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“Finalmente, Amaury has a girlfriend. We thought he’d be alone forever!” she shouts. “I’m Zamira but call me Rubi—” she pulls a fist of blonde hair up, essentially telling me that’s her nickname because she’s blonde, orrubiaas it’s known in Spanish “—la mujer deAlain,” she says, introducing herself as Alain’s girl while gesturing to her right before pulling me into an embrace.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I respond, squeezing her back. I feel so welcome, and we just got here, which calms me a bit. Amaury had told me his friends would be like this, and they’d immediately make me feel part of the family. With each passing hello, the bundle of nerves in my tummy loosens.
“Hi Sol, good to see you again,” Eduardo says, and places a kiss on my cheek.
“Good to see you too, Eduardo. Nice to see a familiar face,” I tell him.
“Quien sabewhat Sol sees in this guy, he’s been single forever for a reason,” Alain says, throwing his head back in laughter while smacking Amaury’s shoulder. Amaury wasn’t lying when he said his friend is a jokester.
“Mala hoja,” shouts another guy sitting behind me. When I turn around, he’s laughing as he’s pulling his hair back into a ponytail. What the heck does that mean? I don’t understand all the Cuban slang. I’ll have to ask Amaury about that too.
“Pregúntale a la socia si soy mala hoja,” says Amaury, then leans into me. Why is he telling them to ask me, I don’t even know what they’re talking about. “Tell themmuñeca. Roberto seems to thinkque soy mala hoja?” he says, as he drops kisses along my temple and pulls me into a side hug while pointing to Roberto, whose hair is now in a low ponytail.
“Umm. I don’t understand what he said. What’smala hojamean?”
Amaury chuckles before whispering in my ear, “It means I suck in bed. But after last night, I think you knowque no es verdad.” I can feel my cheeks burning up as laughter fills the space around us. I’m going to have to get thicker skin to hang around this crew. “Si tienes dudas, I can refresh your memory a little later,” he finishes and then nips my cheek with his teeth.
I have no doubts he rocked my world last night. I shake my head and peek up at Amaury, the flutters in my belly swirl in anticipation thinking about how incredible he made me feel. Since the moment we met I’ve felt this connection to him but kept it at bay because of my own insecurities over my past. It felt right and I knew asking him to take me to bed was the right decision.
He was gentle and worshipped my body as he slowly undressed me. Amaury’s words and movements were assertive, yet he ensured I was the one making the decisions. His caresses and whispers calmed the freight train of thoughts running through my mind, allowing me to fully appreciate the emotions and feelings of having Amaury inside of me. As he thrusted in and out of me, my mind was clear and the uninhibited feeling of enjoying each other is one I hadn’t ever felt. Watching goosebumps spread across Amaury’s skin as he came undone was so satisfying. We barely slept last night as Amaury made love to me over and over. It’s like we couldn’t get enough of each other.
“Dejen de molestar,” shouts Rubi. “Don’t pay attention to these guys; they’re never serious about anything.” Her words intrude into my memories and I’m thankful she asked them to ease up on me.
“Andjeva? Why did you call me that?” I whisper to Amaury.
“Girlfriend, my beautifulmuñeca,” he responds, pulling me closer to him, his lips landing on mine. I smirk underneath his kisses.
“I like it,” I say, chastely kissing him before separating our bodies. He drifts off to join his buddies and I rest against the wall behind me, just watching everyone.
Off to the right there’s a square table and four people are playing dominoes, slamming down their pieces and boisterous in their interactions. I’ve seen people play, but don’t know how. I know playing dominoes is popular in the Caribbean islands, so it’s no surprise to see a game going.
“You hungry?” asks Rubi. She turns toward the counter, and I push off the wall to follow. “There’sarroz moroandyuca.El Puercois stillen la caja china,” she says. The rice and beans look delicious, a blend of rice and black beans made all together.Yucais something I tried for the first time in Miami, but it’s growing on me. It’s similar to potatoes, but tastes different, better. At the Cuban restaurant I ate at they make it withmojo, an oil-based marinade that’s poured over theyucaafter it’s boiled.
“What’sla caja china?” I ask. I know she said pork, but don’t know what that box she mentioned is. She spins and grasps my hand in hers, dragging me toward the box. Across the front it says, “Roasting BoxLa Caja China.”
“That.” She points to the box. “It’s where we cook the pig. It’s delicious and is almost ready. When Alain takes it out, he’ll put it on this table—” she gestures to the table on the left of the roasting box “—and everyone will flock here,como las moscas.” She chuckles at her reference to everyone gathering around the roasted pig like flies.
After eating, most of us sit around the large table while a few continue to play dominoes. I’ve somewhat zoned out of the conversation because as they talk amongst each other, they’re speaking in Cuban slang and very quickly—to the point I don’t understand most of what they’re saying. I grab my cell phone from my back pocket and see several missed calls from an unknown number. They’ve been coming in more regularly, and it’s starting to make me nervous.
“What do you think, Sol?” Alain asks me, interrupting my thoughts.
“Uhh—” I slip my phone into my back pocket “—I’m not sure,” I respond, shrugging as I avert Alain’s gaze and glance at Amaury. “I don’t understand what you guys are talking about.”
“You no speak Spanish?” Alain asks, his eyes widening.
“Yeah, I do but I’m not familiar with Cuban slang and you guys are speaking so fast, so I don’t understand what you’re saying.” My fingers begin twirling the curls hanging over my shoulder. I feel like an idiot telling them I have no idea what they’re talking about. The few times Amaury and I have spoken Spanish, he doesn’t speak as quickly to me as he does with his friends. Must be the familiarity they all have with each other.
I feel like all eyes have been on me since we’ve gotten here, especially after confessing I don’t understand their conversation. In an attempt to shift those feelings, I ask Amaury, “So, how long have you all been friends?” I point left to right at his friends sitting around the table.
“Toda la vida,” Amaury responds, a grin stretching across his face as he recounts that they’ve been friends their entire lives. “We all grew up in the same neighborhood in Cuba. Roberto was one of the guys on the raft with me. Eduardo and Alain came by raft too, but they left a few days after us. We all met up inGuantánamo.”
“That’s awesome you’ve all been friends for so long.”
“Alain was close with my younger brother,peroeramos un piquete,” Amaury says.
“¿Piquete?” I ask, confused by yet another word being used.
“Group of friends,” Alain chimes in.
