Another Summer in Allercana

one.

This is the day I have been looking forward to since my first day at Columbia University.

Four years of constant studying, drowning in books and paper after paper analyzing the use of rhetorical strategies and figurative language. Hemingway. Fitzgerald. Alcott. Shakespeare. No matter how profuse my love for literature was, being an English major is one of the most tasking and draining paths to pursue.

After turning my tassel and getting an empty diploma holder because apparently they mail it to you weeks after your graduation, I was stuffing every summer dress and bathing suit I could find into a suitcase. At 18, I made a promise to my grandmother, Clara, that the summer after I graduated university, I would stay with her and my grandfather, Charles, in their beach house in Allercana Beach in Florida. He bought her this house because it was the closest thing that reminded her of home— Santa Clara, Cuba.

In the 1950s, my grandpa took a trip to Cuba on a whim. He was young, had all kinds of money to spend and wanted to travel the world. After miscommunication with a taxi driver, he was left stranded in Santa Clara. Roaming around aimlessly, he followed the sounds of the salsa music and the smell of black beans. He halted in his steps when he saw a young woman with olive skin, the curliest hair he had ever seen, and a small little mole over her lips. The same little mole I have. He watched her dancing in fascination until her eyes met his. The rest is history from this moment on.

One son and three grandkids later, here I am. Being the youngest and the only girl with two older brothers has its perks and spending this summer with my Abuela Clara is one of them. This trip took on a different meaning, though, when my grandpa passed away in December. It was all so sudden and unexpected, leaving my grandma despondent and alone for the first time in nearly 70 years. I knew she needed my visit to her more than anything. While I know she'll spend the whole summer pulling all her strings in trying to matchmake me with one of her friend's grandsons, I am beyond excited to wake up with the sounds of waves crashing and the smell of my grandma's cafecito Cubano.

A two and a half hour flight later and an hour drive in an extremely overpriced Uber, I found myself at the steps of my grandma's house. Before I could even knock, she was already swinging the front door open and engulfing me in a tight hug. I hadn't seen her since my grandpa's funeral in December. She quickly sold her penthouse in Manhattan soon after and shacked up here, away from everyone and everything. Her excuse was she had to prepare for my arrival, but knowing her, she wanted to grieve alone.

"Oh my Rory..." she squeezes me right and sighs out in her broken English. No matter how much time she has spent in the US, her sweet Cuban accent still bled through.

"Hi abuelita," I kiss her forehead and pull away from our hug, admiring her small but mighty figure. "You look good!"

She shoos me off as we walk towards the living room hand in hand. "Not as good as you, mi niña."

I look around and am taken back to my childhood summers when my brothers and I used to run around this house and do as we pleased. It was the three months a year we felt in full control of everything, on top of the world. Our grandparents' never gave us any idea that we couldn't do anything. Whether that was wanting to be an astronaut, nuclear physicist or a writer, like me. All my parents would ever tell me was what a sad career that is and something like law or finance is much more stable. It wasn't until my grandpa and grandma stood by my side in my decision to be an English major when they finally laid off. I know they still weren't thrilled in my choices, but it was my life to live— one of the biggest lessons my grandpa ever taught me.

"Rory, do you want coffee?"

Her question snaps me out of my daze and brings me back to the kitchen where she was serving Cuban coffee into little espresso cups.

"Yes yes, of course. Especially after the morning I had at the airport," I laugh softly and take one of the cups.

"Cheers to the best summer... Abuelita and Rory forever!" She says excitedly, lifting her espresso cup up and we clink them, both with huge smiles on our face. No coffee in New York could ever compare to this.

"So Rory... I know you just got here and you are going to want to settle in and rest, pero there is a small little dinner party my friend Josephine Archibald is having tonight. I want you to come with me. Her grandson Oliver-"

"Abuela..."

She's already started.

"What, mi niña? I just want you to make some friends, you know? Especially if you're going to be here all summer. I can't imagine you're going to spend it all with me. Plus, it won't hurt to be extra friendly with Oliver. Maybe he will spark your interest."

Her eyebrow is raised in the way all Cuban grandmas do when trying to convince you to do something.

"Abuela, I will go, but no matchmaking. If it's meant to happen, it will happen!" I tell her, taking another sip of my coffee and walking around the counter to stand in front of her.

"That attitude hasn't gotten you far now has it?" She quickly snaps back. Even in her old age, she's still a whip.

"Ouch..." I say and pretend to have been struck in the heart.

Her laugh fills the room as she playfully smacks my arm. "You know I mean well. I just want you to be happy," her soft voice compliments her loud laughter.

"I am happy. I'm here with you."

I'm once again taken into a tight hug in her small arms, which to me is still just as comforting as it was when I was 7. She looks up at me now, which makes me realize how small she has gotten. The wrinkles in her face and if you look deep enough, the pain and exhaustion in her eyes.

After my grandfather died, I truly realized how fragile life is and more so, how important it is to cherish every single moment. As cheesy as it may sound, it's true and right now as I stand still in my grandmother's embrace, all I can wonder is how many more of these hugs she has left in her.

"You know what I mean, amor. I want you to find a love as grand as your abuelo and I did."

"And that won't come if you play matchmaker..." I hum out, booping her nose. "What time should I be ready?"

"7 o'clock. You have to drive, though. My arthritis makes it hard to," she brings my head down to her and kisses my forehead.

"Now go rest, mi niña."

I leave her in the kitchen and make my way to my room down the hall.