A Cuban Girl's Guide to Tea and Tomorrow

by Laura Taylor Namey

  Pili bumps my side. “Like you know how.”

  Because she taught me to change recipes. But only after I could make the original perfectly. In my head her teachings come alive, not from a white coffin, but from years of corn and flour and sugar. I hop down and mark the spots where lessons were learned.

  To change recipes.

  I stand in the middle of her life’s work. I stand in the middle of her life. And then—

  She changed her own recipe too.

  I open my heart like a history book. Inside, there is a seventeen-year-old Cuban girl named Lydia Rodriguez who leaves a small Cuban farm. She boards a plane alone, no family, no friends. She crosses an ocean and a culture with a single suitcase. She joins an American host family. And instead of returning home when her program ends, she works through a hundred details to stay. She chooses a new life in a new country, building a business with the recipes her own mother taught her.

  Not just food. Abuela changed her life recipe.

  In my heart, Abuela tells me I’ve been wrong all this time. She never put a spoon in my hand and skills in my head to tether me to one place. She gave me knowledge so I could choose too. The place she built. Or the places I will build.

  Yo puedo—I can.

  I can keep the recipes she taught me and make them here.

  I can go to school in England and learn to combine French artistry with my cooking.

  I can stay at La Paloma and work side-by-side with my sister.

  I can move under the same sky as a British boy.

  I can be fully Cubana in Miami.

  I can be fully Cubana in England, or Africa, or France, or anywhere.

  I was brought up for this place, but I can change my life recipe too.

  I can. And I will.

  Pilar’s feet pad behind me. She touches my arm and I turn. Miami tears rain from two clouds. “You’re going, aren’t you?”

  “I’m going,” I say for the first time. “Pero, hermana. You and me. Las Reyes…”

  “Will always be who we are. No matter where we are.” When my sigh comes troubled and heavy, she adds, “Go, Lila. This place will always be here. And come home for Christmas?”

  I hold her tight. “And in the summer.”

  She holds me tighter. “And I’ll go there and you can show me your England. I’ll bunk at Catalina’s with you, and Orion can find my favorite tea.”

  “You hate flying.”

  “I can be different too.”

  * * *

  The box of new aprons shipped a few days late, but in plenty of time for the staff to wear for the Family Style TV shoot. Forty-eight hours now. In the La Paloma kitchen, I’m studying the new design of smart white and blue ticking striped cotton.

  “It was Señora Cabral,” Pili says on her way back from the shop floor, laughing. “Two weeks we’ve had the closure warning posted, but you knew she’d ignore it.”

  Which is why I froze a few things for her before we closed. I tip my head at Pili. “No TV show is going to keep that woman from her pan Cubano.”

  “I didn’t even charge her. Why fire up the system for one loaf?” Pilar pulls the apron box toward her and gazes inside, lifting the striped fabric. “Qué bueno,” she says before heading back to the office.

  Two days now. I’ve barely been able to FaceTime Orion, but he gets it. All my hours have gone to food and menu prep, plus new haircuts for Pilar and Mami and me, plus manicures and brow waxing and family meetings and supervising the bakery facelift. I’ve even been too busy to think about how nervous I should be.

  Again, knocking sounds from the front. What, did Señora Cabral come back for the pastelitos I froze too? “I’ll get it!” I call to no one.

  When I reach the shop floor, it’s empty. Just as I’m turning back, I catch the glint of silver foil from the empty bread rack.

  I wind around from the service area and before I can process the strange reality of the Maxwell’s foil bag marked, Vanilla Black, I hear from behind, “It’s terrible luck for the person who takes the last slice of bread to not kiss the baker.”

  Dios mío.

  My heart in my throat, I turn extra slowly because this can’t be happening. There is no way Orion is standing in my doorway, in my business, in my city. But he is and I’m already running.

  Orion barely has time to get his arms up to catch me, hiding any greetings or explanations inside frantic kisses. He’s warm—too warm—like we’re kissing in the middle of a sauna. He’s salt and sweat and steam, and I wouldn’t trade him for the world.

  Finally we part, just enough for me to take in the misted eyes of him—more blue and vibrant than I remember—then the damp, mussed-up hair and wrinkled black tee and soft, faded jeans of him. “How? What are—” I get these sounds out, but shock steals the rest.

  He pecks my forehead and smiles at me, dimple deep. Then his face shades with gravity. “You left something in Winchester.”

  I launch into him again, burrowing my head into his chest. Soon, I’m giggling. “You look like…”

  “Like a British guy’s lost his first bout with a Miami summer?” His chest rumbles with mirth.

  “Well… Did you jog here or something?”

  He keeps me close but turns into my gaze. “I got off one bus stop too soon and thought I’d walk the remainder of the way. The app said I was only fifteen minutes away, but five minutes in, I realized my grave error. God, it’s bloody volcanic out there.”

  “Bienvenido a Miami, Orion,” I say over a laugh that fades into a little sigh of disbelief. “You’re really here.”

  “About that,” he says, brushing back my hair. “Dad was about to drown me in the Itchen. Said I was acting like a quote, ‘miserable git.’ I told him everything and that I needed to come here. Needed to say some things I should’ve said. But he decided it’s been too long since we’ve taken a real family holiday. Just like that, my uncle came down to mind the shop and we landed today. Flora’s already slathered in SPF 50 sun cream at the hotel pool, dying to see you.”

  I jerk backward, “Oh, she came too?” I cup his face then reach up onto my toes to kiss him again.

  He moves into one of the café chairs and pulls me down into my favorite sitting spot—his lap. “Back in England, I didn’t want to be ‘that guy.’ I couldn’t ask you to leave your family, your business, your country, just for me.” He rubs my shoulder. “So I wanted you to choose a future that’s first and foremost yours alone. Not to belong to me. I want you to belong with me. That’s the part I didn’t say enough.”

  I lose my breath, then sputter across the next one.

  “I still don’t know how we can work it out with you here and me there right now, but I’m not giving up.” His voice shakes. “I was wrong, too. Sometimes we have to want more than we’re given. So, this is me, wishing for someone as impossible and otherworldly as you.”

  He ducks, but I don’t let him get far. My hands force his gaze. “You were an award-winning tour guide, but you missed one thing.”

  He cocks his head on a resigned smile. “What’s that?”

  “Your constellation. So to fix that, I’m gonna need to see Orion’s Belt on St. Giles Hill, with you. And it will be winter, so I’ll be wearing your cardigan under the biggest, puffiest coat I’ve ever owned. And we’ll probably stay out way too late. And the next morning, I’ll be yawning the entire train ride to London.” I make sure he sees me say the next words. “To school. For my future. My choice.”

  He sucks in a breath of disbelief but I nod my secret into him. “You’re doing it? The winter term at Le Cordon Bleu?”

  “For a start. I submitted my application and applied for a student visa this morning. Before you came, I was trying to think of some cool way to tell you over FaceTime later. But this is a thousand times better.” I grin, clasping my hands behind his neck. “I’m not going back to England just for the pastry program, though. See, no other girl gets to make you Cuban sandwiches and lemon biscuits and ride Millie and r
un with you. No one but me.”

  He takes a moment, lets us both write my words into memory. Then he kisses me starstruck.

  “Come see La Paloma and meet my family.” I jump up and pull him with me. “Prepare yourself for three Cubans to faint, or at least pretend-swoon with extra drama.”

  He follows me into the vast kitchen. “About that, your family might already know I’m here.” When my eyes spring wide, he adds, “I’ve, um, been talking to Pilar. She helped me pull off my little surprise. Made sure you were here and all. And apparently, there’s some huge supper being planned for my family after the taping is over. At your uncle’s house with all your relatives?”

  My family and his family—my heart smiles. “Warning, don’t eat for two days.”

  He laughs, and after he cleans up in the staff bathroom, I show him around the place that grew me. Equipment and old photos and some of the prepped pastries and cakes we’ll display on TV. The spot where I kneaded my first loaf of bread.

  Orion arcs his hand, sobering. “All of this. Can you… really?”

  Yo puedo. “I can and I’m ready. Not gonna lie, it’s going to hurt.” My eyes well again. “Some days more than others and at weird times with no warning. I’ll need tea and extra hugs then.”

  He loops his arms around me. “I’m told I’m the best at those.”

  From the back, Pilar yells, “Lila! Are you done snogging off Orion’s face yet?”

  “No?!”

  They come out anyway. In ten minutes, Mami falls in love. Pilar and Orion settle into an easy banter about music and the London scene she’s dying to take in; I catch her blooming pink at his accent and natural charm.

  But we all hush when Papi leaves then returns with two glasses of Coke, lime wedges hinging off the rims. He offers one to Orion and motions him toward the storage room hallway.

  Orion winks at me and goes with my father, edging just ahead of him into the back office. Papi lingers for a beat. A father turns to the daughter who will leave his home in three months. He nods once, his eyes damp and heavy with endings and beginnings.

  Todo está bien. All is well.

  Mami and Pilar press me into a group hug then follow to their own spaces, leaving me alone in mine. This week I will show La Paloma to the world, and order a winter coat, and bake bread with Flora in this kitchen. I will tell a star-named boy I love him in front of my great uncle’s corn plot—not in secret—but under a wide-open wish across a Miami summer sky.

  But before tomorrow happens, I have to do one thing today. I pull Abuela’s apron from the butcher block island. All the bakers’ hooks line the wall, her framed memorial picture smiling above the one where she stowed the white cotton cloth every evening.

  “Gracias, Abuela. Te amo,” I whisper and place a single kiss on the embroidered script L. I hang up her apron for the last time. Then I move to the cardboard shipping box filled with white and blue ticking stripes.

  And pick up my own.

  Acknowledgments

  When I began this project, I wanted to honor my mother’s journey from a small Cuban farm to the United States as a teen exchange student just before Castro assumed power. Most of my relatives followed over the next few years. By the time I came along, my extended family had grown into the loving, vibrant network I know today. My family history became the scaffolding for a story featuring another brave and vibrant teen girl, layered with many of my own teen experiences. Soon into drafting, I lost two of the beloved relatives who inhabit these pages. What started as a book became a tangible way for me to hold them close. Their spirits fill these scenes. I can think of no better place to keep them until I see them again. If you have come here after reading Lila’s story, you have experienced many anecdotes I witnessed as a girl, watching and listening, eating and cooking with my beloved Cuban relatives. Thank you to all of my tíos and primos, for all the ways you fed me.

  To my brilliant editor Alex Borbolla, from day one you showed such a genuine understanding of me and the unique aspects of this story. Your love for this book and the history behind it touched me. And your skill and guidance inspired me. Partnering with you has been one of my greatest professional experiences. It is my honor to work with you.

  To my agent Natascha Morris, thank you for taking this book you always call a “big hug” and working so faithfully to manage and place it. I couldn’t ask for a better cheerleader, confidant, and advocate for my stories and my career.

  To my critique partners and trusted friends, Joan Smith and Allison Bitz, Lila’s story would not be what it is today without your faithful insight, editing, nudging, and wisdom. I love you both so much.

  To art director, Karyn Lee, and illustrator, Andrea Porretta, thank you for envisioning and designing one of the most beautiful covers I have ever seen. You have brought Lila and Orion to life so masterfully while showcasing the perfect mashup of Miami, Cuba, and England.

  To Clare McGlade, Tatyana Rosalia, Shivani Annirood, and the entire team at Atheneum, thank you for your tireless efforts in bringing this book to the world.

  Thank you to my early readers and sources who helped with everything from careful beta reads, to checking those wily Spanish accents, to making sure my British rep was solid. Alexandra Overy, Marlene Lee, Ximena Avalos, Beth Ellyn Summer, Susie Cabrera, and Yamile Saied Méndez, I could not have done this without you.

  To my Las Musas hermanas, thank you for your friendship, support, and our fabulous community. I am so honored to be a part of this beautiful organization.

  I’m so thankful to God for the opportunity and grace to be able to write this book, and to you, reader for opening it.

  About the Author

  Photo © Jerry McCauley II, Jerry McCauley Photography

  Laura Taylor Namey is a Cuban-American Californian who can be found haunting her favorite coffee shops, drooling over leather jackets, and wishing she was in London or Paris. She lives in San Diego with her husband, two superstar children, and her beloved miniature schnauzer-muse. Visit her at laurataylornamey.com.

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  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Text © 2020 by Laura Taylor Namey

  Jacket illustrations © 2020 by Andrea Porretta

  Book design by Karyn Lee © 2020 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Namey, Laura Taylor, author.

  Title: A Cuban girl’s guide to tea and tomorrow / Laura Taylor Namey. Description: New York : Atheneum, [2020] | Audience: Ages 12 up. | Audience: Grades 10-12. | Summary: Seventeen-year-old Lila Reyes, furious when her parents send her to the English countryside to recover from grief and heartbreak, unexpectedly falls in love with a teashop clerk—and England, itself.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2019055585 (print) | LCCN 2019055586 (ebook) | ISBN 9781534471245 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781534
471269 (eBook)

  Subjects: CYAC: Loss (Psychology)—Fiction. | Cuban Americans—Fiction. | Bakers and bakeries—Fiction. | Dating (Social customs)—Fiction. | Love—Fiction. | England—Fiction.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.N3555 Cub 2020 (print) | LCC PZ7.1.N3555 (eBook) | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019055585

  LC eBook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019055586