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Soledad:Yes. Usual place & time?
Meeting Amaury for coffee has become somewhat of a ritual between us. I was never much of a coffee drinker, usually only having a small cup in the morning to get my day started. But since moving to Miami and dating Amaury, my coffee habit has changed. I now have at least onecafecitoa day, but on average, it’s between three or four of them. We usually meet at the Cuban place down on Euclid and Sixth Street when we finish work.
Amaury:Sí. Bring your swimsuit to go to the beachun ratico.
I still remember when I met Carmine, we saw each other nearly every day and became inseparable. He told me he loved me just weeks after we started dating and I responded in kind. Had I known then he’d become possessive, controlling, and violent, things would’ve been so different. I ignored the signs that were in my face day in and day out. His dislike for my friends, his continuous criticism of them, and his desire to isolate me. His short temper, need to control everything, and the uncanny ability to ruin a perfectly good night out by starting an unnecessary fight with random strangers. I lost count of how many times he embarrassed my friends and me in a restaurant or club, and for years I allowed it because I kept silent about it.
After placing my pockabook underneath the seat, I push the key into the ignition of my Vespa. I cruise down Meridian Ave, my favorite street here in Miami Beach. The tree lined street stretches across the heart of the city, a green spine amidst blocks of buildings. The Brazilian Beautyleaf trees provide a canopy of coveted shade from the long days of sun. The beautiful tree-lined street is what drew me to live in this neighborhood of Miami Beach.
It’s a typical Miami day—hot and humid. Despite the thick humidity, riding the Vespa along Meridian Ave. gives respite from the stagnant air, the warm air blowing my hair. When I get home later, I’ll regret not having tied my hair back before hopping onto the scooter, but by the time I was ready to leave I realized I had forgotten an elastic and didn’t feel like going back inside to get one.
I’m at the stop sign before the Café and I see Amaury leaning on the counter, his left foot crossed over his right and laughing as he chats with the girl working behind the counter. Even from this distance, I can see how beautiful he is, his golden-brown skin slick with sweat from the sweltering Miami heat.
I park the Vespa along the curb in front of theventanitaservingcafecito cubano. The first time Amaury asked to meet for coffee I fully expected a coffee house, which is what I was used to back in Boston. Although there are traditional coffee houses in Miami, they are few and far between. Instead, the locals here prefer orderingun cafecitoandpastelitosthroughla ventanitato then chat with others doing the same, often times of Cuban politics.
“Hola, muñeca.How are you?” Amaury asks as I approach him. When I reach him, he leans in and swipes his lips across mine, the feel of them soft and hot against my own, awakening the butterflies that reside in my stomach.
“Better now,” I respond, biting my lip.
He gives me a lopsided grin. “I missed you too,muñeca.”
“Dos cafecitos por favor,” Amaury says to the woman behind the counter. Each time we meet here, we each have a Cuban coffee. It’s strong, rich, and has just the right amount of sugar to sweeten it up.
“Un pastelito de quesotoo, please,” I add. The cheese pastries have quickly become one of my favorite things to eat.
“How was your day?” I ask and drag the tips of my fingers up his right forearm.
“Long and too hot. The air conditioneren el trabajobroke and we can’t get it fixed until tomorrow.”
“I can’t even imagine what it’s like to not have air conditioning all day at work with this heat. I think I would pass out.” The heat here in Miami is sauna like. The air is thick and heavy with humidity, the sun scorches your skin, and sweat seeps from your pores just seconds after being outside.
“Before it no bother me because I worked outside when I fixed scooters all day. Now I mostly work inside and used to the a/c ypaso calormore easy.” He pulls from the water bottle he has in front of him.
The woman places two espresso cups before us, Amaury grabs his and lifts it to his lips, and I do the same. It’s hot, a thick layer of foamycremaat the top of the coffee caramel colored with bubbles.
“So, I was thinking,” I say, placing my cup back onto the countertop. “You want to drive down to the Keys this weekend and stay in Islamorada?” His eyes light up and he gives me a crooked smile. Since moving here I’ve only driven down to the Florida Keys once. Amaury and I spent the weekend in Key West. The drive there was spectacular with the views of the ocean to one side and the gulf on the other, but we didn’t stop. Since then, I’ve been wanting to return to Islamorada to stay at one of the resorts on the Gulf side to lounge on the beach and eat local seafood.
He shakes his head from side-to-side and my hope flattens. “Rubi told me this weekend isLa Fiesta de los Municipios. It’s a party for people from the neighborhooden Cuba. We usually go because we see peopledel barrio. I was gonna ask if you want to come with me.”
I’m bummed about not going to the Keys but I’m excited to attend a party with him. “Sure, I’d love to,” I respond, interested in learning more about his culture and life back in Cuba. What better way than attending a party with people from his town. “When is it and what should I wear?”
“Pasado mañanaat eight,” he responds. Good, the day after tomorrow gives me enough time to find something to wear, whether in my closet or at the mall. “Dress for a party. Whatever you wear you’ll be beautiful,” he tells me, dropping a kiss on the tip of my nose.
“Sounds good. Now let’s finish up so we can go swimming. It’s wicked hot today and I can’t wait to cool off in the ocean.”
We park the scooters on the cul-de-sac on South Pointe Drive and stroll the pathway until we reach the sand. I leave my shoes on because it’s still hot and I don’t want to scorch my feet. Before me stands a bright orange and yellow structure, a lifeguard stand. I haven’t been to this part of the beach yet, but these lifeguard stands are sprinkled across the entire seven-mile stretch of Miami Beach, each one a unique structure. The one I can see a little farther south from us is red and white striped and resembles a miniature lighthouse—very New England.
“These lifeguard stands are one of the things I loved most about Miami Beach the first time I visited,” I say. Their unique architecture makes each of the candy-colored stands a work of art and a main tourist attraction.
“Sí, soncool. I like them too.En Cubathe beaches have lifeguards too, but they were plain high structures.”
Once we drop our things on the sheet Amaury spread over the sand, we peel off our clothes and scurry toward the water’s edge. The cool feel of the water hitting my feet spreads through my body finally getting respite from the oppressive heat. This is a great time of day for the beach because it’s hot, but not the same heat as high-noon, and the water is refreshing. Beachgoers are scattered across the sand, children playing along the shoreline with their pails and shovels, a small group of guys throwing the Frisbee amongst themselves.
Amaury dives into the water, coming up for air several feet in front of me, shaking his head when he emerges. I continue walking toward him, letting the water slowly cool my skin as I approach him. When I’m within arm’s length, Amaury grasps my waist and pulls me to him, and I wrap my legs around his torso.
“Oye, tengo ganas de singarte,” he whispers into my ear. “I no see you all week and I missmi jeva.” I can feel his erection pressing against me. Having sex in a public place is a line I’ve never crossed. Although, we’re out in the water and far from any people so we can probably get away with it.
“Umm, here?” I ask, peering into his eyes brimming with lust.
