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“Hola, Analia. It’s nice to meet you, I’m Amaury.” I extend my hand, not sure whether I should also lean in to kiss her as well, for fear of scaring her, or crossing a line I cannot see.
“Yes, Mima saysque eres mi papá,” she responds, extending her hand to me while looking at her mother.
“You’re beautiful.” She smiles a sheepish grin and drops her eyes to the floor. It’s the only words I can muster right now. The shock of learning I have a daughter is one I don’t know how to process. Should I be angry? But how if I’m the one who left Cuba without saying a word. Did I have any right to know about her?
“Yanelis, can we talk—” I gesture behind me “—en privado?” I ask.
She nods and says something to Analia before walking around me.
“Why would you tell Sol you’re my wife?” I ask, as I’m trailing behind her.
“Is that all you care about?” she retorts, spinning to face me.
“Yes. No—” I say, shaking my head “—but considering everythingque está pasandoright now, it’s the first thing I want to know.”
She shakes her head and sighs. “Increíble! You learn you have a daughtery no te importa!”
“Of course I care.” I let my head fall back and close my eyes, inhaling deeply to gain my composure.Tengo que estar tranquilo, I remind myself. I have to keep my cool because there’s way too many people around to lose my temper right now. When I’ve finally calmed myself, I meet Yanelis’ eyes and ask, “How old is she?”
“Twelve.”
“So, you were pregnant when I left?”
She nods, acknowledging my statement.
“Why you no ever tell me? Write me, send a message with someone, or tell my parents?”
“Because I hated you for leaving me, for deserting me in Cuba. We were supposed to be together forever.” A tear escapes and glides down her right cheek. Although I’m the cause of her pain, of what she’s feeling, I don’t regret the choice I made. I will never regret the decision to flee Cuba for a better life, even if I lost so much because of it.
“Yanelis, you always told me you would never leave Cuba. Your parents were involved with the government, and you no want to leave. You knew I couldn’t stay, wouldn’t stay, and it was only a matter of time.”
“But I thought you loved me.” Her arms extend to rest on mine.
Yanelis and I met at a rock concert in Havana when we were twenty-one. I had just finished my three years of military service and it was my first concert after three long years of mandatory service that can only be described as torture.
We were inseparable. We’d spend nights together at my parents’ house or her parents’ house. But her father was a high-ranking military officer and so her family lived well, extremely different from my family, as is typical in Cuba. As our relationship grew, we talked about our future, which for me included conversations about living outside of Cuba. She never agreed, and was insistent we could get married, have children, and raise them there. But I refused to agree, didn’t want to raise children under the same conditions I was raised in. I wanted to give my kids more. A lot of good that did me because in the end, my daughter was raised in Cuba without me.
“I did. But I wanted my freedom more. I couldn’t continue living there, it was killing me, my soul was dying.” My words hurt her, I can see the pain in her eyes as the water pools around them and glides down her cheeks leaving black streaks. She swallows, trying to regain her composure.
“I found out I was pregnant a few weeks after you left. I was so angry with you. For weeks I asked all of our friends and your parents if they knew what happened to you, if anyone had news. Finally, months after you left, someone from the neighborhood told me you were inGuantánamowaiting to live here in Miami.”
“How long have you been in Miami?”
“Almost a year. My father passed away several years ago and then my mother and I decided to come here. He’s the only reason we never left, the reason why I always told you I wouldn’t leave.”
“Did you plan on finding me, telling me about Analia? Or is it only because we saw each other here tonight?”
“I wanted to find you. She knows about you. I’ve shared pictures with her of when you were young. She’s been anxious and excited to meet you.” I should be happy at what she’s telling me, overjoyed our daughter knows who I am and wants to get to know me. But I’m livid because I’ve missed out on twelve years of her life. But whose fault is that? Mine? Yanelis’? Or is this just another thing the Cuban communist regime has taken from me? I see an empty chair and pull it close to sit, dropping my head in my hands.
The old rug under my shoes is a deep red and stained, the pulls in it creating a pattern of circles. I cannot believe I have a twelve-year-old daughter. Am I capable of being a father? Better yet, can I be a good one? What if I’m terrible at it? What if she hates me?
“I want to see Analia, spend time with her. Get to know her,” I say, peeking up at Yanelis standing over me.
“Claro.”
“Okay,” I say, and pop up to my feet.
Before I can start walking toward Analia, Yanelis grabs my arm, pulling me back to her. She stares up at me, meeting my eyes. “What about us?” she inquires, her tone soft.
