FOR MY ENTIRE life, La Cocina de la Isla has closed on Sundays. Year after year customers have begged Abuela to open the restaurant, but she never has. She claimed Sundays for the Zamoras, and that was that. No more discussion.
Ever since she’d handed over cooking duties to my mom, her oldest daughter, Abuela took her place on one of the sofas in the lounge area, smiling and surveying the whole scene. The chaos of so many people moving about and talking over each other didn’t seem to bother her at all. She looked happiest when the entire Zamora clan crammed itself into La Cocina.
My cousins Yolanda and Mari traded high school chismes on the outdoor patio. Martín and Brian sat at the bar area next to the kitchen to watch TV, flipping from MMA to basketball to hockey to baseball without settling on anything for more than three minutes.
Benny and Brad, my younger cousins, zipped around tables, pretending to be superheroes until they were scolded by my uncle for knocking over a chair. A few of my third cousins, two of my dad’s best friends from high school, and cousins who I called cousins (but weren’t really my cousins) sat around in different spots, waiting for food to be served.
My dad brought out the urns containing my abuelo, tío abuelo, and my tataraabuelo (yes, my great-grandfather) and carefully lined them up on the small service bar next to the dinner table, where we would eventually sit for our meal. Yep, even the dead joined us “in spirit.” The whole family was there, and everyone was in a really good mood.
I was excited for a bunch of reasons. It was the Sunday before the official start of summer, and summer meant hanging out, swinging on banyan trees, looking for manatees in the canals throughout Canal Grove, eating churros (because let’s be real: those deep-fried sugary sticks are all kinds of delicious), listening to music, and jumping around in Bren’s bounce house. Yeah, I know I’m thirteen, but there’s just something about a bounce house that makes me feel awesome.
I had a full week to chill out with my best friends, Mop and Bren, before they both left town, and even though I’d be working at the restaurant a few days a week, it seemed like summer was off to a good start.
Mop and Bren were honorary Zamoras and almost always attended Sunday dinner. They showed up a little late today, popping in from the patio entrance. Bren walked toward me, his arms extended to give me a hug.
“¡Hermano!”
I half hugged him and stared. It must have taken him hours to put his outfit together. That was probably why they were late.
“What are you wearing, Bren?” I asked.
“I know,” Mop said, shaking his head. “I tried to tell him. I think he dressed up for Vanessa.”
Bren had been in love with my cousin Vanessa for as long as I could remember. She barely knew he existed.
“What?” Bren said, pulling at the collar of his shirt, which opened into an embarrassingly deep V. “Too formal?”
“Dude, you’re wearing sunglasses.”
“So?”
“We’re inside.”
“It’s to keep the glare out, homie. The 305 can get pretty bright.”
“Stop talking like Pitbull. You are not Pitbull!” Mop cried, and slapped his forehead.
Last year Bren tried to shave his head like Pitbull but ended up with just one side of his head shaved because his mom caught him before he could finish. It took six months for the hair to grow back.
“At least take off the sunglasses,” I said. “Abuela doesn’t like that.”
Bren gave a nod, dropped his glasses to the edge of his nose, and channeled Pitbull. “Dale.”
Mop and I shook our heads and waited for Bren to put the glasses into his blazer pocket before going to the lounge area to greet the rest of the family.
When we got there, I noticed someone at the front door, knocking politely. Through the windowed double doors, I made eye contact with a tall, reddish-brown-haired, honey-eyed girl waving and smiling with a mouth full of tiny colorful braces.
“Oh, they’re here, everyone!” Vanessa announced as she went to unlock the door. “As the official orientation liaison to Sunday Family Dinner at La Cocina de la Isla, I’d like to welcome the Sánchez family! Carmen, you and I were, like, six when you last came to Miami, right?”
“I think so,” said Carmen as she stood at the door and looked around. She said words a little funny, the way I do when I try to speak Spanish.
My mom rushed over to Carmen.
“How was the flight, mi amor?”
“Good, madrina. Thanks.”
My mom turned to Carmen’s dad, Uncle Frank, who was not really my uncle but we called him Uncle because his wife was my mom’s best friend. My mom gave Uncle Frank a kiss on each cheek and held both of his hands.
“You doing okay?”
Uncle Frank managed a sad sort of smile that reminded me why they were here.
“There’re good days and bad days,” Uncle Frank offered. “Cari, I can’t thank you enough for letting us stay for the summer.”
“Cristina was my best friend, Frank. You are family to me.”
My mom saw me standing by the lounge and looked annoyed that I hadn’t come over to greet them yet.
“Arturo, saluda a tu familia.”
The last time I’d seen Carmen, we’d been just kids. My mom and dad had gone to visit them about six months ago for Carmen’s mom’s funeral, but I was in school, so I couldn’t go.
“¡Arturito!” Uncle Frank said. “Cómo ha crecido, Cari.” My mom’s name is Caridad, but everyone calls her Cari.
I turned to him and smiled. “Thanks. I guess I have grown a little.”
“You remember Carmen?” My mom pushed Carmen in front of me.
This was not the lanky, mutant-fast cheetah girl I used to play tag with years ago. Carmen had changed. She was still tall, but those colorful braces made her look way mature. Her hair was really long and wavy. She carried a little book in her hand, thumbing the edges while looking at me shyly. Then, without warning, she grabbed my shoulders and double kissed me, one on each cheek. I felt a burning in my stomach, like a pot of oil was slowly starting to bubble inside. It. Was. Weird.
“Hola, Arturo,” she said.
For a second I considered bolting into the kitchen to try to figure out why I was losing it in front of my mom’s goddaughter. I’d better calm down, because Carmen would be living in our apartment complex for the whole summer and possibly beyond. Plus, she was practically my cousin, and these feelings were totally wrong. I didn’t know what to do, and if it weren’t for Aunt Tuti, I might have been caught in a vortex of my own confusion and despair.
“Hi, Frank. I’m so sorry to hear about everything.” Aunt Tuti hugged and double kissed Uncle Frank and then turned to hug Carmen and stroke her hair.
“Ay, she’s so beautiful, Frank. Que Dios la bendiga.”
“Gracias, Tuti.”
“Cari, did you tell them?”
“They just got here, Tuti. How could I have told them?”
“Ay, don’t get pesada. I’m trying to pay you a compliment.”
“Thank you, Tuti,” my mom said as she rolled her eyes.
“Anyway, we are expanding the restaurant!”
“It’s not certain yet, Tuti.”
“The expansion will be approved, Cari. There’s no way the city would reject a good business decision like this.”
“That’s great,” Uncle Frank said.
My mom smiled. “The city put out a call for proposals for the the empty lot next to us—”
Aunt Tuti jumped in before my mom could finish. “And my sister here had the brilliant idea of putting in a bid to expand La Cocina!”
“Fantastic!” Uncle Frank replied.
“Right? This place is barely big enough for our family. Imagine how many more people we could feed with a bigger space. It’s the perfect time, because our lease is up at the end of the month.” My aunt Tuti paused for a second to take a quick breath before starting up again. She looked like an ostrich the way she moved her really long neck and stuck out her plump, round bottom. “Oye, Frank, maybe you can help with the construction phase?”
Uncle Frank had an eco-friendly construction company in Spain and had built a ton of buildings in Madrid.
“Tuti, Frank has only been here for five minutes. Let’s not put him to work already.”
“I’m trying to make him feel welcome, Cari. He’s been through so much.”
Aunt Tuti took out a napkin and began patting her eyes.
“Tuti,” my mom started, “please don’t get hysterical.”
Telling my aunt Tuti not to get hysterical is like telling her, “Please, I want you to totally freak out right now.”
“Cari! This is not a time to be calm! He lost his wife!” Aunt Tuti sobbed all the way to the patio, where she joined Mari and Yolanda.
My mom shook her head in frustration and then turned around to address the rest of the family.
“Everyone, we’re eating in ten minutes,” she said, and then walked Uncle Frank and Carmen to see Abuela before disappearing into the kitchen. Everyone slowly pushed the smaller tables together to make one long table spanning the entire width of the restaurant. A few people grumbled because they knew once the meal was over, they were going to have to start cleaning the restaurant for service the next day.
My mom needed help bringing out the food, so she asked me to go to the patio to call Mari, Yolanda, and Aunt Tuti. I caught them complaining about the humidity outside and in the same breath whining that the air-conditioning was too cold inside. I really didn’t understand the women in my family.
As I turned to walk back into the restaurant, I nearly crashed into Carmen, who had appeared out of nowhere.
“Geez!” I said, holding my chest. “You scared me.”
“Sorry,” she said, smiling. “So, the proposal is to expand the restaurant over there?” Carmen pointed beyond our small patio. The lot was visible from where we stood, with only five small tables and a green awning in our way.
“Huh? Oh, yeah. That whole area,” I said, gesturing.
Carmen walked over to the edge of the patio and looked out. I followed her and took in the mostly dark lot that was illuminated by one streetlamp on the far corner.
“Hey,” Carmen said, interrupting the silence. “Do you remember when you all came to visit us in Marbella that one summer?”
“Yeah,” I said. “What were we? Like, eight?”
“Yeah. I remember you threw sand at me and then tried to run away, but I chased you down the beach.”
“And you caught up to me, pinned me to the ground, and dripped wet sand on my back that slithered down my butt when I got up.” Oh God. Why did I say that?
Carmen laughed.
“You looked so funny, trying to wash your butt in the water!”
“That water was freezing!”
“Oh, come on,” she said. “It wasn’t that cold.”
“Seawater in southern Spain is way colder than the ocean in Miami.”
Carmen laughed again. “You never caught me,” she said.
“That’s because you were, like, a mutant half-cheetah.”
I stopped talking when I noticed a figure crossing the street. I don’t think Carmen saw it, because she was pointing to the other small buildings lining the neighborhood.
“It’s so nice how the buildings are all the same size,” she said.
“Yeah,” I said, still looking at the figure standing in the shadows.
“Hey, do you see that over there?” I asked.
Carmen followed my gaze.
“Yeah,” she said. “It looks like that person is taking something out of a bag. What is it?”
“I don’t know.”
A couple of quick flashes popped from the mysterious figure.
“They’re taking photographs.”
“Hey! Hey, you!” Carmen blurted out.
The person looked up from the camera and stared at us. I couldn’t see his or her face because it was covered by a large hat. The person put the camera away, walked across the street, and disappeared into the darkness.
“That was weird,” Carmen said.
“Yeah,” I replied, wondering who would want to take pictures this late at night. But then my mom called us in to eat and we went back inside the restaurant.
Everyone raced to find a seat like they were playing musical chairs or something. They pushed and shoved and complained that they didn’t have enough room. But we all settled down once Abuela stood next to her cushioned chair at the head of the table. I arrived at her side because that was always my place. I’m not sure if abuelas are allowed to have favorite grandkids, but I can tell you this: my abuela always wanted me to sit next to her.
She motioned for everyone to quiet down. We all joined hands, and when Abuela bowed her head, everyone followed. As she prayed quietly, we were silent. I admit I peeked to my left to see what Carmen was doing— I had a clear shot of her because Vanessa’s head was down. Carmen was deep in prayer, mumbling softly to herself.
When Abuela lifted her head to indicate she was finished praying, she caught me looking over at Carmen. Her face lit up when she saw Carmen had just opened her eyes and was looking back at me. My gaze shifted from Abuela to Carmen, and suddenly my cheeks burned and I had trouble breathing. Thankfully, people started to lift their heads, waiting for further instruction from Abuela. She smiled and made the sign of the cross. Everyone did the same—even Mop, and he’s Jewish.
With the praying portion of the evening over, nobody waited to be served. Elbows flew as everyone scooped the mushy rice and black beans topped with avocado picked from the tree in our courtyard. They loaded fricasé de pollo from chafing dishes and platters like it was their last meal on earth.
My mom brought Abuela her soup with all the chunks pureed out of it.
“¿Le ayudo, Mami?”
Abuela declined my mom’s help and motioned for her to leave the bowl. I noticed Mop trying to get a spoonful of congris, but he couldn’t get to the ladle in time. People kept taking it.
Mop’s name was actually Benjamin, but we’d nicknamed him Mop because he was skinny and had really shaggy hair. One time we’d been seeing who could stand on their head the longest, and when it had been Mop’s turn, Bren had said he looked like a mop cleaning the floor. We’d all laughed, and Mop had decided that he would “henceforth be known as Mop, because I shall clean the earth of all its inequities!” Mop always talked like that. He is definitely my smartest friend.
When dinner ended, we cleaned up and prepared the restaurant for the next day. No one complained as Abuela watched. My family argued a lot, but Abuela always found a way to get everybody on the same page. Mop’s and Bren’s parents picked them up, and the rest of my family left at different times. I stayed behind with my mom, my dad, Uncle Frank, and Carmen to lock up.
The walk from the restaurant to our apartment complex was about ten minutes. Carmen trailed behind with me as my parents and Uncle Frank walked ahead.
“It must be cool to live in the same building as your whole family,” Carmen said. “You always have someone to talk to.”
Not only did my entire family work together at La Cocina, but we also lived in the same apartment complex. There was a Zamora in every unit, and this summer Carmen and Uncle Frank were going to live there too.
“Yeah, I guess so,” I said. “I like that Abuela is just downstairs, but I’m not sure I like Martín and Brian invading my space all the time.”
“I feel kind of lonely back home. That’s why I loved when your family came to visit,” Carmen said. “Do you remember when we tried to be an eight-foot giant, and we put on my mom’s winter coat and you sat on my shoulders while we tried to walk around?” Carmen spoke like the words were at the tip of her tongue at all times.
“I’m pretty sure you got on my shoulders,” I said, remembering her parents’ house in Madrid that same summer we’d gone to the beach.
“You couldn’t carry me, remember? We kept falling down.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said. How embarrassing.
“And then you got on my shoulders, but you didn’t notice the door and you banged your head and we both crashed to the floor!” Carmen laughed.
“That’s right,” I said, wishing she didn’t have such a good memory. We had knocked down a vase of flowers. I remembered how Carmen’s mom had come into the room and laughed, watching us in a tangled peacoat covered in fresh floribundas and water. Then my mom walked in, an angry look on her face, but Carmen’s mom just put her arm around my mom’s shoulders and smiled.
“That was a fun trip,” I said. “So, you’re just staying in Miami for the summer?”
“Yes. Madrina said it would be good to be with family.”
“Yeah. Sorry about, you know, your mom.”
“Un día a la vez,” she said, and offered a small smile.
“That’s what Abuela says.” Every time I get frustrated or impatient about something, Abuela reminds me to take it one day at a time.
“It was nice to see you again, Arturo,” Carmen said. She turned to follow Uncle Frank into their unit.
“You too,” I said. As I walked to my room, I tried to make sense of what had happened tonight. Carmen = Mom’s goddaughter/niece was not computing with Arturo + Carmen = sudden frying of intestines when I talked to her.