A Cuban Girl's Guide to Tea and Tomorrow - Laura Taylor Namey Page 0,35

roast pork and black beans and Abuela’s flan. The summer after I turned fifteen, I invited Andrés, too. Stefanie had one job after that dinner: distract Abuela and mis tías and their ever-curious eyes while I snuck Andrés out back. I had a plan.

I led him on a purely innocent tour through beds of calabazas y lechuga y cebollas. We wound around avocado and lime trees. Then the corn plot—the garden’s jewel. Bold as the Caribbean, I grabbed Andrés’s hand and pulled him into a hidden spot between the stalks.

The corn swallowed us whole. Spit us out into a secret.

When he kissed me there, tingles fizzed through my limbs, sparking inside my belly. He tasted of flan and the Coke and lime Papi had placed into his hands. The silent language of my father’s acceptance.

Todo está bien—all is well.

Thousands of miles away, in this English garden, I wonder just how well Andrés really is. Is he still single? The words have been sitting inside of me, gathering weight, ever since I saw his Instagram. I finally release them over FaceTime after Pilar gets through her Miami update.

Pili sputters over her soda, bubbles shooting up her nose. “Lila.” She coughs again then glares at me over her glass.

“Just tell me. I swear I haven’t looked at his Instagram for days, but the last time I did I saw him at—”

“South Beach.” Of course she saw the picture. And that’s Pilar. She’ll tell me a hundred times to move on and ignore this boy who broke my heart. But as sure as sisterhood, she’ll be right there adding up tips and clues, her checks and balances. It’s what she does.

“Well?” I press. “Do you know who he was with? Anything?”

She exhales heavily. “Okay. Annalise is now taking ballet barre with Christopher’s girlfriend Jacqui and—”

“Just get to it.” I know how information travels.

“That day at the beach. Andrés was there with Chris and Jacqui… and Alexa.”

Alexa Gijon. She grew up with Andrés in Coral Gables, and even hung out with us in groups a bunch of times. I’m suddenly witness to a slideshow of every interaction I saw between them.

“Hermana,” Pilar stresses, “I swear I don’t know if it means anything.” I believe her. We might embellish stories, but Pilar and I do not lie to each other. It’s one of the reasons we’re destined to succeed together as partners.

“It’s fine.” Andrés probably went to South Beach with her as friends. It could be totally innocent. Or, maybe he was on a double date. All I want to do is run from this thought, along any Winchester path I can find.

“Don’t take this too far, okay?” she says. “Stick to what we know for—”

“Pili, I need to go. We’ll talk later. Besitos.” I end the call before she responds, needing some space from her revelation. While my sister is faithfully present with her proof and fact gathering, Stefanie was always different. News like Andrés and the beach would have her pacing with rage and purpose around these beautiful English grounds. Forget trying to solve anything, Stef would simply indulge me in being overly dramatic. We’d bitch and complain, sometimes planning grand revenge schemes in our minds worthy of any telenovela. Often, we’d end up laughing as much as crying.

I miss that part of us. And be it drama or telenovela plotline or real, honest life, I am simply out of excuses for not contacting her. I’ve been putting it off. I’ve been putting her off. I cue up my e-mail, and after typing and erasing at least ten different lines, I settle on nine little words:

Dear Stef,

Hey. I think we should talk.

Lila

Tomorrow is now up to her. I press Send and stow my phone in my jacket pocket, catching Spencer helping his wife up from the garden beds. They move toward me instead of through the kitchen side door.

“Good haul?” I ask as the couple drops into the two remaining chairs.

“The garden’s coming up nicely. Good enough for decent salads this week.” Cate shakes her basket before setting it on the grass. “In other news around here, Polly gave her two weeks’ notice for leave today.”

I’m zero percent surprised by my quick flash of joy, even sweeter after my call with Pili.

“She’s not quitting,” Spencer corrects. “It’s only temporary. Polly’s mother has a heart condition. Her caregiver is scheduled for knee surgery and taking leave until sometime in August. Her mother refuses to allow a stand-in nurse. Stubborn. Polly has no choice but