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“Me too, that’s why I’ll never be skinny,” I say, chuckling.
“I no want you skinny.¡Tus curvas me facinan!” he murmurs, his breath tickling my ear. I’m glad someone loves my curves.
“Vámonos,” he exclaims, jumping to his feet and extending his hand out to help me up. He’s so energetic, like electricity is coursing through his body.
Hand in hand we stroll down the boardwalk, which is busy with joggers, bicycles, families, and lovers strolling.
“It’s nice here, kinda reminds me of Venice Beach in California, although it’s less busy here,” I say, as we’re strolling toward the restaurant.
“So, you really no liked the pizza?” Amaury asks, as he pushes the kickstand on his scooter down.
We sat at an outside table at the pizza place Amaury likes and shared a small pie. It was okay, but it’s not the pizza I’m used to eating. Most of the pizza in Boston is delicious, although my favorite is Regina Pizzeria—thin crispy crust and gooey cheese cooked to perfection. Before heading back home we listened to some live music, which wasn’t bad for a local band.
“No, but don’t take it personal. I’m used to eating pizza in Boston, where it’s good pretty much anywhere you get it.” I lift the seat to grab my things.
“I visited Boston many years ago but no eat pizza when there. Maybe soon you’ll take me to your favorite pizza restaurant,” he says, pulling me flush to him.
“Uh, maybe,” I respond, raising my eyes to his and smirking. “Before I forget—” I step back from him “—I still want to get one of those cases for the back of my scooter,” I say, putting my hand at the back of the Vespa.
He pauses and rubs my arm, his gaze intensifying. “Okay, we do it in the next few days.”
“Sol,ven acá,” he says, lifting my face to his. Our lips meet, his kisses are tender, and his gentleness melts my insides. The stubble around his mouth tickles. I recall how good his lips felt on my skin and want him to explore all of me. Just the thought makes my belly stir.
“Amaury,” I whisper, separating myself from him. “I should go, I have an early morning.”
“I no want you to leave yet,” he says, his fingers rubbing my lower back. I don’t want to leave yet either and his sultry words lure me back to him. “Dejame hacerte el amor,” he whispers, his breath tickling my ear.
Him asking to make love to me ignites me from within and I can’t resist. His words have me all riled up. I tug his hand and start walking toward the entryway.
Inside my apartment we barely have the door closed and we’re undressing each other. Me searching for his belt buckle, him pulling at my shirt to tug it over my head. We find ourselves at my couch and when my knees touch the cushions, I let myself fall. Amaury tugs my pants off, sliding them down my legs. I reach for him wanting to pull him closer to me, but Amaury gently nudges me back. “Recuéstate.” I lie back and let him take the lead.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Amaury
My shoulders slump as I sit back on my couch. I spoke to my father after not having spoken to him in a few weeks. Phone calls with him and the rest of my family are a mission because no one in my family has a phone. But one of the neighbors about three houses away from my father’s house has one and she allows family of all of her neighbors to call and use her phone. Of course, when we send things to Cuba, we also send money or something for her to compensate for her allowing use of the telephone. Phones are rare because they’re a luxury and expensive to have. Although here in the U.S. we have mobile phones and internet, most people in Cuba don’t have access to those types of luxuries.
I can still hear my father’s words replaying in my head, “I have to have part of my prostate removed.” I’m scared beyond measure because surgery in Cuba is nothing like having surgery in the United States.
The memory of my sister flashes through my mind, how she went to the hospital because she was short of breath. Her asthma was acting up and she couldn’t get it under control. After arriving at the hospital, they admitted her and wanted to give her IV fluids, except they used old needles to administer the fluids. Piercing her skin caused an infection that went undetected until it was too late. The infection spread throughout her body and killed her. Totally preventable and something that would never happen in most countries. But not in Cuba where medical supplies are scarce and medical care is subpar on the best of days.
The hospitals don’t have the necessary supplies, they don’t have medicine, and it’s barely sanitary, at least not in the hospitals outside of the tourist areas. Tourists received top tier medical attention, while Cuban citizens are left behind, in dire need of basic medical care. Tourist Cuba and the real Cuba, two different island nations existing under the same flag. Each time I think about it and how we are negatively affected by it I get angry, so I try to block it out.
He told me he needs to wait three months before he has to be at the hospital, which gives me enough time to put together a box of necessities to send over. I asked him to speak to the doctor to ask for anything specific they need for surgery, which I can send from here. I told him I’d call him back next week at the same time to see if he had an update for me so I can start buying the supplies.
My phone rings, halting the freight train running through my head. Eduardo’s name appears on the screen and my heart sinks. I was hoping it was Sol because her voice is exactly what I need to hear right now.
“Dime,” I say, answering the call.
“Oye, come to the Washington Ave. store. This morning when I arrived the door was unlocked. They broke in last night.”
“¿Cómo?” I shout. Motherfucker! As if the news about my father isn’t enough, now this bullshit too. I jump to my feet and grab my keys from the table next to the front door.
I park the Tahoe in the back alley and pull the back door of the shop open. Eduardo is talking with two police officers.
As I glance around the room, everything is the same as it was last night. What did they break in to steal?
“This is my partner Amaury,” Eduardo says, introducing me to the police officers.
