Rule #6
DON’T EXPECT HOME TO BE WHERE YOUR HEART IS
CAI
As we drive up to my childhood home, the hulking, eccentric house overlooking the rest of the street, excitement and homesickness overcome me with such force that they catch me off guard. My heart swells.
“Wow,” Sonny says, turning his head to the side to try to take in the entire house as we roll slowly towards it. “You grew up here?”
I try to imagine how it would look from his unfamiliar point of view. The house must look like Frankenstein’s Monster, with multiple additions, varied paint colors, and half-hung shutters.
“Yup,” I say. “And I’m related to basically everyone on this street.”
I think that this might be weird or unsettling to an outsider, but Sonny doesn’t look unsettled. He looks delighted. “That must’ve been amazing.”
The street I grew up on is in a neighborhood, west of the city, called Kendall.
When my grandparents came from Cuba, they bought the large house at the end of a tree-lined cul-de-sac.
They raised my mother there, and every aunt, uncle, cousin, and in-law has lived in that house at one point or another.
Parts of the house have been added over the years as one cousin or another learned how to lay brick or tile floors or hang windows, and they’ve come to try out their new trade on the house.
So the house now has its own personality and stories told by its hodgepodge parts and unique choices.
The roof has varying heights, with different portions added on. No two wall colors match, and the size and number of windows also vary. The house looks as if it is still growing, as if it’s a living, breathing thing.
As family members began to settle and buy their own homes, many chose houses on the same street or in the same neighborhood.
This house became a gift to my parents when they got married, and my grandparents moved into smaller in-law quarters behind it.
This is where we grew up. In our own little world, on a tree-lined street surrounded by family.
I won’t pretend it was a hardship. I loved it: long summers running wild with my siblings and cousins; Noche Buena Lechón roasts that turned the street into a block party; and always having someone to talk to or ask for help.
But when I was teased, embarrassed, or ashamed?
Nowhere to hide. No privacy from the free-flowing advice and opinions.
Under the guise of “building thick skin,” tears were mocked, and weakness was taunted.
It became the running joke that I am the sensitive one.
It has always been, “Cai who can’t take a joke.
” Or “Cai, who is too fragile to be any fun.” As the chubby middle child, I feel like the red-headed stepchild who always draws the short end of the stick.
I take a deep breath as Rey pulls up and drops us off. “Tell your mom we are coming by later tonight. Gotta go!” Rey pulls out and parks at their house three doors down.
I stand frozen to the spot. I’m not sure how to face my family yet. I don’t want to tell them the whole truth, but I am worried they’ll find out. Then they would add “Cai who gets dumped via text and then lies about it” to their list of descriptors they have for me.
“Hey,” Sonny says, calling into my thoughts. “Come on, Buttercup, it’s time to be the toughest fighter.”
His reference to the show makes me smile, and it does the trick. I am able to move again.
“If they ask you too many questions or if they insist you try something you don’t want to—”
Sonny cuts me off with a small laugh, shaking his head.
“Cai. Stop trying to sell me the exit sign.” He reaches over and lightly tugs one of my wild curls, letting it spring back.
“I’ve already seen the fine print; loud family, invasive questions, probably more food than I can handle.
I know what I’m getting into, and I’m here for it. ”
Something soft and unfamiliar blooms in my chest. I don’t say anything. I just give him a small nod and move towards the door.
Before I can knock, the door flies open, and Tia Julia dramatically yells, “Cayeetttannnaaa! ?Gracias a Dios!” She yanks me into a tight hug, rocking me side to side.
To Sonny’s credit, he doesn’t flinch. He just looks mildly confused.
“Tia,” I manage. She releases me, then turns to Sonny like he is already family and pulls him in too.
Sonny hugs her back, actually lifts her off the ground. Tia Julia squeals in delight.
My mother follows. She is her sister Julia’s equal in looks but the total opposite in demeanor, and gives me a quick hug and Sonny a curt nod, then ushers us inside while complaining about letting mosquitoes in.
My mother wastes no time in getting right to what I am trying to avoid.
After explaining my dad and brother are out boarding up windows in the neighborhood with my Tios, and pouring us all some café, she looks across the breakfast bar and speaks very earnestly to Sonny.
“Mi hijo, I’m very glad you’re here, and I promise we will not be so dramatic the whole time, but I can’t allow Cayetana to use you as a shield.
So forgive me if this is uncomfortable.” Her eyes turn to me.
“Cayetana, what’s going on? Why are you suddenly here without telling us? ”
Here we go.
“Trevor had a work thing. I was going to meet him. I didn’t want you guys to be mad that I was flying to PR but not Miami, so I didn’t say anything.”
Mama crosses her arms, clearly not buying it. “Ay si? Then why have you been crying?”
Shit.
I didn’t think she’d notice. My mind scrambles for an out.
“Cai,” Sonny says quietly. “You have to tell them.”
I look at him, mouth open. He hasn’t lasted ten minutes!
He turns to my mother and continues, “Ma’am, your daughter had an unfortunate run-in with a piece of gum.
” My mom raises an eyebrow and looks at him like he’s lost the plot.
“It turns out breathing and chewing gum while seated in a plane was almost too much for her. She almost perished by choking on the gum. Afterward, the tears were a side effect of the dislodging.”
Sonny delivers the whole thing with seriousness.
Mama and Tia Julia stare at him for a beat, then look at each other—and burst out laughing.
“?Ay, Dios mío!” Tia Julia wheezes, clutching her side. “A gum assassin! Only you, Cayetana.”
Mama wipes her eyes, still chuckling. “Mi hijo, you’re quick. I like that.”
I am relieved Sonny had explained my red-rimmed eyes away, even if I wish they weren’t laughing quite so hard. I catch Sonny’s eye and mouth a silent “thank you.” He gives a tiny, satisfied shrug, as if he’s just won a round.
“Ven,” she says, waiving him over. “We are cooking everything so that it doesn’t go bad if we lose the light.”
I turn to Sonny, who is looking confused. “She means if we lose power, all the refrigerated food goes bad. So what we do is make all the food that will spoil if the power goes out, eat it, and then it won’t be wasted.”
“Yes,” my mom says impatiently, stirring a pot. “I said it in English. You don’t have to explain.”
I look at Sonny with wide eyes. See what I mean?
“No ma’am, it’s not your English. This is just my first hurricane,” Sonny says.
Tia Julia and Mama gasp as if he just said something truly shocking.
“Ay, Dios mio,” Tia Julia says, crossing herself.
Mama grabs a plate and starts loading food on it. “Mijo, I didn’t know. Here, eat something!”
I look over at his plate, checking out the spread: Arroz con pollo and some yucca. It smells like home. “Mmm, Mama, it smells good!”
“Really, Cayetana? Do you only think about food?” My mom says.
Ah, there is the side of self-loathing. Now it felt like home.
SONNY
I didn’t want to do it. I really wanted Cai to tell her mom and aunt the truth. I wanted to watch her mom despise the man as I did. But one look at Cai’s face, the panic starting to rise behind her eyes, and I was compelled to protect her, to step in.
It was worth it. Her mom and aunt are laughing. Cai looks relieved and looks at me with… is that just appreciation? Or something more?
The food they are laying out before me was unlike anything I had ever seen or smelled, and it makes my mouth water.
Cai’s mother scoops something that looks like a casserole of rice, chicken, and peas onto a plate for me once she hears this is my first hurricane.
Weird response, but I’m not going to turn it down!
“?Come!” her mom says. “Eat. You need your strength.”
Then, noticing a group of men hauling plywood through the backyard, she pushes open the window over the kitchen sink and yells, “Crispiano! Make sure you’re drinking water!
” A man lifts a hand and waves the concern away.
“Don’t just ignore me; we don’t need you getting deshidratación! And tell Papa too!”
“Mama!” the man yells back. “He’s sixty-five! He doesn’t need me telling him to drink water!”
For the briefest of moments, I think Cai’s mom might jump through the window after them, pulling herself up with one arm while shaking her fist with the other.
Cai’s aunt, who brought something over that looks fried and delicious, and Cai herself, who starts picking at it, seem unbothered. I guess it’s normal for an older woman to haul herself up and yell threats at other family members.
“You never get too old to listen to Mama!” she yells.
The man grumbles an ok before going back to what he was doing.
“That’s my brother, Crispiano,” Cai clarifies.
“Should I go help?” I point to the group with my fork.
“No, they have too many; they’re already talking more than working. You eat and help in here with Cayetana.” Her mother explains.
There is no argument from me, and I dig into the flavorful plate before me. It melts in my mouth, with notes of saffron and the occasional pop of a sweet pea.
“What do you need us to do?” Cai asks.
“First, go get Abuela to come over. She’s stubborn como un burro, but she knows we always get through big storms together. “
Cai seems to perk up at the mention of Abuela. “Is she making Arroz con leche?”
Cai’s mom rolls her eyes. “Probably, which none of us need.” She looks pointedly at Cai as she says this. “But you can’t tell her anything. She probably has pans and pans of it.”
“Arroz means rice, right?” I asked, seeing how excited Cai is at the mention. No way could there be another rice dish better than the one I am inhaling right now.
“Yes! Con leche, with milk,” Cai says. “It’s a dessert kinda like rice pudding. It’s my favorite. Abuela’s the only one who makes it!”
“Yeah, because if any of us dared…” Tia Julia says before making a gesture as if to say, “Off with their heads.”
“You ate that fast,” Cai says to me, wiping her hands on her pants and eyeing my empty plate, which I am tempted to lick clean.
“Yeah, it was really good,” I say, and then, to Cai’s mother and aunt, I add, “Thank you!”
“Ready to go get Abuela?” Cai says.
The truth is, I could’ve easily eaten two or three more helpings of the rice and chicken her mother had served me, but I say, “Yup,” drop my plate in the sink, and let myself get caught up in Cai’s excitement.
With some quick goodbyes, we are out the back door, and I experience what I imagine Cai must have felt growing up here—surrounded by love, off on a new adventure, this time chasing famed arroz con leche.