A Cuban Girl's Guide to Tea and Tomorrow - Laura Taylor Namey Page 0,76
Orion. This cuts most of all and deeper than knives. I am not ready to leave Orion Maxwell.
“What do you mean, no?” Mami asks, and this starts the wave of liquid to my eyes, another kind of salt water. My sweet mother thought she was just lending me to England to give me a break and a chance to heal. Would she have ever sent me knowing I’d grow to entertain such traitorous secrets inside my heart? Another no.
“The inn,” I spit out. “I can’t just ditch Cate and Spencer and leave them without a baker after all they’ve done for me. Polly’s not due back until mid-August.”
“Ah, tienes razón,” Papi says. “We didn’t even think of that.”
I nod. “Book my ticket for two weeks before the taping. That will be plenty of time for me to help get La Paloma ready.”
Pilar says, “We need to find a color to repaint the showroom and figure out all the foods we’re going to showcase.”
“I can help from here. It’s going to be awesome. Perfect.” Excitement builds, humming. My family business, this precious thing that my grandparents started will grow and expand like never before. Abuela, this is your legacy.
We chat longer, catching up and plotting. When we finally reach goodbye, I don’t even think about my next move. I’m already in motion, my hair in a messy topknot and the rest of me in a simple tee and cropped yoga pants. I slide into Chucks and bolt.
I’m panting when the front door opens. “Hey,” Orion says, eyes blinking with surprise.
“I’m sorry. Sorry I didn’t text.” I glance left then right. “I just had to—”
“Don’t be silly.” He opens the door wider. “Come in. You’re worrying me.”
I shuffle inside the warm space as locks click behind me. “I know you just got off work.”
Orion faces me, bracing steady hands on my shoulder bones. “No bother. Dad’s at the shop late and Flora left from there to Katy’s. I was about to heat up some leftovers of that incredible roast you made. Ropa?”
I sniffle. “Ropa vieja.” Old clothes. A fitting name for the fragrant, shredded beef roast I served last night over black beans and rice, over a silly classic film and lots of wine. August seems so close and no one’s going to cook for him after my plane takes off.
He leans in, eyeing me with concern. “Come,” he says and leads me to the leather sofa. He sits closely, clasping all of our hands together. “What’s up?”
I recap everything from the call with my parents, watching his features shift in tandem with the rise and fall of my words. We’re silent when I reach the end, our eyes passing the incredible, terrible truth between us. Back and forth.
Finally he says, “I can’t imagine what this opportunity means for you. Your place wouldn’t have been chosen if it wasn’t for all the work you and your family have put in.”
“Yes.” My family. “But the taping. I wasn’t planning on two fewer weeks here.”
“I wasn’t either. But we knew all this. Each day we’ve had, we’ve lived it knowing full well it has to end,” Orion says, his voice balancing on the thinnest wire. One wrong move and we both tumble. “We always knew you were going back to Florida.”
“Florida,” I muse. And then I just release it because I’m tired of the past eating through my gut. “Andrés called. Twice. Said he… wants to talk again. He’s having second thoughts.”
Air rushes from Orion’s lungs. His eyes hood, dark and deep. He stands, rushing to the piano. My heart cracks when he angles away from me. “Well then.” He speaks to his family photo from Ireland, to a time when this home held all of its hearts. “That should make it loads easier for you. Miami, your successful business, your boyfriend you were pining for. Your amazing future now with this galaxy ahead of you.”
“Easier?”
“Lila, you’re getting everything you dreamt of.”
“No,” I say for the second time tonight.
He shakes his head. “Andrés wants you.”
“Orion, stop. Just because—”
“It’s so simple. Part of the reason you’re even here is him—”
“¡Me cago en diez! Will you bloody listen?”
This gets him. He turns, granite-jawed and blurry-eyed. No, he doesn’t get to be hurt. He doesn’t get to feel hurt about Andrés and the second this flashes across my mind, the answer beams, free and clear.
My smile breaks out in sheer relief before it remembers all the other hurts. I stand; we’re a pace or two apart. “Do