovering.” Like a dog with a pernil bone, savoring the pork shoulder flavor and unwilling to let it go, Anamaría’s mom swung the conversation back to her current favorite topic. “Is that right?”

  “Probably,” Anamaría answered.

  “It was nice of you to go spend time with him today,” her mom continued gnawing.

  “I didn’t spend time with him. I went because Señora Miranda was worried about infection setting in after his trip.”

  “¿Se ve bien?”

  Reaching for the amarillos—happily noting that the sweet plantains had been sautéed with a mist of olive oil instead of the usual pan-fried technique, per her heart-healthy suggestion—Anamaría forked a few slices on her plate and played dumb. “Does who look good? Señora Miranda? You saw her just the other day.”

  “Ay, nena, don’t be silly. I’m asking about Alejandro. How does he look? Handsome, I’m sure.”

  Anamaría swung her irritated gaze around the table at her knuckleheaded brothers. What happened to helping deflect their mami’s anticipated Cuban Inquisition like they had all agreed in their sibling text thread?

  Clueless Carlos was occupied scooping off some of the giant-sized pile of congrí little Ramón had served himself, with Gina rushing him before the mix of black beans and rice toppled off their youngest’s plate. Enrique and her papi had their heads together, from the sounds of it swapping opinions about something that had gone down at one of the city’s fire stations. Luis and Sara were still busy canoodling like teenagers.

  So much for bailing her out if needed. Fine.

  Experience cautioned her to say as little as possible during her mom’s inquisition. Less chance of inadvertently mentioning something that could be misconstrued or used for ammunition later.

  “Alejandro looks like a man foolish enough to climb up the side of a rocky waterfall, alone mind you, while chasing a silly bird. Only to slip and wind up breaking his tibia. Idiota.”

  “¡No seas mala!” her mom chided.

  “I’m not being mean. You asked. I told the truth. The fool’s lucky he didn’t break his neck instead.”

  “¡Ay, nena, por favor!” Her mom made the sign of the cross, kissing her fingertips at the end. “I hope you did not put that idea in Elena’s mind. She worries enough about ese nene.”

  “Only he’s not a boy anymore. He’s a grown-ass man—”

  “Oye, what’s with that kind of language at our familia mesa?” Her mami scowled over the plate of amarillos as she berated Anamaría for breaking one of their family table rules.

  “Bottom line, Alejandro’s an adult who should know better.” She hoped her lecture earlier today made him think twice in the future. Then again, he’d always been hardheaded.

  “Bueno, I think you should—”

  “Abuela, will you give me some amarillos, please?” Ramón asked his grandmother.

  Anamaría could have kissed her nephew for the interruption, especially since her siblings were useless. She’d have to treat the cutie to a sundae at Dairy Queen off White Street after baseball practice this week.

  Too bad, her mami was a woman on a mission. Forking a few slices of sweet plantain, she plunked them on her younger grandson’s dinner plate and went back to her henpecking. “I know Elena was comforted by your visit. You should stop by the Mirandas’ tomorrow. Check on Alejandro again. It will put Elena at ease to know her son is healing properly.”

  Anamaría tucked her chin to hide the eye roll that would elicit another warning for bad manners. “Tomorrow’s Monday; I’m sure the orthopedist he plans to follow up with here has office hours. Alejandro should see a doctor, not a paramedic, if he’s concerned.”

  “Sí, that may be so,” her mami pressed. “Pero sería más fácil si tú—”

  “No, it would not be easier for me to do anything for him.” Anamaría’s harsh tone stopped the other conversations around them.

  Coño, so much for keeping her cool and not giving any indication that Alejandro’s return affected her one way or another. Her mami would pounce on the slightest whiff of perceived interest or emotional attachment on Anamaría’s part. Like the meddling wasn’t bad enough already.

  From his place at the head of the table, Papi arched a thick black brow in question. He didn’t voice a reprimand. He didn’t have to. Anamaría could hear his usual “your mami means well” advice in her head. Words he calmly repeated whenever she complained during their weekly papi-hija dates over lunch, ice cream, or café con leche. A tradition that had started when she was in elementary school and still continued.

  She hoped her current expression had him hearing her typical “but she’s driving me crazy” grievance. When he answered with an almost imperceptible disappointed shake of his salt-and-pepper head, some of the fight drained out of her.

  Across the table, Enrique straightened in his seat with an apologetic grimace. She evil-eyed him for not having her back like he had promised. But she was equally pissed at herself. They had all anticipated her mom’s inquisition. Anamaría shouldn’t have let her mami’s nagging about Alejandro get her insides scrambled and her patience spread thin.

  “Perdóname,” she apologized. “I am not available tomorrow. My day’s filled with classes and private training sessions. Plus, Sara and I are supposed to go over plans for our trip this weekend.”

  Beneath the table, Anamaría knocked knees with Sara, counting on Luis’s fiancée to take the hint and jump in.

  “Oh, yes!” Sara piped up. “My agent wants to meet with AM and there are some reps from an up-and-coming athletic wear company I’d like her to meet while we’re in Manhattan. She’d be a perfect fit to promo their merchandise. There might even be the potential for her to do s
ome travel as a spokesperson.”

  Ay, Dios, por favor. Anamaría closed her eyes as she whispered the prayer under her breath. “Please, God, let things pan out.” Landing an agent and securing a sponsorship would propel AM Fitness to a higher level of exposure and networking.

  “See, even if I wanted to, I don’t have the time,” Anamaría told her mother. “If Alejandro wants someone to check his pin sites, maybe Enrique can stop by.”

  “I’m on duty at the—Ow!” Her brother yelped when her sneaker connected with his shin. She glared at him, hoping mental telepathy was a real thing because right now she was cataloging the number of times she had covered for Enrique’s ass when they were kids and he pulled some dumb stunt. Often involving Alejandro. Her brother owed her.

  “But I’ll give him a call. Let him know I’ll swing by Tuesday morning when I get off shift,” Enrique volunteered. “I need to tease his as—butt anyway. It’ll be good to catch up.”

  “Gracias, Enrique.” Their mom gave her youngest son a benevolent smile, then swept her penetrating gaze back to Anamaría. “Forgiveness . . . es una bendición, nena . . . sí, a true blessing. I give thanks every day that your brothers have reconciled.”

  In her peripheral vision, Anamaría caught Luis’s water glass salute to Enrique, who answered with a ghost of his usually cheesy smirk. She agreed, it really was a blessing her brothers had finally healed the years’ old rift between them. Luis had found the peace he deserved. And yet, with Enrique . . . the hollow expression on his GQ handsome face whenever the topic came up, like now, made it clear her younger brother still harbored some guilt over the tragic accident that had driven him and Luis apart. Only, he never talked about whatever weighed him down.

  “Learn from your brothers. Forgive the past,” her mami counseled. “I fear you will not be truly happy until you do.”

  Anamaría gazed into her mami’s eyes, the admonition tempered by a mother’s soulful desire for her child’s happiness. Around them the others ate quietly, respectful of their matriarch’s heartfelt admission. For several moments, the tinny clink of silverware against well-worn ceramic plates was the only sound in a room typically filled with boisterous conversation.