Page 37 of A Lie so Dangerous and Fragile

“Okay,” I said, grabbing a thorn stripper.

“You?” He seemed to have trouble forming words in English.

“I’m Chloe,” I mumbled.

“Me”—he pointed at his chest—“no English,” he said and laughed softly at himself.

“It’s okay. My Spanish is not good either.”

“Liking Cuba?” he asked.

I loved the way he said Cuba; it felt like honey dripping down my tongue.

“What’s not to like?” I shrugged.

“You … you, um …comó se dice in Inglés?” He paused and hissed, trying to find the right words. He looked cute with the way his facial muscles hardened in frustration at his struggle.

“You … you see, uh …bonita… beautiful place,comida, um…bailar … no … el dance club y playas?”

“Not sure I understand half of what you just said.” I laughed nervously, hoping it didn’t come off as rude.

“Take you round Cuba,” he offered.

“Thanks, but I have a lot to do. Sightseeing is the last thing on my mind right now,” I said and walked away with the vase I had just packaged.

I didn’t want to get into any romantic relationship right now or get involved with any man. My priority was my baby.

Javier stuck around for a while, helping Mrs. Rodriguez at the flower garden while Yoselin brought me some picadillo to eat. I was obsessed with the traditional cuisine here.

***

I had just finished taking my bath and stayed at the window, watching people walking down the street. It was almost midnight, but I couldn’t sleep. I thought of my family.

Do they even worry about me? Was my sister happy to see me gone? Do I ever wanna go back?

I knew I couldn’t stay here forever.

I turned away from the window and walked to the tall mirror resting on the wall. Yoselin had brought it to my room yesterday. I couldn’t help but notice how my bump had grown. A sense of great joy flowed through my veins as I touched the bump.

“Are you pregnant?”

I jumped when I heard the question from behind me. I turned to look at Mrs. Rodriguez, who stood at the doorway, smiling at me.

“Yes,” I whispered, my heart hammering at what might happen next.

“How many months?” she asked, walking in.

“Five months,” I replied with a big smile.

I walked to the bed and sat down, and she took the space next to me.

“It’s okay if you don’t wanna tell me what happened. I want you to know you can trust me and my family. We might not have enough to support you, but don’t hesitate to ask for help.”

“Thank you. I’m grateful.”

“There is a clinic down the street if you ever feel like going for a test or treatment,” she said and stood up to leave.

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Rodriguez.”

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