by Nina Moreno
Honey-sweet emotion rushed over me as I squeezed her back. “Let’s get you hitched.”
Ana left, and a few seconds later the Electric kicked into a fun doo-wop song. That was our cue. I went out ahead of Clara and her mother and tried not to kick up the flowers too much as I joined the others lined up around the square. Clara, holding her handpicked daisies, stepped out of the bodega, and her hand flew to her mouth. Pink, yellow, and white petals marked her path to Jonas. She was all the way to crying now. I waved at Oscar, who flipped the switch for me.
Every tree around us sparkled with soft twinkle lights.
A collective sound of awe sang out, and Clara cried out in joy. My heart was going to burst. This baby bruja of Port Coral could make magic, too.
Clara floated all the way to the driftwood pergola decorated with magnolias where Jonas was waiting for her. The big, cheerful fisherman was in tears, too. This was the first time I’d ever seen him in a suit. We all moved in closer to make a tight circle around the couple, and beyond us, curious tourists watched. I wondered how we looked to them. If this moment showed them more about Port Coral. I hoped so.
Jonas and Clara tangled fingers, and the officiant got the ceremony under way. This was my first wedding, and the words were familiar enough because of TV and movies, but this was so much more. Unexpected tears flooded my eyes.
Across the crowd I found Mimi. She watched the ceremony with a faraway look.
Her love story hadn’t been long enough. I wondered if her broken heart had ever healed. Even just a little. Her gaze met mine and softened.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
We erupted in applause, cheers, and the viejitos’ sharp whistles as Jonas and Clara sealed the words with a kiss. Somewhere beyond us Benny’s bottle rockets exploded in the sky.
“Let’s go get the wine,” Ana said as Clara and Jonas were enveloped by their friends. Ana tugged me away and blew a quick whistle—sounding so much like the viejitos. Several of her cousins pulled away from their groups to come help. We hurried to the bodega for the buckets piled with ice and chilled pink bottles.
As we hauled the buckets out to the square, I glanced at Mimi’s white tent. It was still closed off. “The festival is over. What is she even doing?”
“Who?” Ana said, her voice tight from carrying the metal buckets.
“Mimi,” I said. “With her tent.”
“You don’t know?”
“You do?” I demanded.
She laughed. “It’s the reception.”
With a heave, I set the bucket down on the grass. I studied the mysterious tent for the hundredth time that day. “So what, is there a dance floor in there? Then why all of this secretiveness?” I marched across the square, through the laughing crowd, everyone growing giddy with romance, twinkle lights, and champagne bubbles. The tent was fairly large, but I should have put two and two together. I’d never considered my abuela would be so enigmatic about a reception.
“Mimi!” I called, hands on my hips. She told me to meet her here, so she had to be in there already. “I know this is for the wedding! I’m going inside.”
Nothing. I glanced around. Ana was stopped by her mother.
“Enough with the secrets. I’m here, let’s get this party started already.”
This was ridiculous. Just open it. The sun finished sinking into the horizon, and the tent’s flaps moved a little, as if there had been a breeze. I frowned, confused.
“Mimi?” I called again. I checked behind me, but Ana was gone now.
At the top of the tent, knotted string began to loosen. I took a quick step back but didn’t look away. The ropes gave with a sudden sharp tug. One by one, the panels along the sides fell, and my abuela’s magic spilled out.
It wasn’t just a party.
It was a party in Havana.
I faced a bustling city street with café tables, palm trees, and candles on every surface with twinkle lights spilling over the green leaves overhead. I crossed the invisible line between the familiar square in Port Coral and onto the tropical city street. Trumpets, drums, the rhythmic slide of beads against the gourd of a shekere played from somewhere farther inside. Papá El stood at the entrance with his cart. Smiling excitedly, he offered me a mango Popsicle.
“How?” was the only word I could get out. How had this happened? How did it all fit under the tent?
Papá El laughed. “Your abuela is very creative.” He handed out more Popsicles to the people walking past me. “Good thing we didn’t ruin the surprise, huh?”
There were plants everywhere. Green and wild, even in their bright pots. The sea breeze stirred palm leaves, and the air was sweet with coconut. Pop-up shops offering small slices of wedding cake and sparkling wine sat along the pathway filling with foot traffic from the festival. Others strolled past me like all of this was part of the planned festivities. How could that be possible when we weren’t in Port Coral anymore? The sun had disappeared, and with it the square I knew.
“Xiomara!” I called, and she turned but continued walking backward as she strummed her guitar.
“Hey, Rosa!”
“What is going on?” I stopped. People walked around me. “Have you seen Mimi?”
She tipped her head, confused. “Around here somewhere.” She continued on her way.
Maybe I didn’t know my own abuela, because the woman I knew never even spoke about Cuba, but here it was around me, seducing my senses. Color, sounds, scents. The music grew louder until finally, up ahead, surrounded by a rapt audience, I found the beating heart.
Ana stood behind her congas from jazz band. Her curls were a glowing halo, and her smile just as bright. She played a fast, demanding beat and called for the other drummers—all older men—in the circle around her to keep up.
Xiomara danced into their circle, already singing, her voice deep and vibrant.
Jonas led Clara out onto the dance floor to the cheers of a delighted crowd. They didn’t follow practiced salsa steps but instead swirled and shimmied, cracking each other up. My wonder gave way to a big smile.
The song ended and swept right into the next with the call of a trumpet. Mr. Peña sat in one of the chairs with his trumpet, his foot tapping as he played near Ana. My best friend laughed, radiating joy. Oh my god, by some miracle, Mimi even got Mr. Peña to play. How in the world did Mimi make all of this happen? And why?
My hand was grabbed, and I was smoothly spun into the middle of the floor, where I found myself in Benny’s arms.
“Ready?” he asked, grinning.
“Why do people keep asking me that?”
I put my hand on his shoulder and dove hip first into the song. I’d danced hundreds of times with Benny at Peña family gatherings, and we were good together. He led me left and spun me once before I snapped back into position. I forgot all of my questions and disbelief and lost myself to the music. The rhythm wrapped around me and guided my feet. My hips. My pulse. My next breath. Here I was fluent, and always on beat as I swayed through time.
Benny spun me away again—I was going to get dizzy in a minute—and I stopped in a different set of arms. Alex smiled down at me. He looked all Ravenclaw again as he held one of my hands, the other resting carefully on my waist just above my hip.
“Hey,” I said, breathless. “Fancy spinning into you here.”
He laughed, but his hands tightened a little, that soft, nervous look in his gaze. But here he was, ready to dance. My heart was surely glowing in my chest.
The song slowed and we drifted closer. This was different than dancing with Benny. His hands gripped me tighter.
“The wedding was beautiful,” I said. He made a sound of agreement that rumbled against my ear. He dipped his head down, and I pressed my nose against his shirt. Warm sugar and mint. He was both a danger and balm to my senses. Just beyond us, I finally spotted Mimi waiting at the edge of the dance floor. I stopped dancing and Alex looked down at me with concern. At my expression, he turned around. I r
eached for his hand, and his chest rose and fell with heavy breaths.
Mimi watched us as we walked toward her. Tonight she wore a midnight-blue dress, and the hem danced softly in the breeze. I wondered how we looked to her. Was I still sweet baby Rosa in her eyes?
And that’s when it hit me.
I wish I could show you my home, our home, but I will try.
“Oh, Mimi,” I said when we stopped in front of her. I let go of Alex’s hand and grabbed my abuela’s. Her smile was small, but emotion rolled like waves in her eyes. She brushed my hair behind my ear and laid a gentle hand against my cheek.
In Spanish, she whispered, “I should have used my pain better. You and your mother deserved that.”
She let go and I felt bereft. I didn’t know what to say.
Mimi looked at Alex. I wiped my eyes and hurried to formally introduce them. “Mimi, this is Alex. Alex, this is my abuela.”
“Hola, Doña Santos,” he greeted in smooth Spanish. He leaned in close to kiss her chastely on the cheek. Mimi softened and a faraway look came into her eyes. She smiled, squeezed his shoulder, and said something too low for me to hear as Celia Cruz’s “La Vida Es Un Carnaval” began to play. With a wistful smile, she reached for Alex’s hand and tugged him to the dance floor.
“Hey, that’s my date,” I called playfully, my voice hoarse from all the screaming and crying today. I was emotionally spent, but it was such a joy to watch Alex dance with my abuela, her smile lighting up the night. I begged time to slow so I could live in this moment for a little longer. Gather all of this up and press these memories between pages like flowers.
Tonight was a homecoming alive with music, life, and joy.
“Look at her go.”
I started at the voice beside me. My mother smiled at the sight of Mimi dancing. She wore a white shirt and jeans, and looked tired and rumpled from travel. Paint stained her shirt and hands. “She do all this?” Mom asked without looking away. The dance floor filled with couples: Dan and Malcolm, Clara and Jonas, and even Ms. Francis, laughing delightedly with wine in hand, with Simon. I grinned at her, because I knew he definitely liked dogs.
“Yeah,” I said. “I don’t know how, though.”
Beyond us, fireworks burst over the harbor. Yellow, golden, and red. We’d done it. Spring Fest, a wedding, and a real chance for the harbor. There was so much I wanted to say to Mom, but instead I asked, “You want to dance, too?”
Mom’s sigh was soft with relief. “Always, baby.” She took my hand, and we disappeared into the music that sounded like longing, pain, and love all wrapped up into one song.
The party ended with the sky dark above us. Vendors packed up and the crowds went home. Jonas and Clara bid us all a grateful good night, and we did the same. We would know the total made for the harbor in the coming days, but for now, my friends helped us pack up a few important things from the tent. I wanted to linger beneath the stars and dance to another song. I wanted Alex’s hands wrapped around me as we spun and spun until time finally stopped for us.
When we were almost home, all of us carrying boxes, rain began to fall.
“Of course,” Benny complained. Mike cursed. Alex checked the sky like he was measuring the threat.
Lightning struck and the streetlights around us flickered. We all froze, then sighed with relief when they stayed on. Until a transformer blew in a thunderous boom and sizzling spark of blue lights. We screamed and booked it home in the darkness, lit only by the full moon.
“Is this a good time to admit I’m afraid of the dark?” Benny said through heaving breaths as we ran.
The rain began in a torrent. We crashed inside and tried not to wipe out on the tile in the entryway before setting the boxes down.
I looked at Mom. “You brought quite a storm with you.”
She rolled her eyes and shook the water from her hair. “I always do.”
One good thing about losing power in our house was there were always plenty of candles around. Mimi and I collected the ones we could find in the dark. Mom went to find matches. Soft light flickered throughout the house.
“Very romantic,” Benny said.
“Not my worst date,” Mike agreed and showed me the weather radar on his phone. The wash of green, yellow, and ominous spots of red didn’t look great. But that was Florida for you. “It’s a tropical depression that just turned for us,” he said.
I shot a look at Mom, who rolled her eyes.
“It’s moving pretty quickly, though.”
Ana called her mom. “Yes, I left the square….No, Mom, I’m not in the rain….My hair is barely wet!…I’m at Mimi’s….Okay, okay.” She rolled her eyes and lowered the phone from her ear. “She told me to get off the phone or I’d get electrocuted, and then hung up on me.”
Mimi swept into the kitchen, surrounded by candles. She set the metal coffeemaker on the gas stove. The pilot light sparked into a small blue flame.
“Ah, you’re a genius, Mimi,” Benny said.
She smirked. “We all did not have electricity our whole lives.”
“The wind’s calmed down,” Mom said. Her wet hair was braided over her shoulder. She looked so young. “Let’s open windows before it gets stuffy.” The cross-breeze that swept into the dark house was cool and sweet with rain. The candlelight allowed us to see one another and the steps in front of us but not much else.
“What do we do now?” I asked. My friends were pretty much stuck until the storm blew over.
“Be quiet or you’ll make more thunder,” Mimi said, a smile in her voice. It was something she always told noisy children during storms, i.e., me.
Mom grabbed mugs and waited for coffee. The night was preventing whatever fight she and Mimi would have had otherwise. The soft hush of evening soothed away their sharp edges and allowed them to move in sync. The rest of us settled down in the living room together. I stretched out on the floor beside the coffee table. Alex leaned back against the wall beside me.
An idea sprang to mind, and I jumped back to my feet. “Be right back.” I grabbed a candle and went to Mimi’s shelf, and from the bottom I pulled out what would have looked like a suitcase to anyone who didn’t intimately know her Cleansing Sundays. I set it on the coffee table and opened it. “Ta-da!”
“The hell is that?” Benny asked.
“A record player,” I said. “You crank it. No electricity.” Mimi and Mom watched from the kitchen, amused by my eagerness.
Alex leaned over and did the honors. I carefully slipped a record into place. When he stopped turning the crank, the music began.
Magic engulfed us—the crackle of the record player, our windows open to a wild, salty breeze that rustled past palm fronds outside. Mimi returned with coffee for each of us. She gave me a soft smile as she curled into the chair by the window.
“I heard him sing this song.”
“Really?” I asked, surprised but hopeful for more. Maybe the night wasn’t over. There was still so much I wanted to know.
Mimi looked at Mom. “The night I met your papi.” I’d never heard Mimi call him anything so familiar and present. Mom stood at the window, watching the storm outside.
“My sisters and I went to Havana with one of our mother’s sisters for my birthday. Tía was young, and let us go to the concert. Alvaro was there because he knew the trumpet player, and he came up to me and said I was the most beautiful girl in Havana.”
“And what did you say?” Ana asked.
“I told him I wasn’t from Havana.”
We laughed. My mother stood with her back to the room.
“Falling in love was so easy. I never wanted to leave.” She worried the button of her dress. Without turning away from the window, Mom offered Mimi her hand. My abuela took it and brought it to her lips, kissing it twice. One from me, one from him. Old memories grew wings as I remembered Mimi always kissing Mom twice when I was a little girl.
“Tell us more,” I begged.
“When I met him, Alvaro was a student i
n Havana. He wanted to be a professor and had books everywhere. Even his furniture! He asked me to sit on a chair, but it was just a pile of more books. I came back to Havana many times that summer.”
Benny murmured, “Scandalous.”
“In the fall, Alvaro came home with me and asked Papi if he could marry me. ‘What can a teacher give my daughter?’ he asked, and Alvaro said, ‘Good love letters.’” Her laugh painted her ghost story in brighter shades. It broke through the old shadows with love and light. “Alvaro had never been to Viñales, but we married at the church and dreamed of starting a farm, just like my family. But he loved Havana. The music and people. He loved Cuba so much.”
Mimi’s mournful gaze came to me. In Spanish, she confessed their hunger and fear. Their determination to see their child free.
“Alvaro tried to get me a ticket to leave, because—” She paused as her hand fisted against her middle. “They went to arrest him instead. He could not go back to school, and I could not risk my family.”
Outside, the lemon trees swayed in the stormy wind. The chimes played a gentle song.
“Cuba is about so much more than the land, but the land means so much.” As quiet as a whispered prayer, in Spanish, she said, “If her cities fall, if we’re all gone, may God watch after her.” The sweet, sharp scent of lemon blossoms swept inside and wrapped around us. The pain of her loss bled through everything, because she loved her island. Despite everything, her love lived and breathed, still tangled with an eternal hope for freedom.
“I’m sorry I could not show it to you,” she confessed. She looked at Mom and reached for her hand. Mom gave it and bent down and kissed her mother’s brow. Twice.
“You did,” I told her and moved closer to sit at her knee. She had carried and protected and nurtured it. It had always been there for us to find.
“Ay, mis niñas.” Mimi held both of our hands, clutching them against her chest.
“Viva Cuba libre,” I said with conviction.
“Pa’lante,” Mimi whispered. Forward.