Page 12 of Mr Best Friend's Brother Grump

We talk about what’s happening in her world and we exchange news.

“Enough about boring stuff,” says Tia. “Tell me about your love life. What’s going on there?”

“Nothing, Tia! Gosh.” I’m taken aback and defensive. There’s absolutely nothing to report in the romance department.

“But you are salsa dancing,” she goes on. “This is the recipe of love. Salsa and hot salsa make super hot salsa.” She thinks this is hilarious.

“Grandma,” I say in the most serious voice I can manage. “Romance is not on the menu at the moment. I am way too busy anyway.” I think for a moment about the guys I meet at the dance studio. A few of them are attractive and I enjoy dancing with a man who knows how to move, but most of them are gay and those who aren’t are in relationships so, No Go.

“You’re still hung up on whatshisname… the brother of your friend, whatshername?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.” I’m suddenly flustered. “Okay, Tia. Speak soon. I gotta go.” Grandma can be so annoying. Why did she have to bring up Nathan? I am doing absolutely fine on my own. More than fine. I am thriving. It’s only when I hang up the call that I realize I’ve forgotten to ask about her recipe. I don’t want to call back. I’ll make it up.

My apartment building is in the back streets of West New York, a short walk to the river where a grand expansive view takes in Manhattan, across on the opposite side. That’s the other New York. The one that people imagine. The New York that I inhabit is not Manhattan. It’s the suburbs of small-time, humble families. People who scrape together a living. People who sometimes need help. That’s where the Cuban community center fits in. And where I have found a job that I love because it is more than a job.

It's hard to put my finger on exactly what I do. I begin my week by printing out and displaying the weekly planner, which is loaded with activities and classes for adults and children. The center has a main hall, which is in continuous use, from seven a.m. for Breakfast Club when working parents can drop off their kids for a nutritious breakfast before a courtesy bus takes them to school. Then the space is set up for Young at Heart craft projects or Fit ‘n’ Fab until lunchtime.

The commercial-grade kitchen is also a training center, offering a pre-apprenticeship certificate in catering and food tech. It’s for anyone, but most of the attendees are high school kids who don’t get on with high school. We have a great track record of our kids going on to full apprenticeships or paid work. We even get our success stories coming back to give inspiring talks to teenagers who might, otherwise, be getting into trouble.

“Stick with the program,” Carlos says, smiling broadly. “I didn’t think I could boil an egg and now I’m working with the best chefs in Hell’s Kitchen. It’s hard work, but so cool.”

The new intake of trainees sits with their arms folded in resistance.

“I was just like you when I first came here. But you have to give it a chance. What have you got to lose, anyway? You just might end up loving it!”

“Thank you, Carlos,” I say turning to the six-foot-six giant, sometime basketball player, sometime chef. “Vamos chicos. Let’s go boil some eggs!”

I help out with admin in the office. There are all sorts of hoops to jump through in running a community center and annual expenses that need to be funded including my job. So, whenever there’s a possible grant opportunity, Liza the center coordinator, calls me in and says something along the lines of, ‘Hey, Rosa. You’ve been to law school. Can you put together a proposal for such and such?’ And I respond with, ‘Yes. I was at law school for two whole years. I’ll give it a go.’ Or Liza says, ‘Hey Rosa, we have our fifty-year anniversary. Can you write something for the local paper about what we do here? Maybe interview some of our people? I don’t know… Something upbeat.’ And, of course, I say, ‘Sure. I’ll give it a go.’

So, I’ve been pretty busy at the center since I started. I like to think that what I’m doing means something: has a positive impact, no matter how small.

In my apartment kitchen, I prepare the Ropa Vieja, the traditional Cuban dish made from shredded beef, onions, tomatoes, red bell pepper, pimientos, parsley, garlic, and olives that I bought from the market. I’m guessing the proportions of my grandma’s recipe, but I think it looks alright when I’m stirring it in the pot. Then I remember grandma sloshes in some white wine, so I slosh it too, plus an extra bit, just because.

Ropa Vieja’s literal translation is ‘old clothes’. I was little when my grandma told me, and I refused to eat it for months.

“I don’t want to eat old clothes,” I’d wail at the horror of chewing away on my grandma’s cotton dress and the imagined taste of it in my mouth. When you’re five, everything is literal.

I tell this story to my roommates as I’m serving up our dinner. They laugh.

“It’s really delicious,” says Delores, from Puerto Rico. She’s a fitness instructor, working at the gym down the road. She sends most of her money home to her parents.

Donna and Marlene are a couple. They share the biggest room at the front of the apartment, overlooking the street. Both nurses at the hospital, they made a pact never to bring work home. Delores and I are grateful.

We all agreed to cook for everyone once a week depending on the nurses’ roster, which is set in stone. Delores and I can easily accommodate and organize our times around them. We eat our shared meal sitting on cushions around the coffee table in the lounge. The kitchen is too small for table and chairs and there’s no dining area, so this is the most comfortable option.

I invited Kendra, but she’s busy tonight. Never mind, there will be other times for sure.

“How’s the article coming along? The one about the center.” Donna asks me, bringing my attention back into the room.

“Good. I think. I’ll need to read it over tomorrow and let Liza take a look, but I’m pretty happy with it. I even tracked down the woman who started the center fifty years ago. She still lives around here. She’s a cool lady. Tough, you know.”

“She must have seen some changes,” says Marlene.

“Sure has. She says that it all started from her apartment. She says that she almost closed her doors and shut people out, she was so overwhelmed. But then other people helped out and they got organized, became a registered charity… eventually. An amazing story.”

“I think it’s the sort of story people want to read,” says Delores.

“I hope so.”

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