“Don’t I always?”
“No doubt.” He peeked over her shoulder again. “Can I get a taste before dinner?”
The boy was a human garbage disposal, looking and sounding more and more like his papi every day.
Sonja reached up to ruffle his short curly fade, what her Cuban mother and Carlos’s Puerto Rican mother called “good” hair.
She wondered what they would think of Kaj and his locs, and whether his hairstyle would matter as much to them as her lover’s tender years.
Sonja shrugged as she took off her apron and moved away from the stove to give her son access to the roast.
She watched him wash his hands, get a carving knife, and slice off a succulent chunk of meat before popping it into his mouth and giving the thumbs-up.
“Homeboy’s gonna appreciate this.”
“You think?”
“He’d bettah.” Ricky came over and gave her a hug. “He treatin’ you right, Ma?”
“You know he does. I wouldn’t be with him otherwise.”
April picked that moment to sidle into the kitchen, still clad in her pajamas and bedroom slippers. “I know that’s right.”
“He’s going to be here eventually. Think you can get dressed and make a halfway decent impression so that he’ll know our mother raised us right, brat?”
“Up yours.”
“Kids, watch the language.”
April and Ricky both laughed, knowing their mother could get down with a vice cop when she wanted to.
The doorbell rang and Sonja took a deep breath and looked at the kitchen wall clock.
She knew it was him. Unlike some young men his age, Kaj was always prompt. Prompt, self-employed, mature, responsible…and a good-ass lay. What more could an almost-forty-year-old ask for?
Sonja headed through the kitchen’s swinging doors, out into the living room.
FIVE…She wanted her kids to like Kaj, or at least understand how she felt about him. But if they did neither, she was prepared to live with it, as they would eventually learn to. She was their mother; they weren’t hers.
FOUR…She liked Kaj, liked spending time with him. Liked fucking him.
THREE…It wasn’t love, and they weren’t getting married any time soon.
TWO…But for now she enjoyed having him in her life.
ONE…The doorbell rang again. “¡Ay, espera! I’m coming!”
Sonja opened the door to his wide smile, took the bottle of expensive liqueur he had in one hand, and leaned in for a deep soul kiss. “You’re right on time.” She caught him by a hand and led him into her house.
JUMP…Her kids would either accept him or they wouldn’t.
Either way, que será, será.
Butterfly
Jordan Grace
“Solo, girl, you’ve lost your mind,” I said to myself as the breathtaking beauty of Cuba came into view. I still couldn’t believe I’d left my tiny, peaceful Bahamian country, home to less than five hundred thousand souls, for Cuba, home to eleven million, and a way of life so vastly different from my own. All for a man who probably didn’t even want to see me. But I needed to see him. I needed to know if the connection we’d shared a year and a half earlier was still there.