by Nina Moreno
“What sort of festival is this?” she asked, her Southern accent pronounced.
“A really awesome one,” I told her breathlessly.
“Why did the gator cross the road?” Ana asked the next day. I ignored her, but she was way too amused to let the joke go. Seated behind her drum set, she asked again.
I sighed. The oscillating fan barely reached me from my perch on the couch in their garage. Benny and Mike were blocking most of the cooler air. “I don’t know, Ana. Why did the gator cross the road?” I finally indulged her.
“To steal an orange!” The drums went ba-dum-tss, and Ana cracked up.
Benny put down his soda. “I don’t get it.”
“She’s making fun of what happened to me yesterday.”
“No, I get that. But the joke sucks.”
“Hey.” Ana pointed her stick at him. We never told her how much she looked like her mother threatening us with a wooden spoon when she did that, because then she might actually swing it.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” Benny asked me. “He return to the sea?”
“Give me your drumstick,” I said to Ana.
“Sure but tell me about the kiss again first,” she returned.
I glanced at the guys, who both suddenly had something else to look at. “Yes, fellas, you missed your chance. Your girl Rosa is out here getting kissed by cute boys with man-beards and baked goods.”
When Alex and I got back to town yesterday, I was scheduled to work at the bodega. He offered to walk me back, because he was a gentleman, but I turned him down to save him from sarcastic Cubans and their chisme. I had no idea what we were doing, but it was hard to see reason after being kissed so well by a hot baker. I was living in the very sweet moment.
“What else are we supposed to talk about with that glazed look in your eyes? You look high,” Ana complained. She was practicing for her upcoming gig and hit a cymbal in a dramatic finish.
Pained, Benny muttered, “I miss the bongos.”
“Forget them. Now that I’m in the Electric I can officially tell Mom and Dad I quit jazz band.” Ana let her accent drop an octave and become super Cuban. “Band is okay if it gets you a scholarship para una universidad you don’t even want to go to.”
“And tell me again why you don’t want to go to college?” Mike asked.
“It’s a waste of money and my time. I’ll take a few classes, whatever, but I’m not packing everything up to go hang out with nerds and hipsters. No offense, Rosa.”
“Wait, which one am I?”
“I’d rather work and play my drums and figure the rest out on my own time and dime. And it’s not like I’m totally against higher education, I saved the application to Port Coral Community on my phone.” She pointed at her brother. “Don’t you dare tell Mom and Dad. They think I already applied to state schools like everybody else.”
Benny finished the rest of his soda and shook the empty can. “That’s your business. But don’t come crying to me when all your friends are gone.” He looked around the garage. “All two of them.”
“Mike might not be leaving me,” Ana pointed out.
“What?” I asked. “Since when? You got into Florida!”
Mike raised a hand to halt me. “I don’t know yet. I really like this apprenticeship deal and Port Coral Community is right there, so I have a reason to stay.”
“I do, too, now.” Ana played a quick beat. “Tyler mentioned doing a small tour this summer to hit up all the tourist spots.”
Ana planned out her dream tour for us, but I couldn’t stop thinking about yesterday. The brief road trip with Alex had been about more than really good kisses. My ideas for the next two years of college had unfurled at the sight of those orange groves and cypress trees. Four universities had accepted me as a Latin American Studies major. Those schools also offered minors in environmental sciences and sustainability studies. It wasn’t a straight shot to Havana anymore, but with only days left, I’d done the wildest thing so far: I’d made a brand-new list in my journal.
“Is that Mimi?” Ana asked suddenly. “Where’s she headed in such a hurry?”
My abuela was hustling down the street carrying three bags. Mimi had been acting so weird since Mom left. She was spending less time at her window, instead disappearing for long spells. I’d think she was avoiding me except whenever we were home together, she hovered or insisted I help her in the garden.
“I don’t know,” I said, and jumped off the couch. “But I’ll see you guys later.”
I hit the sidewalk and followed at a careful distance. I couldn’t ask her directly. That would only earn me an expertly applied guilt trip—or worse, a different, but no less intrusive question in return. If I was going to figure out what was going on with her, I had to do it in stealth mode. Yet another secret. All three Santos women were collecting a lot of them lately.
“Hey, Rosa!” Ms. Francis walked up to me with Flotsam and Jetsam. Her dogs didn’t even bother sniffing me but watched for any sudden moves. “How’s the big college debate coming?”
“Oh, right, yeah. It’s happening.” I checked over her shoulder to make sure I hadn’t lost sight of Mimi.
“Great, did you pick?”
“Pick what?”
“A college?”
“Oh god, no. Hey, I have to go, so I’ll see you later, okay?” I waved and rushed down the road to catch up just as Mimi stopped. I dove into the yard beside me.
Gladys sat up on her front porch. “Rosa Santos, you better not be stealing my flowers!”
I waved my hands, begging for silence.
“I know you ain’t telling me to be quiet in my own yard.”
“Where is she going?” I murmured as I checked around the gardenia bush. Mimi looked one way, then the other, before continuing down the street again. I hurried after her. My steps scattered fallen magnolia leaves, the air soft and sweet with the flowers’ perfume. Up ahead, a crowd was gathered in the square. It was late afternoon, so foot traffic near the bodega or diner was to be expected, but everyone was staring up at the brand-new, exceptionally tall white tent suddenly taking up a whole corner of the grassy square. Mimi marched past everyone and slipped inside. No one questioned her and no one followed. What in the world?
I walked up to the white wall and noticed the many signs around it.
How secretive and threatening. I, of course, immediately wanted to know what was happening in there. Papá El rolled over to me with his Popsicle cart. His flavors today were watermelon, mango, and arroz con leche. “It showed up last night,” he said, sounding as confused as I felt. “Everyone is too afraid to see what’s inside. The signs are very convincing.”
“Mimi just went in there.”
“Then I’m definitely listening to the signs.”
I went to find Mrs. Peña to investigate.
“Mimi,” she complained as she straightened from stocking soup cans. “We wake up and it’s there. She calls and tells me not to look at it, touch it, or worry about it.” Her hands dropped to her hips. “How am I supposed to not worry about it? The festival is in less than a week, and your abuela is out there putting up secret tents with who knows what inside. Has she told you anything?”
“No.” Mrs. Peña didn’t look like she believed me. “I swear. But I did see a note in our calendar about the upcoming full moon.”
“Por Dios.” Mrs. Peña pinched the bridge of her nose before returning to the soups.
Back outside, I slipped my sunglasses on and faced the tent. It was both a riddle and a temptation. I could just march inside, signs or not. Rip the fabric aside and find some answers. I needed less mystery in my life right now. But Mimi had called me impatient. And it was the first time someone had ever said that to me. I was the tiny late bloomer who read big books. Impatient? I was all about patience and faith.
Right?
Well, here was a test. I passed those all the time, so I planned to ace this one, too. “Fine. Have your tent, Mimi.”
I
turned to head down the boardwalk. I could check on Clara. Her mother was arriving soon and she’d want to go over the final details. Several feet ahead of me, the door to the barber shop opened and Alex stepped outside. He stopped, his gaze out toward the sea. My steps slowed. Here was another little test. If he turned for the marina, I wouldn’t chase or bump into him. I had a list of things to do, and I needed time to think about this crush business now that we’d leveled up into really good kissing.
He turned my way, and smiled. I was right; it was lethal. We met each other halfway.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey, yourself,” I returned. “Nice ’do.” He slid a hand over the shorter sides. Because I really wanted to do the same, I shoved my hands in my pockets.
“I hear that tent is Mimi’s.” He jutted his chin toward the square.
I glanced over my shoulder. “I hear the same things, but don’t ask me for details. The women in my family are notorious for not telling each other anything.” I had received a new message from Mom this morning. A picture of her painting featuring a moonlit street I knew from memory. The view of a gray sky from an airplane window. A bodega cat reigning over bags of rice. I used to search the pictures for some kind of coded message, but now I understood them for what they were: moments my mother missed me.
“I have something I want to show you,” Alex said. His hands dove into his pockets, too, and he leaned forward a little on his toes. And then shifted back. “It’s important, I think.”
“Sure,” I said, both curious and a little worried. It wasn’t that I didn’t like surprises, I just didn’t enjoy feeling unprepared.
“It’s on my boat.” He turned quickly as if to make sure it was still there.
“Of course it is,” I murmured and motioned for him to lead the way as we headed down the boardwalk to the marina. The days were still so warm, but the heat was somehow softer here. My hair danced in a wilder gust and the ground grew unsteady as we reached the docks. I was ner-vous and off-kilter, but my fears were also making room for a thoughtful sort of wonder. At his boat, he offered me a hand to cross over just as an older man approached us from farther down the docks. Alex’s hand hesitated.
I steeled myself. The man gave me a short, sweeping look before focusing on Alex. “I had you scheduled to do the chartered sunrise fishing trip this morning.”
“Carlos did it,” Alex replied, his tone stiff. “I had stuff to do in the kitchen.”
“Right, the baking. Well, Carlos has a wife and baby on the way any day, so he doesn’t need to be out right now. Plus, you’re the sailor.”
My passive-aggressive alarm sounded when he said sailor.
“Hi,” I said, and offered my hand to cut through the tension. “I’m Rosa.”
We shook. “Javier,” he said.
“My dad.” Alex sighed.
“Oh!” I was still shaking his hand as I processed their similarities. Javier was shorter and stockier than Alex, but he had the same dark eyes and beard. The same frown line between his brows. I dropped his hand and tried a friendly smile. “Alex has been a big help with the festival and saving Jonas and Clara’s wedding.”
“Well, he told me he was coming back home to help with the marina, but I haven’t seen him much, so at least he’s busy.”
“The festival is ultimately about saving—”
“The harbor,” he interrupted, nodding. “Right. Let’s just hope all of this…works.” He paused as my alarm rang again. He was good at this, nearly Mimi-level skilled. “You’re still ready for the regatta, right?”
“Of course, Dad. I said I’m going to do it.”
“Just making sure. I want to see the sailor in action before the big trip.” The phone in his hand sounded, and he answered, “Port Coral Marina.” As he listened to the caller he nodded at us in farewell before heading past. Fathers were strange creatures.
“Big trip?” I asked.
Alex rubbed his brow. He offered me his hand again and helped me navigate that tiny bit of space between dock and boat. I grabbed the side for support as he smoothly crossed over and headed down the steps to the door. He lowered his head and walked inside. Was I meant to follow? I hurried after him and found myself in a small kitchen with a single bowl in the sink. Beside me was a corner bench and table piled with books. Luna was asleep beside them. It smelled like oil, cinnamon, and the sea. Alex headed toward a room in the back, presumably his bedroom.
I pressed my hand against my middle to stay all the butterflies. I was way too on edge right now to be thinking about other people’s beds.
After a moment, Alex returned with a rolled-up piece of paper. He pushed the books aside—much to Luna’s annoyance—and spread the paper out on the table, revealing a map. Not an abstract drawing or graffiti art interpretation, but a functional map with notations all across it. There was a very definitive line that wove through the blue. This wasn’t a trip to a barrier island. Alex was going to sail across the sea.
“I’ve been planning it forever, but it’s taken time to prepare everything I need and save the money for it.” He smoothed a crease in the paper. “I want to be out there for a little while.”
I traced the lines that felt warm to the touch. The sea outside sang for him.
“What do you think?” he asked, a nervous edge in his voice. I looked at the map, and my tiny little heartbreak swiped against a hollow place inside me. This wasn’t just some crush on a boy with a man-beard who baked the most dreamy desserts. I’d been in a confectioner’s sugar haze. Alex was a sailor. With a boat. And he was bound for the sea.
“When do you leave?”
“Next month. The goal is to spend the summer sailing.” The admission wormed its way between us, taking up too much air in the small space. “Hopefully everything goes well, and when I get back, the university’s team will be here to start work. So, if I’m ever going to do this, I’ve got to do it now.”
“That makes sense.” I stepped back from the table with a sinking heart. “Wow. A whole summer out on the water…” I trailed off as my throat grew tight. I waved a hand above his map but didn’t touch it. This map was proof that there was no next step for us. Our expiration date was written in his notes charting distance and dangers. Don’t Date Rosa Santos ought to be written in a very threatening shade of red over the whole thing.
“I wanted to tell you because—”
“You’re leaving,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. It broke at the end, though. I inhaled sharply. “And so am I, so these are important things to know, of course. Despite all the…” I touched my finger to my lips.
“I know,” he said. “We’re both leaving. But maybe we have dinner first?” He shrugged, an attempt at lightness, but his eyes gave him away. This was important to him. I was important to him.
“You’re trying to feed me again,” I teased in a whisper. This was such a disaster. I liked him so much. Too much. I’d always sworn I wouldn’t become my mother, and yet, despite all of my effort, I was standing on a boat, at this dock, giving my treacherous, dangerous heart away.
“We already sat near each other for a whole semester eating alone,” he said. “This time we’ll just sit at the same table. Give me one date, Rosa.”
“Okay,” I said. My foolish heart.
With only two days until the festival and wedding, I didn’t have time to obsess over my first real dinner date. I flew on my skateboard to Clara’s bookshop and finally got to meet her mother. The three of us made final decisions on the location everyone would get ready at before the ceremony so I knew where flowers, makeup, and dresses needed to be. Next I dashed off to Oscar’s to check that the arch and my secret order were ready to go.
Outside I checked my mother’s mural and found she hadn’t left it completely blank. There was a sketch of someone, but Mom had yet to color them in or give them any real, defined shape. It looked like a ghost. Her goth contribution to the town. My mother returned home to get trashed and paint ghosts.
&nb
sp; “And yet I’m the one they keep blogging about,” I muttered. Alex was meeting me after work, so I rushed home, hurried into my room, and stopped in front of my closet. The yellow dress spoke to me. So did the red skirt, but I needed to be low-key about this date, so maybe red wasn’t the way to go. The sleeveless green had such a great silhouette and made me feel very earthy and chill. And the latter was eluding me. I slid aside one dress after another, every squeak of a discarded hanger louder than the one before until finally this tiny feeling of indecision uncorked all the frazzled tiki-tiki I’d been bottling up lately. My nerves made my knees give and I dropped to a clumsy seat on the floor. I pressed my hand to my chest as I tried to deepen my breaths and studied my altar right in front of me.
My abuelo was leaning back against a palm tree, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked stoic and strong. In the other picture, my father sat on top of a picnic table, a fishing pole beside him. His smile burned brightly for whoever was behind the camera. “I should talk to you both more,” I said. These were more than photos. They were here to be remembered. The sight of dust on the pictures filled me with panicky guilt, but it also gave me something to do. A way to fix something.
I grabbed my toolbox. Plastic and riotously pink, the makeup box was a forgotten artifact from when this room was still my mother’s. It held candles, bottled dried herbs, Florida Water, and other witchy odds and ends. I poured some Florida Water into my palm before running the perfume over my neck and collarbone. The sweet citrus scent settled over me in a soothing wave as I lit sage incense and waved the stick around me. I grabbed a kerchief and cleaned the whole table of dust, then wiped it down with more Florida Water. I put the photos back up and lit a candle. I sat before my ghosts again. “I could really use some help with college. Can you see the future? Yeah, it probably doesn’t work like that. But maybe you can get together with my other ancestors and let me know what you think? Some clarity on this would really help.”