“But your first day.” Mami clucks with disapproval that doesn’t surprise me. If they had their way, I never would’ve gone to college or done anything other than work at the family business. I know they’re proud of all I’ve accomplished, but disappointed at the same time that I chose a different path from the one they planned for me.
“What looks good to you, Jason?” Dad asks.
“All of it. What do you recommend?”
“How about a sampler with a little of everything?”
“Including Cuban?” I ask him, raising a brow.
“Of course.” He feigns offense that I’d even ask. I roll my eyes at him, letting him know I don’t buy his act. I wouldn’t put it past him to bring only Italian food, the way my mother would bring only Cuban. Like their mothers, they’re nothing if not territorial that way.
“A sampler sounds perfect,” Jason says. “Thank you.”
Dad goes into the kitchen to give orders to both chefs, and yes, we have executive chefs for both sides of the house, while Jason takes in the signed photos of my parents with various celebrities that line the walls. Everyone from Frank Sinatra to Taylor Swift has come through our doors at one time or another. The restaurant is listed as a “must-see” on most of the Miami-area tour sites, and we see a steady stream of tourists along with our local regulars.
“Eva Perez said you were playing dominoes in the park this morning,” Mami says with a nonchalance that’s totally fake. She’s gone behind the bar to wipe the gleaming surface that doesn’t need wiping.
Honestly. I can’t make this shit up. This really is my life. “We stopped by because Jason wants to get to know his new town, and I thought he’d enjoy learning to play.”
“She said you took photos.”
“Yes, for his social media.”
“Maria said you asked about him working at the free clinic.”
I sigh to myself, because God forbid she should hear me sigh at something she says.
“Allow me to explain,” Jason says.
I want to throw myself in front of that, but before I can stop him, he’s telling her the full story of what happened in New York as well as how I’m helping him restore his reputation and get approved by the board at Miami-Dade.
My mother hangs on his every word, her mouth hanging open in shock when he gets to the part about how Ginger betrayed him. About halfway through the retelling, my father returns and is equally interested. I’m not sure if I’m watching a slow-moving disaster or a smart move on his part.
“What kind of woman does that to someone?” Mami is filled with outrage on his behalf.
Her outrage is a relief to me. I don’t want her to dislike him because of what happened. And besides, it’s probably best that he told them himself since they’d be googling him two seconds after we leave. The four of them are in love with their iPhones and their emojis.
“This is a very important assignment you’ve been given, Dulcita.”
Jason glances at me, eyebrow raised. “Dulcita?”
“Sweetie,” my mother tells him. “It’s what I’ve always called her.”
“She is very sweet.”
I’m mortified, and he knows it, but he laughs anyway. And here I thought I liked him. When I look up, my mother is giving me a curious look, as if she just put together a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle in the span of a second. That’s my mother for you. Nothing gets by her.
“Where are you from originally, Jason?” Mami asks.
“Outside of Milwaukee.”
“Where do your people come from?”
Jason glances at me.
“Nationality.” My family is always interested in where other people are from.
“Oh, um, English, Irish and Dutch, or so I was told.”
“Do you have siblings?”
“I have a younger brother.”
“And what do your parents do?”
“Mami! This is lunch, not an inquisition.” I feel like I should put a stop to this, even though she’s posing questions I’d like to ask.
“It’s fine, Dulcita.” Jason winks at me as I scowl at him. He’s not allowed to call me that, but he doesn’t seem to care. “My mom is a doctor and my dad is an attorney.”
“Oh my.” My mother has always been impressed by people with fancy educations, although as my dad frequently tells her, fancy educations don’t necessarily equal fancy people. He likes to give her examples of people we know who have all the education in the world but don’t know enough to come in out of the rain, as he puts it. “They must be very proud of you.”
“They were until things blew up in New York.”
“That wasn’t your fault.”
He shrugs, seeming a little defeated. “People don’t believe I didn’t know who she was. She didn’t change her name when she got married, so how was I supposed to connect her to the board chair? And it never occurred to me that I should google this fabulous new woman I met who seemed so genuine. That’s on me.”
“It’s not your fault.” Mami reaches across the bar to place her hand over his. “It’s her fault. She set out to use you without a care in the world about the damage it would do to you, probably figuring you were a typical self-involved rock star surgeon who wouldn’t care if she used you to break up her family. I’m very sorry that happened to you.”
“Thank you.”
He’s wallowing in the maternal vibes my mother is putting out. She mothers everyone, like a woman who was meant to have ten children, not just one. And like so many others before him, Jason is powerless to resist her. Tony adored her and told her all his problems to the point that I had to plead with him not to share everything that went on between us with my mother!
Let me tell you—it wasn’t easy being a rebellious teen when all my friends were telling me how amazing my mother was and that I ought to be nicer to her. Talk about frustrating.
The pager on my dad’s belt vibrates to let him know food is ready in the kitchen. He goes to get it and returns with two platters that he puts down in front of us. “Cuban on the left. Italian on the right.”
“It’s never the opposite here,” I tell Jason. “Ever.”
“Good to know. I wouldn’t want to mess that up.”
“Don’t worry,” Mami says, “we won’t let you make that mistake.”
“Give me a tour of what we’ve got here.”
I point to the basket of confections that Dad brought along with our food. “Croquetas, pastelitos and bocaditos. On the platter, there’s arroz con pollo, which is rice and chicken, and arroz con frijoles negros, or rice and black beans. That’s ropa vieja, shredded beef in tomato sauce. Ropa vieja actually translates to ‘old clothes,’ but don’t let that stop you from trying it. It’s one of my favorites. We’ve also got tostones, which are plantains, and yuca hervida con mojo, or boiled yuca. On the Italian side, there’s manicotti, which is what we’re known for, as well as eggplant parm, fritto misto and a sausage and broccoli rabe frittata.”
“I hope you provide to-go containers, because this is enough for three meals.”