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They start telling stories of their time in Guantanamo and I take the opportunity to go to the restroom. “Where’s the bathroom?” I ask Amaury in a low voice.
He points to the door to our right. “Through there, first door on the left.”
“No tupas el inodoro!” yells Alain as I rise from my seat, my eyes widening, causing everyone to erupt in laughter. I’m so embarrassed at his insinuation that I’m going to clog the toilet after using the bathroom. I can’t even turn around to face everyone. My heart beats rapidly in my chest as I scurry toward the door and lock myself in the bathroom.
Once inside I lean onto the vanity and stare at my reflection—my cheeks are flush, a deep red. Amaury wasn’t kidding when he said his friends are heavy on the sarcasm and jokes. Holy crap! I’m not used to anything like this but if our relationship continues, I’m going to have to learn to roll with it better. Hopefully once I get to know everyone better it’ll get easier.
After quickly using the bathroom, I hear a knock as I’m washing my hands.
“Sol, it’s me. You okay?” I use the towel to dry off my hands and crack open the door. He pushes the door open, steps in, and closes the door behind him.
“Hi. Yes, why wouldn’t I be?”
“My friends are …pesado. Too much sometimes with their jokes. Want to make sure they no bother you too much.” He pushes my hair behind my ears before nudging my chin up for my eyes to meet his. They’re soft at the corners and his lips are slightly pursed.
“I like them, they’re nice. But yeah, not used to it. I’ll come around.”
Amaury kisses me, his lips soft and warm, his stubble scratching at my skin. “¿Nos vamos?” he asks, his lips hovering over mine. “We can go to my house.”
I nod, glad he asked if I want to leave, as I nibble and suck on his plump bottom lip.
“Vámonos,” he says, pulling the door open and grasping my hand on the way out.
An hour later, we pull into the driveway in front of a garage at Amaury’s house along Royal Palm Ave. We both live in Miami Beach but the area I live in is all small buildings whereas this area is a traditional neighborhood with standalone houses. It’s a beautiful area.
Once Amaury opens the front door, it opens to a foyer, with stairs immediately to my right and three rooms separated by arched beams. The first a sitting room with all white couches, followed by a dining room with a long wooden table stretching the length of the room. Farther beyond is a Florida room with more couches overlooking his backyard. The Florida room is expansive, with skylights and more windows than wall space. To the right of the dining room and Florida room is a kitchen with a large island in the middle.
“Your house is beautiful,” I say, as I’m taking in his home. The walls are adorned with artwork depicting different beaches, with one wall markedly different from the others with its pictures of old buildings and antique cars.
“I like it, but I’m lonely in this big house,” he says, a bleak grin gracing his gorgeous face.
“You live by yourself?”
“Yes, with all of my plants and flowers.” He signals to the plants placed around the rooms we just walked through. Plants at the foot of the steps, placed in the corners and underneath windows. Surprising, although not sure why. I mean, they’re just plants.
“I love them. I kill everything so I’m impressed, especially considering I have a black thumb and am known for killing cactus.” I shrug, while grazing the leaves of the plant in front of me.
“Black thumbs are a lie. You only need to learn,muñeca.Ven, I show you the backyard.”
I follow him through the French doors in the Florida room and the yard is long and wide, with a shimmering, blue-lit pool in the middle, two lounge chairs at each of the pool corners closest to us. Along the perimeter of the rectangular yard are several palm trees with Ficus bushes lining the entire yard behind them. The palm fronds at the forefront of the night sky ablaze from the setting sun, a few cloud swirls in the fire lit heavens.
“Mis orquídeas,” he says, as we approach the palm trees along the left side. He’s pointing to a vivid pink orchid growing on the side of the palm tree, and then to the purple one growing on the palm tree next to it. It’s then I notice each palm tree lining the yard has an orchid growing on it—red, yellow, blue, white, and orange.
“How do you get them to grow like this?” I’m fascinated by the vibrantly colored flowers growing on the tree trunks.
“I tie them on the trunk with atrapo viejo.No sethe worden inglés.”
“A rag. An old rag.”
“Yes, that. It helps the orchid grow roots and eventually the orchid lives alone.” I never would’ve thought about tying an orchid to a tree so it could grow. How interesting.
“I like that you’re a plant lover.”
“Sí, por qué?” he asks, turning toward me, with a lopsided grin. I should’ve known he’d want to know why.
“Because it shows you care for things, you’re nurturing, loving, and have patience.”
“Bueno, I no good with patiencepero sí me gusta cuidar las cosas que amo,” he proclaims, his words almost a whisper as he steps closer to me, dragging the back of his hand along my cheek. I swallow the lump in my throat, try to hide my surprise at him showing a softer side with his confession that he likes to care for the things he loves. When I think Amaury is going to kiss me, he steps back and pulls his shirt up and off.
