Beantown Cubans

by Johnny Diaz

  “Carlos! Hey! What are you doing around here?” We hug, and there’s a smirk plastered on Carlos’s face.

  “I went to the mall to buy some gifts. This mall is much bigger than the one in Cambridge, and for once, I didn’t get lost in Boston. Can you believe that?”

  “Bravo!” I clap and laugh.

  I turn toward Mikey and introduce them. Mikey rises and shakes Carlos’s hand.

  “So good to meet you, Mikey.”

  “Yeah, same here,” he deadpans. Something’s not right here. Mikey isn’t happy to meet Carlos, who is now taking off his coat.

  “Sit down with us, if you have time.”

  “Thanks. I have a few minutes before heading back to Cambridge. I stopped by to get some coffee,” Carlos says casually.

  I grab a chair from another table and drag it over to ours. Carlos settles in, and I offer to buy him a double espresso, which he gladly accepts. I leave them alone for a few minutes while I fetch the drink.

  From the café counter, I glance over at the table and notice that Mikey is warming up to Carlos. They chat and exchange a laugh here and there. It looks like they’re bonding. I wonder why Mikey seemed so disturbed when I mentioned that Carlos was here?

  I fumble for some bills and pay Selena for the drink. I return to the table where I walk into a conversation about education.

  “We only have two guidance counselors at my school, and there are 1,500 students. Can you imagine?” Carlos says.

  “Tell me about it. I’m pretty much it at the elementary school. I think I need a counselor myself to deal with all my kids.”

  I give Carlos his double espresso and scoot back into my chair. I sit between these two important guys in my life in Boston. My two worlds collide, but in a good way.

  We talk about our plans for Christmas. I invite Carlos to my parents’ house for Noche Buena or at least on Christmas Day, if he wants to get out of his house.

  “I want you to meet the wacky Perez family. If you met my mom, then you’d know why I have all my weird quirks. I’m really my mother’s son. She also loves Diet Coke and eating turkey sandwiches all the time.”

  “So there are two of you? You’re not weird. Your quirks are cute, just like you. It’s who you are. Don’t ever change yourself for anyone,” Mikey says.

  “Yeah, we love you, Tommy, and all your ticks, even though they limit us to certain restaurants,” Carlos says sarcastically.

  “My mom will love you. She has a soft spot for young Cuban teachers. If you were straight, she would try and set you up with my sister Mary. And hopefully one day, Mikey, you can meet Pepe and Gladys Perez. You’d really like Miami, if you can handle the muggy weather in the spring, summer, and fall. Come to think of it, it’s year round.”

  “How hot is it down there?” Mikey asks, sipping his coffee.

  “As hot as your coffee. Right now, it’s eighty degrees and it’s December. Wait ’til June, when the humidity tacks your clothes to your skin and inspires everyone in Miami to start blow-drying their hair straight.”

  Mikey shakes his head.

  “That’s too much. I’d melt. I’d be a puddle.”

  “You get used to it after a while. If I’m surviving my first winter in Boston, you can definitely handle T-shirt weather,” Carlos chides Mikey.

  We sit there for the next hour chatting, and I watch with pride as Carlos and Mikey bond. I knew they would hit it off. They work in education, and they’re good guys. I wouldn’t call just anyone my friend or boyfriend.

  Two cups of hot chocolate later, it’s eight o’clock. A very caffeinated Carlos decides to head back home.

  “Bueno, Mikey, it was a pleasure to finally meet you. Maybe we can all hang out again sometime soon.” Carlos gets up and embraces Mikey with a warm hug. Carlos does the same with me.

  “Yeah, that would be cool. Maybe we can see your apartment in Cambridge. Tommy and I always hang out here in Braintree or the South Shore. It’s time for my boy to take me somewhere else.” Mikey playfully hits me on the shoulder.

  Carlos grabs his drink to go.

  “Call me tomorrow, loco. We can figure out our plans for Christmas.”

  When Mikey turns away, Carlos gives me a quick thumbs-up and silently mouths, “He’s super cute!”

  I nod and smile back.

  As Carlos leaves, Mikey and I stroll around the bookstore and browse the music section.

  “Your friend is very nice,” he says, as he browses the new Keith Urban CD.

  “I know. I knew you guys would get along.”

  “Oh, and by the way, you’re a horrible actor, Tommy.”

  “What are you talking about?” We flip through the stack of CDs of holiday music in the next aisle.

  “I’m not stupid. That wasn’t an accident or chance meeting. You called him and told him we’d be here and don’t deny it. You’re a very bad liar. You’re a liar!” His voice rises and he faces me.

  “Que cosa?” I say, trying to sound sincere.

  “Tommy, puh-lease. That was an ambush, and I don’t appreciate being surprised like that. I told you I’d meet your friend, but I don’t like surprises. That wasn’t cool. You couldn’t just let things be and happen on their own.” Mikey’s tone is accusatory. He’s angry. An inner light switch has flipped inside him. Who is this talking to me?

  “I just thought it would be easier if Carlos stopped by. Every time I make plans for you guys to meet, something always came up. I just wanted you guys to meet, that’s all. No harm was done.” I rub Mikey’s shoulder. He moves away, treating my touch as if it were radioactive.

  “I don’t have a problem being social. I can be social when I want to. I don’t need someone setting things up behind my back.” His voice is tinged with more anger, and I can sense it raging inside him like a cresting wave.

  “Mikey, calm down. You’re making more of this than it really is.”

  He leans in and jabs his index finger into my chest.

  “That’s it. You don’t understand. You don’t ambush someone you supposedly care about like that. You don’t understand how it’s weird being social without having a drink. I don’t need this crap, especially from you.” Mikey storms out of the bookstore. I quietly power walk behind him and call out his name without causing a scene or raising my voice. Fellow customers stare at us. I’m embarrassed. When we reach his car, he hops in and rolls down his window.

  “Just leave me alone. I’ll talk to you later, you stupid jerk!”

  “But…I…” The words disappear from my mouth. I’m stunned. What did I do wrong? Mikey backs up and pulls away. His Volkswagen Rabbit speeds down Granite Street, and the car’s red, circular, rear lights fade in the distance.

  I stand there alone in the parking lot with my mouth wide open and my heart stomped on. I try to make sense of what just happened. This is not how I had envisioned the night. All I wanted was for Mikey to meet my friend, and while that part went well, the rest of the night blew up in my face. What’s going on? Mikey acted the way he did whenever he drank too much over a year ago. The blue-eyed Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde has returned but without alcohol as his elixir. And perhaps that’s the problem. He misses his liquor, his social lubricant. How am I going to fix this before Christmas? Maybe I can’t. With my hands in my pocket and my head down, I slowly walk to my Jeep. Tears stream down my face. As I drive home, I wonder why this is happening again.

  21

  Carlos

  “Carlito, I’m so happy that you are coming home for la Navidad. Remember how we baked gingerbread cookies, nuestra tradicion?” Mami says, her back turned to me as she pulls a pan of warm, baked cookies out of the oven. She wears her favorite red apron that reads “Welcome to my cocina!” I sit at our small wooden table in the corner of the kitchen and watch her work her holiday magic. Mami’s hibiscus plants sway outside along the kitchen window, which offers a lovely view of her backyard garden. Mami always enjoyed washing dishes or cooking food while keeping a watchful eye on her flowers.<
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  “I loved those cookies. They were the best. You never told me the recipe. What did you put in them?” Mami plops the pan on the kitchen counter and lets the army of gingerbread cookies rest and cool. The aroma of freshly baked, succulent cookies fills the room as if this were a small bakery on Calle Ocho. Mami wipes her hands clean on her apron, unfastens it, and sits with me. She leaves the apron on the table.

  “Bueno, I put sugar, flour, y ginger.” She points to her fingers as she names each ingredient. She goes on to explain the recipe. I write it down on a paper towel.

  “But you know what the most important ingredient is, hijo?”

  “More sugar?”

  “Ah no!”

  “Evaporated milk?”

  “No, niño! These are cookies, not a flan!”

  “So what’s your secret ingredient, Mami?”

  “Love. You need to make the cookies with love. That’s why they taste so good, because I love you and your hermana and your Papi very much.”

  Mami gets up, stands behind me, and brushes the back of my wavy hair with her hand. She then kisses the top of my head. When I was little, she always did that as I sat down at the kitchen table to write my essays and solve my math equations. Behind me on the wall are framed images of various types of coffee mugs.

  “So write this recipe down. I want you to make cookies, the Martin way, for la Navidad. Lourdes is not very good in the kitchen. She takes after tu papa.” I laugh because Lourdes isn’t the best cook, but she tries. The food is edible and so far, no one has suffered massive food poisoning.

  “You will continue this tradition from now on. Comprende? Just because I am not there doesn’t mean that nuestra familia can’t have our holiday cookies. I need you to do this for me and for the whole family. Make me proud, hijo, but you always do whether you realize it or not.” She hugs me from behind my chair again.

  Mami walks away from the table, slips on her apron, and checks on the gingerbread men. They’ve cooled down. She takes a bite from one of the golden brown cookies and she says “Mmm” the whole time. The feeling is mutual, and I decapitate a gingerbread man with my teeth. These cookies are to die for.

  I scarf down the rest of the cookie in one big bite. Mami carries the tray and starts walking toward the dining room. She looks back at me and wipes her hand against her apron.

  “You will do fine. Just follow my recipe and follow your heart. I love you, hijo.”

  “I love you too, Mami.”

  As she walks into the dining room, I scoot my wooden chair back against the red tile and get up to follow her. I want to keep talking. I miss these moments. They calm and soothe me despite their fleeting nature. But when I open the door, I suddenly wake up. I’m lying in my bed in Cambridge and feeling disoriented. I rub circles around my eyes with my knuckles and let out a couple of long yawns. My mouth is so dry, and I suddenly have an urge for Mami’s cookies. My stomach growls, performing its own symphony. I prop myself on my left side, grab my journal and scribble down Mami’s recipe before it escapes me. On the last line I write: Make the cookies with love. And I will, on Thursday, as soon as I land in Miami.

  Christmas was very important to Mami. It was time to bond as a family besides our end-of-the-school-year trips. Without her to anchor the holiday, I don’t know what to expect this year. Mami was like the star that shines and completes the top of a Christmas tree. Without her guiding presence, I’m not sure we should even honor Christmas, but I know she would want us to. I climb out of bed, drag myself to the kitchen and brew some café to wake me up. My house phone rings. It’s Tommy.

  “Hey. Just calling to see how you were doing. Are you ready for your flight?”

  I add some coffee to the filter. I lean against the kitchen counter and face the living room.

  “I just need to pack and I’ll be all set. What about you? Did Mikey sleep over last night?” I yawn like a lion.

  Tommy takes a deep breath.

  “Nope. He took off after you left the bookstore. He was pissed at me. Wicked mad!”

  “Why?”

  “Because of Project Mikey Ambush. He saw right through it. He didn’t appreciate it. He thought you were nice though.”

  “Ay, Tommy…I’m sorry to hear that. This is all my fault.”

  “It’s okay. You were trying to help. I’m just stumped. I don’t know why he’s so upset. It was pretty innocent.”

  The coffee machine hisses and fills the apartment with its delicious aroma. My stomach continues to rumble from the dream.

  “I think there’s more going on with Mikey than he’s letting on. It’s his first year of recovery. That’s the hardest part in the process.”

  “Yeah, I know that, but it’s not like I got drunk in front of him. If anything, I’ve been there to listen to him, and I don’t drink or go out to bars, out of respect for him. Geez, what else am I doing wrong?”

  “Listen to me, chico. It’s not you. It’s him. It might be too much for him to handle you and staying sober. He’s probably stressed out.”

  “Well, I didn’t deserve the way he treated me at the bookstore. I’ve been so supportive.”

  “I know you have, but you can’t fix everything that is wrong with Mikey. He’s dealing with a lot. Let him be for now. Bueno, we’ll have fun in Miami. I leave this afternoon and you leave tomorrow, right?”

  “Yeah, Miami. I can’t wait!” says Tommy, his voice suddenly lifting.

  “Okay, loco, I need to get ready. I’ll call you when I land.”

  “Thanks, Carlos. Talk to you soon.”

  “Adios!”

  My coffee’s ready, so I pour myself a large cup and add some milk. I hold the mug to my lips and savor the warm, fresh taste. I imagine drinking it with Mami’s cookies. I’ll do my best to replicate her sweet creations the way she would want me to. Miami, here I come.

  22

  Tommy

  It’s been two days since my clash with Mikey at the bookstore, and I still haven’t heard from him. I decided to leave him alone. Work has been a great distraction. I wrote a story on how holiday shoppers use online wish lists more often to buy gifts for friends. It’s another fun holiday feature, my last for the year. I won’t return to work until after the New Year.

  When I get stressed or upset, I clean relentlessly, which is what I’m doing now. I take my Swiffer and wipe my Pergo floors clean in a rhythmic motion while Gloria Estefan sings on my laptop. I vacuum my condo, and wipe down the bathroom mirror and TV monitor with a cloth. I’m a robot in motion. I want to leave my place neat before I take off to Miami later this afternoon. A light snow has fallen over the city, and as much as I like the snow, I’ve grown tired of it already. I’ve been mentally traveling to Miami and imagining the warm tropical air and thick heat, which can feel like steam rising from an iron. Ahh, home! As I stand and daydream in the middle of my living room, surrounded by posters of Miami and Fort Lauderdale, my buzzer sounds. I press the intercom. “Tommy, it’s Mikey. I’m outside.” My mental mirage suddenly collapses like a falling stage curtain. He better be here to apologize. I won’t let Mikey ruin my feel-good Miami vibe.

  “I’ll come outside. Stay there.” I adjust my shirt, and put on a baseball cap because my hair is messy and resembles a Chia Pet more than a human head. I slip on my blue puffy jacket and climb the five steps up to the lobby where Mikey greets me with a tight grin that says he knows he messed up. He bites down on his tongue and sticks it out. I’ve grown immune to it.

  “Hey, cutie!” He moves in to hug me.

  “Hey, yourself.”

  “Can we talk?”

  “Sure. Let’s go outside.” With my right foot, I clear one of the cement steps of old leaves. We sit down.

  “What’s on your mind?” I ask, turning away.

  “Look, I just wanted to apologize for my behavior the other night. That wasn’t me. I don’t know what got into me. I should have never said those things to you.”

  “But you did, and they hurt. I was trying
to do something nice, introduce you to a good friend, and you become a total jerk.”

  Mikey puts his arm over my shoulder. I face the street ahead.

  “I’ve been having some trouble dealing with the alcoholism lately. I thought if I didn’t go to a bar that I would be okay, but it’s not that simple, cutie. I’m having flashbacks to last year and all the gay holiday parties and the drinking. I hear about people going out and drinking and having fun. I just feel frustrated and isolated. I guess I took that out on you.”

  “You think?” I interrupt, facing him.

  “Let me finish. I miss drinking. I miss my friends, who don’t want to meet up with me unless it’s at a bar, and I can’t do that. I’m adjusting to this new sober life. It’s been a little hard.” He looks down and flicks a leaf with his finger.

  “But you have your AA meetings. That’s what they’re there for.” The small orange commuter trolley rumbles by across the street.

  “Well…” Mikey says, his eyes on the leaf. “I have to tell you something. I haven’t been completely honest with you, Tommy.”

  Now, I don’t know what to think. What else hasn’t he been truthful about?

  “I stopped going to the meetings,” Mikey reveals in a soft voice. He still looks down and then away. Embarrassment is scrawled all over his face.

  “But why? You need them.” Confusion and shock crest inside me.

  “I don’t like sitting in a circle with a bunch of strangers talking about my feelings. It’s just not me, cutie. I haven’t been to a meeting in a month. Instead, I’ve been reading books about Buddhism and spirituality.”

  I stand up and take a deep breath. This is crazy. I try to process what he has said, but I’m still in shock.

  “Mikey, you need those AA meetings or you should at least see a therapist. I can do only so much for you. I’m your boyfriend, not a therapist. I’m not equipped for this. You need some professional help in dealing with this.”