“You want lunch, sweetheart?” Dad asks Maria.
“A house salad with chicken to go would be great, Uncle V.”
“Coming right up.”
“What time and where tomorrow?” Jason asks Maria.
“Is nine okay?”
“Works for me.”
“I’ll bring you so I can take photos,” I tell him.
“Sounds good. Thanks to both of you.”
“Thank you. My boss couldn’t say yes fast enough when I told her about your offer. I would’ve had an answer for you sooner, but she was in meetings all morning with the finance people, which usually puts her in a foul mood.”
“Does the clinic need money again, honey?” Nona asks.
“I’m not sure what’s going on, but I’ll let you know.”
“We can do another spaghetti dinner,” Nona says. “Just say the word.”
“Thank you.” Maria kisses Nona’s cheek and then Abuela’s. She’s like a third grandmother to Maria. That’s one thing to adore about my grandmothers’ unique relationship. They love each other’s grandchildren like their own.
My dad has packed up all the leftovers for Jason, and judging by the size of the bag he presents, I assume he’s added enough for a few additional meals, too.
“Thank you, Daddy.”
“Anything for you, love.”
Jason reaches for his wallet.
“You’ll insult us if you try to pay.” Dad affects a comically stern tone. “It’s our pleasure to welcome our daughter’s colleague to Miami and our humble establishment.”
Jason leans across the bar to shake my father’s hand. “Thank you so much for your hospitality, Vincent. It’s been such a pleasure to meet you all.”
“Likewise,” Abuela says. “I hope we’ll see you back here very soon. In fact, you should come for Sunday brunch.” The calculating look she gives me lets me know she’s trying to help me, whether I want her help or not.
“I’d love to.”
“Wonderful. Carmen will give you the details, and we’ll see you Sunday.” She crooks her finger to get him to come down to her so she can kiss his cheek.
Then Nona hugs and kisses him while my mother waits for her turn.
I nudge him to get him moving for the door before they think of something else they need to tell him or ask him.
“Call me later, Carmen,” Mami calls to me as the door closes behind us.
“So. That’s my family.”
“I have so many questions.”
As we walk toward his car, I laugh as hard as I’ve laughed in years.
JASON
She has no idea how incredibly lovely she is, which only makes her more so. Seeing her with her family has added an intriguing layer to my impression of her and filled me with curiosity about the family dynamics.
“Abuela is your mother’s mother, right?” I ask when we’re back in the car.
“Yes, she left Cuba when she was about ten. Nona’s family came from Italy to New York, originally, when she was two, so too young to remember much about it. Abuela, on the other hand, remembers everything about leaving Cuba. It was very traumatic for her and her entire family, especially after they lost her father.”
“What happened to him?”
“My great-grandfather infiltrated Batista’s administration as part of the revolutionary effort to overthrow his corrupt government. Batista was the president in the chaotic time before Castro came to power. When my great-grandfather was found out, he was executed.”
“Oh my God.”
“Sadly, this happened a month before Batista was forced to flee the country. One of my great-grandfather’s friends came to the house and told Abuela’s mother they had to get out immediately. He got them on a flight leaving for Miami that afternoon. Her mother escaped with five children and nothing more than the clothes on their backs. They went from being wealthy, prominent citizens of Havana to living in a new country where they didn’t speak the language, with few resources available to them.”
“What a shock that must’ve been.”
“From what I’ve heard, my great-grandmother never truly recovered from losing her husband, home and country all in the same day. Abuela and her older sister helped to raise their younger siblings while their mother worked long hours at a dry cleaner to put food on the table in the cramped apartment where they all lived. The saving grace, if you can call it that, was the community of exiled Cubans who ended up here.”
“It must’ve helped to have others from Cuba close by.”
“It was a mixed bag for them. There were so many competing interests at the time. Some people revered them for what their husband and father had done, and others were less appreciative. Fun fact—I was named after my great-grandmother Carmen.”
“What an amazing story.”
“When the travel restrictions were eased a few years back, my parents took Abuela and her older sister to Havana. My parents said Havana is like the place time forgot. They’re still driving cars from the fifties and have hardly any of the modern conveniences we take for granted here. They were supposed to be there for a week but came back after only two days. Abuela and her sister couldn’t bear to be there. The memories were too painful.”
“That’s so sad.”
“She said the trip provided closure for them. That’s all she’s ever said about it. Since then, she’s asked us to speak to her in English more than Spanish so she can continue to improve her English. It’s like she’s finally accepted she’s never going home.”
“You’d never know she’s experienced such heartache.”
“She hides it well. Despite all she’s endured, she’s still one of the most optimistic, joyful people I’ve ever known.”
“I’ll confess to not knowing much about Cuban history, beyond what we hear in the news about people trying to escape to the US by boat.”
“We only hear about that when it goes badly and people die. The history of the revolution is fascinating. We studied it in school.”
“Whereas we studied the Cuban Missile Crisis in high school, but otherwise, I don’t remember learning much else. You said your Nona is from New York?”
“Right. Her family moved to Miami from Brooklyn when she was a teenager, so she’s a New Yorker at heart. She gets back there as often as she can, especially now that two of my cousins live there. We joke that she gives them twenty-four-hour notice that she’s coming to town, and they have to spend the entire time cleaning their apartment to make it ready for her.”
I laugh at the image she paints of two young New Yorkers scrambling to prepare for their beloved but exacting grandmother’s arrival. “Thank you for sharing them with me. That was the most enjoyable and delicious meal I’ve had in a long time.” I glance at the restaurant. “Are they talking about us in there?”
“Oh hell yes,” she says, laughing. “I made a critical error when I called you Jason in front of them.”
“How so?”
“You must’ve missed the calculating look that Abuela gave me. I swear that woman can see inside me sometimes. Me calling you by your first name indicates familiarity, and she homed right in on that.”