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.”