The Summer We Came to Life

Chapter

61





IT ISN’T SAFE TO TAKE CABS AT NIGHT IN HON-duras. It’s an unwritten code, Ana Maria says. During the day, fine. But at night, theft is at their discretion. Now she tells me.

But that is how we come to be chauffeured by Ana Maria’s personal driver, deposited gracefully in front of the restaurant. Kendra might have overdone it—she looks like she’s going to a Manhattan gala. I look down at the trash in the street as she glides over it in her Manolos. But she doesn’t seem to care. Actually, she seems elated. I realize now that I may have thought Kendra snobby and a bit, well, shallow. It’s fascinating watching your best friends metamorphose. Or grow up? That’s what it was. And I was changing, too, wasn’t I?

The restaurant is a bustling oasis of light in the dark city. Salsa music greets us merrily in the street. Lanterns hang from the awning around the patio. People of all ages are bunched together in groups, laughing loudly.

It’s not exactly like a record scratching to a stop when we enter, but pretty close. A gorgeous black woman and a freckled redheaded albino chick. We must look like an American TV commercial in 3D.

“Samantha! Over here!” Ana Maria gives me a big hug, and the room breathes a collective aha, the mystery solved.

Ana Maria was one of my roommates in college. It’s fantastic to see her in her element. This is her friend’s restaurant opening, and she is obviously the proud hostess.

If I had to guess, I would’ve thought it was a wedding. Everyone knows everybody, moving around the room like Cuban casino, a group version of salsa dancing. She sits Kendra down in a seat next to a handsome guy and then moves his equally attractive friend over so we’re seated boy girl, boy girl. Kendra cocks an eyebrow at me and I laugh. Ana Maria winks and takes off to continue her duties, match-making apparently her specialty. Had I told her about Remy? That’s odd if I hadn’t mentioned him.

The attractive friend next to me pipes up. “Antonio. ¿Como te llamas, bella?” His warm eyes dig into mine.

“Samantha, Que—” I catch sight of the panic in Kendra’s face. Her idea of a dinner party did not involve practicing her high school Spanish.

Antonio notices immediately. “And your friend here?” he says in accented but clean English, turning to Kendra. “Did you also go to school with Ana Maria?”

Of course—wealthy Honduran kids are sent to the American school and then off to American universities. Kendra beams in relief. “Kendra Jones. Nope, I’m just a visitor. One night only, boys.”

Antonio laughs along with his friend, whom he then nudges and points at. “Armando,” he says in introduction.

Kendra turns to Armando. “Hi there.”

Antonio picks up a fancy shot glass next to my water glass and pours a shot of expensive tequila. He raises his own glass in toast.

Kendra again looks nervous.

“Kendra doesn’t drink,” I say, and throw mine back in one gulp.



Two too many tequila shots later, and everybody at the party is my long-lost old friend.

There’s Señora Lopez, who is the aunt of Luisa, who is one of the two owners of the restaurant. She makes the best pupusas in town and I am having breakfast at her house on Wednesday.

There’s Charlie, whose real name is Marco Reuben Ernesto Cesar Diaz, who is the cousin of the boyfriend of Luisa’s partner Mercedes. His father manufactures corn chips, the equivalent of Doritos in the U.S. He’s insisted we join them next weekend on his boat. Kendra is jealous.

José owns a restaurant around the corner. They have better soup, but the food tonight is divine, he admits.

Lorna thinks I dance better salsa than Mercedes.

Paco wants to take me shopping on Thursday.

Juan thinks Antonio and I make an adorable duo.

Ah, and Antonio.

Antonio is a breath of spring air. He is ice cream with whipped cream. He is s’mores over a campfire. He dotes on me all night. He isn’t shy—he interjects jokes at all the right moments, he dances seductively, he laughs heartily. It’s just that he watches me, appreciative. He presses for more stories. He thinks I live a beautiful, honorable, enviable life. In his eyes, I am powerful, brave and experienced. A feeling spreads through me warmer than the tequila, warmer than the crowded dance floor. The feeling is confidence. I hadn’t even noticed that I’d lost it until tonight. I love my life. When did I start to judge it so unfairly?



It is well after three when we head out to the waiting car. Antonio walks with me. Kendra slips into the backseat, leaving me conspicuously alone with him.

“You are very surprising, Samantha. Will I see you soon?”

I look at his face in the soft glow of the lanterns. They are being blown out, one by one. I can still see his eyes, glinting in happiness. He is so young, meaning he is my age. But there is a confident maturity about him, very un-American in the best of ways. He is gentle, kind.

He raises an eyebrow, teasing me about the pause. I sigh and his face falters.

“I have—” I hesitate. I have no idea what I was going to say next. I have a fiancé? I have to think? I have a free day tomorrow?

“I have to go,” I say, kiss him lightning-quick on the cheek and duck down into the car next to Kendra.

Kendra says nothing as we drive away.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing. You’re amazing.”

Suspicious, I study her expression. She means it. Sincerely.