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"Oh..." Her face fell, and both London and I put a hand on her shoulder. "Ok, ok, Rita culpa. I didn't know you were divorced."
"I am not; it didn't get that far."
Rita gave him an understanding nod.
"Well, this time it will get that far, so how about we make the best out of this party and get drunk." My beautiful girl, always resourceful and ready to jump back on her feet. No wonder Zach couldn’t help but smile.
"So, you're offering to keep me away from small talk and empty champagne glasses with me?"
"Champagne? What are we, sixteen? We'll do shots of real booze.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Rum from Cuba."
"Deal. I might even enjoy it after all."
I laughed, and from the corner of my eye I saw London hugging Rita and whispering a soft ‘thank you’ to her.
Seemed like life was getting better every day, and I was getting more and more used to it.
A feverish tear fell down on the page where I was drawing a family of bears for Chelsea's story book. The swell of remorse in my chest threatened to take me under.
Why am I only remember the ugliness? Why can't I just wake up and have memories of me in a wedding dress or bringing my daughter home?
My head was throbbing like someone got inside and was banging a hammer in my skull, making it even hard to assimilate the image that was coming back to me.
My father didn't throw me out of the house, I left. With a man. I left, and he told me to never come back.
The image showed up blurry in the beginning: I was sitting here, at the dining table, getting everything ready to start painting when my father's face popped up in my head. In the beginning, I thought it was just because I was missing him. Papi and mamá were good parents - they were not loving in the traditional sense; they didn't tuck me in and read me stories like I did for my daughter, but I was never hungry or dirty, and I was never introduced to my father’s belt. They worked hard every day and gave me everything they had, put me through school so I could have a better life. All my life, I felt grateful and looked for a way to repay them, and I remembered when my father told me ‘ir a la escuela y hacerlo mejor por ti mismo’ - go to school, do better for yourself.
I didn't. James took me away.
Piece by piece, the memory built itself in my mind, bringing it all back.
It was my twentieth birthday when I received a letter of acceptance from Universidad de La Habana - I would have been the first one in my family to attend college. Papi opened the letter and read it to me. He was so proud.
A bitter taste came into my mouth thinking about what happened next.
"Mi hija, you did it. You'll be an accountant. Rosa Maria," he called for my mother, "come here to see this. The university wants her."
My mother's full figure appeared in the door frame, wearing a dress the same color of the sunset and wiping her wet hands on the apron that was hanging around her neck.
"No, are you serious, Carlos?"
"Si, si, and she got a scholarship. Rosa Maria, our daughter will make a name for herself. Maybe she'll have one of those fancy houses in the city."
Their words made me sink my head between my shoulders; they were cheering and chanting, and I was gathering my nerve to open my mouth. It was my birthday after all, and I would give myself what I deserved.
"I'm not going."
In seconds, the room fell to silence, all the happiness gone down the drain, pushed by my impertinence. My father's face sobered and darkened, his eyes glaring at me and carrying a thousand warnings.
"Repetir, Rita." Whenever my father said to repeat something, it didn’t mean he hadn’t heard. It meant he was giving a second chance to rectify whatever was said.
"Papi, listen..."
"You'd better not defy me, Rita."
"I don't want to go."
"You don't want to do something worthwhile with your life? You're a girl, Rita; you need this education to back you up if you want to have a better life." There it was, the girl thing again. Papi was always sad because of my biological weakness, and I fought tooth and nail to prove him wrong. He is scarred that even though he doesn’t want a son to carry his name, the world will see me as weak. Today I would stand my ground and choose to do things my way, like any son would do.
