I shake hands with both of them. Carmen told me they’re younger than her parents, but they look at least ten years older. They have gray hair, and their eyes—blue for her and brown for him—carry the weight of their tragic loss. “It’s so nice to meet you both.”

  Josie cradles my hand between both of hers. “Likewise.”

  Unlike his wife, Len doesn’t seem all that pleased to meet me, but he’s polite for the sake of his wife and Carmen. I try to put myself in his place, to be meeting the man his son’s widow is now seeing and decide he can think whatever he wants to about me. My heart goes out to him. No one should have to go through what he and his family have endured. “I’m very sorry for the loss of your son.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” Josie says softly. “Thank you. We enjoyed the story on the news about you. It was nice of you to give your time to the clinic.”

  “It was a pleasure. I enjoyed it very much.” Which is true. I’d forgotten what it was like to deal with easily solved medical concerns. I’ve become accustomed to the more complex cases, the ones that are never easily solved and often have less-than-ideal outcomes.

  After Len and Josie wander off to talk to other people, Maria approaches me, bloody Mary in hand. She nods toward Tony’s parents. “How’d that go?”

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “They’re good people. If Carmen is happy, they’re happy. Don’t worry.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  “All these people… These are her people. We love her.”

  “I know.”

  “You aren’t going to hurt her, are you?”

  “I’m going to try like hell not to.”

  She nods, seeming pleased with my response. “It’s a huge deal that she brought you to brunch. I hope you realize that.”

  “I do.”

  Carmen joins us, and I put my arm around her, aware of everyone in the room watching us, getting a sense of how we are together. I want them to know I care about her.

  “Everything all right?” she asks, her gaze encompassing Maria and me.

  I give her a reassuring smile. “It is with me.”

  “Me, too,” Maria says. “The board of the clinic wanted me to pass along their thanks for what you did for us this week. They said you’re welcome to come back any time you’d like.”

  “I’ve got most of another week to kill before my meeting with the Miami-Dade board on Friday. I’m all yours if you’ll have me.”

  “Yes, we’ll have you,” she says, laughing. “I’ll let them know, and I’ll see you in the morning.” She starts to walk away but turns back. “For what it’s worth, I think it’s amazing that you’re continuing to volunteer at the clinic when you had what you needed from us the first day.”

  “I genuinely enjoy it.”

  “I know you do, and that makes you truly awesome.” To Carmen, she adds, “He’s a keeper, prima.”

  Carmen curls her hands around my arm. “I agree.”

  A powerful feeling of yearning comes over me, to be kept by her, to attend brunch at Giordino’s every Sunday, to be part of this amazing, loud, boisterous family. I can picture myself with Carmen, years from now, still going strong with a couple of adorable, rambunctious curly-haired kids who look like their mother along for the ride as we join her family for Sunday brunch. Seven days after meeting her, I can see all that and so much more.

  However, I need to figure out my own life before I disrupt hers any more than I already have. So I tamp back the yearning and focus on today and the coming week when I’ll know more about where I stand in New York and Miami.

  I try not to think about that as I enjoy the Cuban-themed feast, featuring many of the dishes I had the first time I was here and a few new things. Carmen explains everything to me, and I try it all. I’ve yet to have anything here that isn’t delicious. We’re seated at a big horseshoe-shaped table next to Carmen’s parents and her Nona. Abuela relishes her role as the hostess.

  Between courses, Carmen reaches for my hand under the table. The sense of connection I feel with her is powerful, so powerful in fact that only a few weeks after another woman upended my life in the worst possible way, I’m prepared to allow that to happen again.

  Carmen is more than welcome to upend my life in any way she sees fit.

  Everything would be different this time. I know that with a certainty I’ve never felt with anyone else.

  “Are you okay?” Carmen asks.

  “I’m great. You?”

  “It’s nice to have you here.”

  “Thanks for inviting me.”

  “I know we can be a lot.”

  “I was thinking how lucky you are to have such a great family. They must’ve been an enormous comfort to you.” I don’t have to say when. She knows what I mean.

  “They were. They surrounded me and held me up in every possible way. My mami slept in bed with me for the first month. Maria took the second month. My cousin Delores, who we call Dee, took the third month. She’s one of the cousins that live in New York now. I was never alone unless I wanted to be. I’ve always been thankful for them, but never more so than I was then.”

  “I can’t imagine what it would be like to have people like that, who swoop in and try to make it all better.”

  “You didn’t have that in New York?”

  I shake my head. “I had friends, most of them colleagues who thought I’d gotten a raw deal, but no one who swooped in the way your family would have.”

  “You haven’t seen true support until you’ve seen it from this clan.”

  “I’m sure it’s formidable.”

  “They saved my life. Without them around to remind me of my many blessings, I’m not sure I would’ve survived losing Tony.”

  “I’m very glad they saved your life so I would get to meet you and spend this time with you.”

  “Me, too.” Her wary smile reminds me of how worried she is about what might happen. I wish I could fix that for her. However, until I know where I’m going to end up and whether we’re going to be able to make something of this, she’ll remain wary and guarded, and I can’t blame her for that.

  After brunch, we go grocery shopping. As I watch how Carmen carefully chooses produce, I discover another layer to this woman who has me completely fascinated.

  “Why’re you staring at me?”

  “I’m not staring so much as ogling you as you ogle the avocados.”

  “Choosing avocados is serious business.”

  “So I’m learning.”

  “They can’t be too firm, and you don’t want them too soft. There’s a sweet spot right in the middle.” She hands one to me. “Feel that? It’s perfect.”

  While trying not to let my mind wander in lascivious directions, I take it from her and give it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll never look at avocados the same way again.”

  “Have you ever actually bought one before?”

  “I can’t say that have.”

  “Savage.”

  I crack up laughing. “What are you going to make with those avocados anyway?”

  “I put them on salads mostly. Avocado is an excellent source of ‘good fat.’”

  “Is it now?”

  “It is. And good fat helps to get rid of the bad fat.” She pulls a face. “I like to think of it like a PacMan, in there gobbling up all the fat I don’t need.” She puts a bag containing four avocados in her basket.

  “You don’t think you’re fat, do you?” I’m not at all sure if I should ask that, but curiosity wins out.

  “I think I’m curvier than I should be.”

  “I completely and adamantly disagree.”

  She rolls her eyes at me. “Stop.”

  “I will not stop. I think your curves are luscious, delicious, sexy, perfection, and you’ll never convince me otherwise.”

  “You’re good for a girl’s ego.”

  “Your ego should be very, very healthy.”

  I love the way she smiles at me and continues on her way, list in hand like the well-organized woman she is.

  We return to her place, and when I tell her I want to check out the gym in her building, she frowns. “Enjoy that.”

  “Come with me.”

  “No way. I’ve already told you I suck at the gym. I don’t need you to see that for yourself.”

  “Then let’s go for a walk or something.”

  “It’s too hot.” She looks up at me. “You go. I have some things I need to do around here, such as laundry. I can toss yours in, too, if you want.”

  “I don’t expect you to do my laundry.”

  “I know you don’t. I offered. Put it in the bathroom if you want me to do it, and go have your run.”

  “I’d rather hang with you than go run.”

  “You can do both. I’ll still be here when you get back.”

  “You promise?”

  She kisses me. “I promise.”

  I gather my laundry and put it in the bathroom, as directed, before changing into running shorts and a tank top. This run will be quick because I don't want to waste whatever time I have with Carmen doing something as mundane as running.

  I want to be with her every minute that I can for as long as I can. Who knows where I’ll be a week from now? The thought of being anywhere but with her is suddenly unfathomable to me.

  Chapter 20

  CARMEN

  In the morning, Jason and I take two cars to get cortaditos from Juanita before parting company to spend the day apart for the first time in a week. He’s heading to the clinic, and I’m going to my office at the hospital to fine-tune his presentation to the board, set for Friday at four.

  I show it to Mr. Augustino that afternoon, and he agrees it’s excellent.

  “Can you think of anything else we need to include?” I ask him.

  “Perhaps more about the details of his research and how that would bring national and international prestige to our hospital.”

  “Good point.” I make a note to ask Jason about that to get more information about the specifics of his research.

  “This is very well done, Carmen. I’m pleased with your efforts.”

  “Thank you. Dr. Northrup made it easy by giving me so much to work with.”

  “Is it true that he’s back at the free clinic in Little Havana this week?”

  “He is.”

  “Well, that’s good of him to do.”

  “He enjoys working there. If he’s granted privileges here, I think he’ll continue to volunteer there as often as he can.”

  “I received an interesting email today.”

  I experience a twinge of anxiety from the way he says that.

  “It was from the woman Dr. Northrup was involved with in New York. She explained the circumstances of their relationship and confirmed that he had no idea who she was or that she was married with children. She took the blame for the entire mess.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s good news.”

  “She also sent the letter to the board of the hospital in New York.”

  Even though I already know this, hearing it from Mr. Augustino makes it more official. Of course, he’ll go back to New York. I’ve been such a fool to think he’d do anything but that if offered the opportunity.

  “Are you all right, Carmen?”

  I look up at Mr. Augustino, my boss, the hospital president, the man who must never know that I’ve fallen hard for the doctor he assigned me to work with. I clear the emotion from my throat and keep my face expressionless when I look at him. “Yes, of course.”

  But one thing is abundantly clear to me in light of this development. I have to take a step back from Jason, and I have to do it now while I still can.

  I’m on my way home from the hospital when he calls. I think about letting it go to voicemail, but after spending almost every minute of the last week with him, I at least owe him an explanation.

  “Hi.”

  “Hey. How was your day?”

  “Good. You?”

  “Busy. We saw fifty-two patients.”

  “Wow. That is busy.”

  “I’m starving. What do you feel like for dinner?”

  “I, ah, did you talk to the new board chair from New York?”

  “I did. I was going to tell you about it when I see you. Is everything okay?”

  I pull into a parking lot in front of a coffee shop and a thrift store because I don’t trust myself to have this conversation while I’m driving.

  “Carmen? Are you still there?”

  “I’m here.”

  “What’s wrong, Rizitos?”

  Hearing that nickname brings tears to my eyes that I try—unsuccessfully—to contain. “What did the new board chair in New York say? Did you get your job back?”

  “She offered me the opportunity to come back if I want to.”

  That news strikes like a knife to my heart. I want to ask if he still plans to meet with the Miami-Dade board, but why would he? He got back the job he wanted in the first place. “That’s wonderful news, Jason. You must be thrilled.”

  “A week ago, I would’ve been thrilled, but now, not so much.”

  “You have a chance to get your career back on track. That’s what you said you wanted.”

  “It was what I wanted. Before.”

  “Before what?”

  “Before you.”

  My heart does a little happy dance at hearing that, but then reality smacks it down. “You cannot make major life decisions based on someone you’ve known for a week.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because! People don’t do that!”

  “Some people do.”

  “I don’t. I can’t. You can’t.”

  “May I please see you so we can talk about this face to face?”

  “I can’t do that either.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if I see your face, I’ll forget about protecting myself in this situation, and that has to be my top priority. It just has to be, Jason.”

  “So that’s it? We’re over, just like that?”

  “I… I don’t know.”

  “Do you think I’d just go back to New York and not at least ask you if you’d like to come with me or figure out some way to make this work between us?”

  “As much as I love being with you, and I really do, I’m not moving to New York. I just got my dream job. My whole life is here. I couldn’t do that to my parents or Tony’s parents, or my grandmothers. I can’t move. I won’t move.”

  Tears run down my face, and the pain in my chest reminds me far too much of how I felt after losing Tony. Not that this is anything like that. Jason is still alive and well, but his life is going to happen far away from mine. And that hurts. It hurts bad. As bad as anything has hurt in a very long time.

  “I have to go.”

  “Please don’t go. Let’s talk about it.”

  “There’s nothing left to talk about. My life is here. Yours is going to be somewhere else. I had so much fun with you, but I have to stop this now before it leaves me in ruins.” I’ll probably be in ruins anyway, but he doesn’t need to know that.

  “I never intended for that to happen.”

  “I know.”

  “Carmen—”

  “I have to go now. I’ll hope for all good things for you, Jason. You deserve the best of everything.” I end the call before he hears me break down into heartbroken sobs. My body shakes with the force of my despair. I’m sure it’s the right thing to stop this now because it’s not going to be any easier in a week.

  But good God, it hurts now, too. It hurts so bad.

  My phone rings, and my heart lurches with the hope that it might be him calling me back. I tell my lurching heart to knock it off, wipe my face and take the call from my mother, who’ll keep calling until I answer. Such is life for the only child of a woman who suffered nine miscarriages. “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself. What’s wrong?” She probably got a readout on her ESP-o-meter that tells her whenever I’m in distress.

  “Nothing is wrong. I said one word.”

  “That’s all it takes for me to know something is wrong.”

  I should’ve let the call go to voicemail and texted her. “I’m fine. What’s up with you?”

  “Where are you?”

  I look around, trying to figure out where exactly I am. “On the way home.”

  “Come by for dinner. We’ll talk.”

  The last thing I feel like doing is talking about it or explaining to my family why I’m heartbroken once again. “Mami, I—”

  “I’ll see you when you get here.”

  The line goes dead.

  I could text her and tell her I’m simply not up for dinner at the restaurant, but she would leave work and come to my place to check on me, and I don’t want her doing that, either. “Ugh.” I start the car, back out of the parking space and head toward the restaurant, feeling dead inside. Devastation overshadows the joy of the last week.

  I wouldn’t have missed spending the time I did with Jason for anything. He made me feel alive again and showed me that I can still have strong feelings for a man. That’s all good news. But the thought of never seeing him again makes me sick.

  My eyes flood with more tears that make it hard for me to see where I’m going. I fumble around in the console and find a pack of tissues. At a red light, I mop up the tears and give myself a stern talking-to about getting it together so I won’t have to explain red, puffy eyes to my family.

  I take a deep, shuddering breath, hold it and then release it slowly, repeating the process several times until I feel calmer. The light changes and I accelerate through the intersection, intent on keeping my focus on the traffic while trying to ignore the dull, throbbing ache in my chest.

  The last place I feel like being is at the restaurant where I’ll be the center of attention, but if I don’t go to them, they’ll come to me. They’re too busy at this hour to leave work, so I go to them. This feeling reminds me of being summoned to appear every night at dinnertime as a teenager so we could pretend to be a typical family that ate dinner together.

  I used to hate that I had to go there every night at six o’clock or run the risk of being tracked down by one or both of them. Rather than risk their wrath, I’d showed up on time, especially after they got me a car and told me I was to use it to get to dinner on time or lose the privilege of having the car.