by Nina Moreno
Mom caught up to me as I scanned the rest of the boats.
The door of a sailboat farther down opened, and a very cute sailor stepped outside. Beside me, Mom was still looking the other way.
Alex’s head was bent over the book in his hands. He dropped it onto the table and crossed his arms. His chest rose and fell in a heavy, worried sigh. The water and sky were so blue behind him. My heart restarted.
He glanced over and met my gaze. I couldn’t control my smile, but then, neither could he. I ran to him. He climbed out of the boat and hurried to meet me halfway.
I couldn’t wait. I jumped right into his arms and kissed him. He caught me and said against my lips, “I was so worried you wouldn’t come.”
“I almost didn’t. I thought the map was a metaphor.”
He laughed and my heart sang. His strong arms tightened, and I kissed him again.
“You’re here to whisk my daughter away, aren’t you?” Mom asked, suddenly beside us.
I slipped down from Alex’s arms. “Mom!”
He tucked his hands into his pockets. I knew he wasn’t looking for his rope, because it was around my wrist. “I wanted to see you before I left for the summer. When I get back to Port Coral, you won’t be there, so I had to take this chance.”
“How spontaneous,” I said.
He smiled. “You inspired me. I mean, look at you. You’re glowing right now.”
What could I even say? I wasn’t sure what I had experienced these past two days, but I did know that the girl standing in front of him was not the same one who left Port Coral. Something within me had expanded beneath this sky and in these waters. I was still me, but more. I was a horizon and I was enough.
“Does the invitation to sail with you still stand?” I asked. It was bold, but I had a map in my bag and I was ready to fly. “Because I learned it’s proper maritime etiquette to be invited to board,” I said.
His eyes widened, and after a confused beat, he hurried to say, “If you wanted to, of course I am. I’m always inviting you onto my boat.” Alex focused on me, his expression earnest and open. And excited. “You want to sail the Caribbean with me?”
I wanted to so much. The picture of it unfurled like his sails in my mind, but I worried my lip as I remembered school.
“You only have classes for a few more weeks,” Mom said, interrupting my train of thought. “Wi-Fi. Find a computer at a library. I’ll tell Malcolm your senioritis finally kicked in. Just be back before graduation.” She looked at Alex. “Graduation,” she repeated, sounding like such a mom. Memories rushed me as I met her bright gaze. Long car trips with broken antennas and open windows. Her soft fingers brushing my hair as I fell asleep in her lap again. Violets and country radio stations and the jangle of keys when she swallowed her pride, faced her ghosts, and brought me to where I longed to be.
I hugged her and whispered against her ear, “Thank you for getting me here.”
Her arms stayed tight around me for a long moment.
“They’re proud of us,” I whispered.
“I am, too.”
When she stepped back, her eyes shone, but she stood tough and kissed my brow. Twice.
I checked my watch and looked back at Alex. “I need to buy a few things before I set off onto this great big adventure with you, sailor. Do you want to see Havana before we go? I could show you.”
His smile bloomed bright and tangled with the new things growing in my heart.
“Definitely,” he said and took my hand. He slipped a reverent finger under the bracelet at my wrist. As we walked back to Havana, he asked me, “Where are we today?”
Surrounded by the bluest water, I smiled and told him.
I wrote this book for a girl who sat in her purple bedroom with the big daisy her mom painted on her wall, and watched love stories that took place in soft, small towns and dreamed of living there, too. A bilingual place that welcomed and accepted all of her while cheering her on as she figured out who she was and what she wanted. This is my love letter to her and you.
Thank you to my agent, Laura, who, just like Rosa, proves some of the fiercest champions are bookworms in cardigans. You’ve been there for me and all of my flower girls, and I can’t wait to see what story we’ll tell next. Thank you to Uwe for the home base you created in #TeamTriada and welcoming and believing in me from the very first.
This story would not be what it became without my editor, Hannah. You walked into Port Coral and made a home. You understood Rosa, honored my magic, protected my voice, and helped them bloom so much brighter. You ensured I had space to heal after tragedy, and this story became a book because of you. I wish I could build you a bench. Thank you to Mary Claire for the cover of my dreams. And to everyone at Hyperion who championed this romantic, sometimes heartbreaking, but—like magic and love—ultimately hopeful story. I am forever grateful for the shelf space you carved out for me.
To my Plus One and captain, Kristy. We’ll build this tree house all the way to the next galaxy. Thank you to Jaye, my first yes and the first to read Rosa when she was an entirely different story. I’m so grateful you ran away with me to an orange grove. Alicia, who wrote the name of my first book that never sold on her door, I love you forever. To Dalia, who keeps all of my teenage stories safe and always knew I could do this. Ali, thank you for reading and loving Rosa when I didn’t think I could anymore. To my hermana and diaspora love, Tehlor. Thank you for every candle, card, and protecting this coven with me. You guarded my spirit and healing heart this year, y te quiero siempre. When the announcement of my book dropped, I was overwhelmed with so much love from fellow Latinx writers and readers, and I love and appreciate every one of you so much. Gracias a las Musas. My kingdom of croquetas forever belongs to Alexis. Thank you for drawing Rosa and Alex first, for the letter after I lost everything, and becoming my long-lost prima.
Rosa is a story of my heart, but when you try to paint your spirit on the page, it’s tough not to break it. While writing this book I spent many afternoons by the pool, my dad’s cigar smoke in the air, his eyes a little faraway as he offered me his last memories of the boy he’d been. The one who cried good-bye to his beloved tía and island through a chain-link fence knowing he would never see them again. All in the name of freedom and hope. My father’s heartbreak and sacrifice guided me like a lighthouse. I wanted to do right by it. I wanted to earn it. As I worked on this story I hurriedly wrote the names of his cities and lost memories, desperate to keep them safe. Camilo Carlos Moreno was a lover of books and learning, and my first library. He loved science and asking questions. Our moon and map, he was a man who endured so much, and his story was one of miracles and love.
On the longest Sunday morning of my life, my dad left us to sit with his father and our ancestors. He waited for me in that hospital room where his circle sat beside him and held his hand as he left. My last words to the man who gave me mine were that I hoped the waters are as blue as he remembered.
Later that week, I went to work editing this book.
With clumsy words and a broken heart, I reached for a hand I could no longer find. In this pain, I went home. To my brother and sister, Carlos and Victoria, I am at my best beside you two. This loud-as-hell triangle saves me every day. We are the stewards of this story, and I know he’s wildly proud of us. And to Mom, my harbor and home. You built this heart that could hold and create so much. I’m so grateful to the bold girl who climbed out of her window, the young, fierce mother who kept me safe while a hurricane raged, and the one who held my hand as my own daughter came into this world. I am so proud to be yours. Dad, I miss you so much and owe you a first edition. How are the stars? We’ll keep our magic strong and hear your song.
Abuelo y Abuela. Yeya y Abi. You crossed miles of sea and land for your children. To my whole family and our ancestors: I am here because of the story of all of us.
Thank you to my babies, Phoenix and Lucia, who showed me I could make magic, too. And finally, to Craig. You’re not supposed
to meet your soulmate in high school, but here we are. You read every word and listened to every story and always believed, even when I was ready to throw it all away. You searched the skies for signs of good luck for me, but as you did, I was always looking at you.
To all the next-generation kids with old maps who fear they’re losing something even as we create new things. You are magic. And you are enough.
Viva Cuba Libre.
is a YA writer whose prose is somewhere between Southern fiction and a telenovela. She graduated from the University of Florida and writes about Latinas chasing their dreams, falling in love, and navigating life in the hyphen. She lives by a swamp outside of Orlando, where she enjoys listening to carefully curated playlists, hunting through thrift stores, drinking too much Cuban coffee, and walking into the sea every chance she gets. Don’t Date Rosa Santos is her first novel.