Don't Date Rosa Santos

by Nina Moreno

  At the boardwalk, Mom’s steps didn’t hesitate. But when we reached the bookshop, I chickened out like always. Before she could move beyond my personal point of no return, I rushed to say, “Let’s go inside.”

  She dusted the sugar from her hands before following me. The bell rang and I was embraced by the sounds of a crackling fire and smell of chocolate-chip cookies, warm from the oven. Clara lived her hygge life to the fullest.

  “I’m going to try to find some art books. Emphasis on try.” Mom headed toward the back.

  I wandered the cluttered shelves closer to the front. The shelves were terribly disorganized, their contents changing constantly. It was a fretful game of hide-and-seek sometimes. Between a paperback romance and a manga series that was all out of order, I looked up and saw Alex.

  Panic struck and I dropped out of sight.

  I pressed back against the shelf, my skirt a tent over my curled-up knees. But wait. Why was I hiding? I had a perfectly legitimate reason for being here. I was shopping with my mother…Oh god, my mother was also here while wearing a crop top. I leaned up just far enough to see Alex.

  He was turned to the side, reading the back of a book’s cover. The shop grew warmer from the fire. Dust swept into my lungs on my next inhale and I coughed, hard. Alex turned and I dropped lower. He slipped the book he’d been reading back in place on the shelf. I couldn’t see his face from this angle. I hurriedly searched between spines for a better view.

  He bent to pick up the box by his feet and hefted it into his arms. The blue lines of his tattoo moved in gentle waves. He said something to Clara I didn’t hear because my heart was beating too loud. When he moved toward the door, I silently slipped around the shelf. The last thing I saw was his smile before I crashed onto a pile of books.

  “Are you okay?” Mom and Clara both asked as they jumped to help me to my feet.

  My head shot up, but there was only the friendly ring of the bell as the door closed behind Alex.

  I pressed my hand to my racing heart and glanced at the mess around me. The smell of old books and warm sugar hung in the air. “I’m so sorry about all of this,” I said to Clara. “I’ll pick it up.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that.” Clara offered me a cookie. I was never getting away from the kids’ table. I took the cookie, feeling all of ten years old. Mom glanced out the window, and when her gaze came back to me, it was thoughtful.

  After we each bought two books and I ate another cookie, we were back outside.

  “I thought it was supposed to be the other way around,” Mom said with a teasing lilt to her voice. “You just crashed and burned, when we’re the ones meant to lead boys to their doom.”

  It wasn’t the joke that stole my breath, but how easily it fell from her lips. I turned and marched back down the boardwalk, far from the marina. Mom caught up to me and slipped her arm through mine, squeezing me tight to her side.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. This close, she was overwhelming. Wild hair, soft perfume, her arm tangled in mine. “Come on, tell me about him. You haven’t had a crush in forever.”

  I actually had. On an older guy in my calculus class at Port Coral Community who always held the door open for me, and a girl from the ice-cream shop who never wore the same name tag and told me I smelled like strawberries. My mother just hadn’t been around to know about my crushes. “There’s no him,” I told her.

  “Well, he was really cute. His tattoos are amazing.”

  “His tattoos are of the sea,” I said, incredulous. “He has a boat, Mom.”

  “Yeah? What kind?” she asked.

  I barked a disbelieving laugh. “Oh my god, how you can be so flippant about it?”

  “Flippant? God, you’ve lived here too long.” She sighed and stepped off the curb. We crossed the street. “I’m so tired of this curse and everyone who believes in it. Things will be better when you leave Port Coral. You’ll see.”

  I didn’t like the way she said it. Like I was leaving for good.

  “Speaking of,” she went on. “Your last e-mail said you would hear back soon about your college applications. What’s the latest?”

  I hadn’t considered how Mom might take my news. She must still wonder about Cuba, too. We hadn’t talked about it since policies between the US and Cuba began to change. And then changed again. “I was accepted to the College of Charleston.”

  “Really? Wow, that’s great.” Mom smiled. “What about the others?”

  “Others? Oh, I got into Florida, Miami, and UCF.”

  “Nice.” She grinned. “Why is the Florida girl headed to South Carolina, though?”

  “They have a really great study-abroad program.” That was a good place to start.

  “That’s exciting.” Of course my wanderlust-afflicted mother would approve.

  The next part was the tough one. I blew out a sharp breath and jumped. “In Cuba.”

  Silence fell between us.

  I felt validated by her heavy pause. It was a big deal for me to go to Cuba. My family’s island was complicated. There were exiles who wanted nothing to do with Cuba until those in power were totally gone, and others who wanted the embargo to end and to rebuild relations again. I wasn’t sure where I fell, but I knew I wanted to understand the place my family fled, as well as those who lived there now.

  “So you want to go to Cuba,” she said. It wasn’t a question, but a revelation. Soft pink petals fell against the sidewalk between us. I gently kicked up the ones in front of me. “What do you plan to study while you’re there?” she asked me.

  “Spanish and history classes focused on the island.”

  “And they apply to your major?”

  “Of course,” I said. “I’m majoring in Latin American Studies.”

  “Still?”

  I stopped walking. A streetlight separated us. “What do you mean still?”

  She leaned against the post. “I figured you’d change your mind at least a few times. Didn’t Florida have that environmental program you liked?”

  I’d mentioned it over a year ago after a science class lit a curious fire in me, and I became fascinated with biodiversity and sustainability. “The coursework was kind of intimidating and didn’t leave a lot of room for the cultural stuff. Plus their undergrad program doesn’t have any upcoming trips to Cuba.”

  “So? Are you only going to college to go to Cuba?”

  “Of course not.” The enormity of studying in Cuba was so overwhelming, but the ultimate goal had to be graduating and earning a degree. A future career. “This is just one of the only ways I can go, and it makes sense if I’m majoring in Latin American Studies.”

  “You don’t have to get a degree in being Latina, Rosa. That’s not how this works.”

  Annoyance sparked through me like a match. “Are you serious right now?”

  She tactfully changed course. “Have you told Mimi about any of this?”

  “God, no. Look how much fun it is just talking to you about it.”

  “I just want to make sure you’re not so hyperfocused on Cuba that you miss everything else you want to study. There are a lot of roads that can take you where you want to go.”

  “I want to study this. That’s the whole point.” Of the past two years of my life.

  “Just remember school isn’t the only way there. Look at me, I’ve been a few places. And, hell, we could go one day,” she said. “We used to talk about that, remember?”

  Maybe that’s where this idea had first been planted, tended by my mother’s infectious optimism in the face of the impossible. Cuba? Sure. One day.

  My phone whistled—a text from Mrs. Peña informing me the planning meeting was moved to her garage after the book club had refused to budge from the library’s room.

  “You think I could do something for the festival?”

  My head jerked up. My surprise must have been obvious, because Mom gave me an almost shy smile. “I was thinking I could paint something. A very not-flippant mural.”

>   I looked at her for a beat. How we had gone from her questioning my college choices to her painting a mural, I would never understand. “You catch me off guard sometimes. Like a gust of wind.”

  “Your poet’s heart is too kind to me,” she said, sounding almost guilty. But she was the poet, not me. As we walked I remembered my favorite story of hers, where a young, scrappy girl found a huge bright pink seashell that could take her anywhere she wished. The girl traveled to so many places thanks to that seashell, and whenever we moved somewhere new, Mom always reminded me we were still looking for ours.

  “How long are you staying?” I asked carefully.

  She was quiet for a long moment. I braced myself. “For as long as I can.”

  It was as simple and complicated as that. Tired of talking, I slipped my phone out and scrolled over to my music. I offered her an earbud, and she took it. I hit shuffle. Another one of Mimi’s favorite Sunday morning songs, the guajira beat of an old country song. We walked, side by side, and I imagined the bustling streets of Havana. To the left somewhere the seawall would be standing strong against wild, breaking waves. Cars honking as friendly, familiar Spanish that rolled with a Caribbean tongue spilled out of open windows. Maybe sometimes going home again could be as simple as listening to a song.

  A small crowd was already milling around the Peñas’ open garage door. It was a typical sight, since Ana’s house was home base for everyone: friends, cousins, anyone with scattered families or who’d recently migrated here. We gathered for birthdays, holidays, and every Christmas Eve for Noche Buena. When Mr. Peña cooked, people showed up.

  At the bottom of the driveway, Mom returned my earbud and I headed inside to find Ana, then all but crashed to a stop in front of the poster boards in the garage. One was the map I’d drawn of the square that Mrs. Peña had blown up. The other was a list organizing tasks along a very detailed timeline. The days were color-coordinated with a beautiful key along the side.

  I held a hand against my heart. “This is art.”

  Mrs. Peña’s bright smile faltered when she noticed Mom behind me. “Hey, Liliana.” There was a moment of hesitation before they greeted each other with a quick hug and kiss on the cheek. “When’d you get back into town?”

  “Last night. I popped into the bodega this morning.”

  Mike arrived and I ducked away from the awkwardness of Mom and Mrs. Peña attempting small talk. Whenever Mom came back, she rarely attended town meetings, and her presence stirred curious glances now.

  “Hey, I heard this was all your idea.” Mike grinned at me. “Just like you to get everyone assigned extra credit.” Black, geeky, and super crafty, Mike lived with his parents and grandmother across the street. He was a skater kid with old-man hobbies like whittling and puzzles, and he apprenticed for Oscar the Hermit Carpenter. Oscar lived in the old fire station, and everyone in town owned something made by him. Our kitchen table, for instance. Oscar trailed behind Mike before stopping in front of the poster board. He silently studied it.

  Ana strolled into the garage, tapping her purple drumsticks. She smiled at Mike. “You got Oscar out of his workshop? Very impressive.”

  “Mrs. Peña needs new tables and signs,” Mike explained. “Also set pieces for the stage.”

  Mimi arrived with Malcolm, Dan, and Penny, whose feet were swinging from the wrap her dad wore across his chest. Mimi smelled of the peppermint water she sprayed her plants with sometimes. “Doña Santos,” Mike said as he approached my abuela. She offered her cheek, and he kissed it like a pro. He liked practicing his Spanish with other people’s abuelitas, and Mimi ate it up.

  The last to arrive were Jonas and Clara. And Alex. He glanced my way and I smiled, but his dark gaze skipped over me. My smile crumpled and fell away like an undelivered note.

  He looked like the surly fisherman again. The mint plant and box of books had nearly made me forget.

  Mrs. Peña moved into the center of the garage, the poster boards a beautiful backdrop behind her. “Thanks for coming, everybody. We’ve got a lot of work to do in not a lot of time.” She paused and everyone looked at me. I offered a quick wave.

  “It’s spring and I know we all love our carnival season.” A murmur of agreement went through the garage. I tried to pay attention as Mrs. Peña went on about vendor applications, a silent auction, musical acts, and my dominos tournament idea that had taken off, but I was busy being way too conscious of how I was standing. I shifted my hip out a little. From my peripheral vision, I spied Alex scanning the room. He was a head taller than Jonas even as he leaned against the wall. My eyes started to hurt from the strain of looking sideways. I really hoped I didn’t have guava on my cardigan from my earlier pastelito.

  “…and the sailors will put on the regatta…”

  I pictured the harbor and imagined the spray of salt water flying toward the horizon. A wave of dizziness washed over me.

  “I would like to paint a mural,” Mom announced. The room quieted. Everyone was looking everywhere except at her.

  “I do this kind of work, and I’d like to do one here. You could present it at the festival.” Her voice wavered. I wondered if anyone else noticed. I glanced at Mimi, who watched her curiously.

  The silence was getting weird. Mrs. Peña looked at her notes.

  “Where?” Mimi asked. “You have no wall here.”

  Mom didn’t look at her. Her gaze stayed defiantly on Mrs. Peña, waiting for her answer.

  “She can have mine.” Oscar’s growly voice startled me. He dragged a hand through dark hair that was going gray at the temples. “She can have the side of the fire station. The brick is faded, but it could work.” He shrugged. “If you want.”

  Mom’s answering smile was soft with relief. “Thanks, Oscar.”

  Mrs. Peña perked up. “Okay, great, so Liliana will paint a mural, and the marina will host….” She went on with her list, but my attention was zeroed in on Mom and Oscar. Were they friends? The quiet carpenter was someone else who left Port Coral, only to return. I knew Oscar had shipped out after high school and returned a retired Navy SEAL who built furniture, but had he known Mom when they were kids? Or my father?

  “How does that sound, Rosa?” Mrs. Peña asked, jerking me out of my thoughts and back to the garage.

  “Great,” I told her. Across the room, Alex seemed surprised. Mimi shot me a sharp look of concern, while Mom was grinning like she knew a secret.

  “Oh god, I wasn’t listening,” I murmured to Mike. Beside us, Ana laughed behind her hand. “What happened?”

  He ducked his head. “Jonas volunteered that dude Alex over there to help you with their wedding.”

  “Wait, what?”

  Alex’s glower burning a hole into the poster board told me how he felt about it.

  “I told you,” Ana said. “You have no idea what you’re doing.”

  When Mrs. Peña was finished handing out assignments and the meeting wrapped up, I hurried to catch Clara on the sidewalk.

  “Rosa!” She beamed, the blushing bride again. “I really didn’t see how we could pull this off after canceling everything, but this is going to be even better! We never needed a big production, and with everyone coming together for the festival and harbor, it’s kind of an adventure now. It’s just so romantic, Jonas and me having our little moment with my mum here. I’m so excited!”

  “That’s great, Clara. But, uh, I was just wondering if I could have a recap, maybe? Over what we just decided back there.”

  “Oh! Of course, well—”

  “I can do food.”

  I spun back to see Alex right behind me. His arms crossed, he looked at Clara. “The cake. I’ll get that,” he offered.

  “Wonderful!” Clara said. “I have my dress, of course, and our personal details like vows, but with everything else going on we just need a bit of help with setting up and executing the moment.” Clara turned her heart-eyes on me. I could almost see the cartoon baby birds chirping around her.

  “Don�
�t worry about a thing,” I said. “We got this.”

  She held up her hands like she was framing Alex and me in a picture. “The dream team,” she said before handing me several lists of favorite flowers, songs, and cake flavors. “I’m off to Gainesville in the morning with Jonas to meet with the university. Wish us luck!” She clapped again before turning to go. I wasn’t the best person to impart any kind of luck.

  Mr. Gomez aimed a watchful glare at Alex and me. He pointed from his eyes to mine. Yeah, I got the message.

  “Looks like we’re planning that party together, then,” I said lightly. “I figured you’d be headed with them to Gainesville, though.”

  “I’m not one for meetings.”

  “Yeah, I can understand. Look how it turns out when you do go to one,” I joked, and then something amazing happened: He smiled. Well, almost. It was a soft twitch of his lips, and it was gone in a blink, but a tiny ray of sunlight had broken through the clouds of this shadowy boy. I had to be careful; a full smile from him might be lethal.

  “Uh, so, yeah.” I cleared my throat and read over the papers in my hands. “It says here they would love a short ceremony at sunset. The exact location isn’t important to them, so I’ll take care of that and flowers, and you can handle the cake and wine. Easy breezy. Sound good?”

  He nodded and slipped his hands into his pockets.

  “And if I need you for anything else?” I ventured.

  “You can find me on my boat.”

  I laughed, the sound too high to be comfortable or cool. It was the most outrageous thing anyone had ever said to me. “Most people have phone numbers.”

  There it was again. An almost smile. I selfishly wanted a real one. “If you call it, I can’t answer it.”

  Um, rude. “Why not?”

  He shrugged. “I dropped it in the ocean and haven’t bought another one yet.” He turned and, with a backward wave, headed down the sidewalk, toward the marina.

  Ana walked over to me. “Be careful with that one.”

  In a whisper, I asked, “Is my mom looking at me?”

  “She’s been watching you this whole time.”