I hardly knew what to wear for my date with Bernardo. I had thought about it, about him, all throughout the week. Then, viernes, Friday, arrived and I still did not know. The dress I had worn to the dance, my mother's dress, was the most beautiful thing I owned. He could not expect such another glamorous outfit, could he? After all, it was only la cena, dinner. I settled on one of my lesser frayed skirts and a clean blouse. Though it pained me to wear my nice shoes, I felt nervous with such a plain outfit. I let my hair drape loose across my shoulders to change, the cascading black tresses standing out from my white blouse.

Papá had not returned from work as I left, twilight casting gold and shadows down our narrow street. I wondered if he was alright; unlike myself, my father was very punctual, always staggering home at the same time each day. As I began to walk to Dante's, the restaurant where I would meet Bernardo, I reassured myself that at least Papá knew where I was and that I would see him afterwards. I smiled slightly, realizing the coincidence that if I still worked for Señor Vazquez I would not have had the chance to meet Bernardo. En cierto, el destino es una cosa maravillosa.

Will he even be there? I wondered as I rounded a corner. Perhaps I misjudged him.

I could not help but smile, however, when I saw he was already waiting for me, leaning casually against a wall. He looked more handsome than I remembered, his silhouette bathed in a golden light from the setting sun. As I hurried my pace to greet him, he extended a hand to me. Without so much as a trace of hesitation or awkwardness, he draped an arm around my waist, his fingers intertwining with mine.

"Te extrañé," he said, a hot breath against my ear. "I missed you!"

I scoffed playfully, stepping out of his embrace, but turned back to cast him a smile.

"How can that be? It's only been a few days. I'm sure you say that to all las chicas," I joke, stepping inside the restaurant and sitting down to one of the tables. Looking around, I was relieved to notice the atmosphere was relatively casual.

"Never!" he said innocently, a trace of a smile tugging at his lips.

Glancing at him over the top of my menu, I took in everything about him all over again, like I had at the dance…the warm color of his skin, his dark, tousled hair, his white shirt rolled up to his elbows. Everything. When his dark eyes glanced up at me, I pretended to look at the menu, hiding a smile.

After we ordered our dinner and the darkness thickened outside, we began to settle into an easy conversation with each other.

"What does your family do?" I asked him as casually as I could manage. For myself, at least, social standings was an important issue.

He leaned back in his chair slightly. "My father owns some shops. Convenient stores. They're called 'Alegría San Juan'. ¿Lo conoce?"

A paused and thought a moment, and almost gasped when I realized that I had gone to such a store. Several times, in fact. As strange as it sounds, knowing that Bernardo's father owned the store made me feel as if I was with a celebrity of sorts. However, I revealed nothing and simply nodded in reply.

"What about you?" he asked after taking a swig of his malta. "Do you have a job?"

I hesitated, but only for a moment. "Two jobs…one and a half, really. I am a cashier at a fruit stand and I clean a woman's house every week. I'm looking for a better job, though."

His face brightened. "Maybe I could convince my father to give you a job. That would be too good to be true!"

"¿En cierto?" I asked, excited and relieved at the same time.

"Yes, really," he replied. "All you'll have to do is meet him, he will love you! I'll have to invite you over soon…mi mamá will cook a big meal…my little sister will pretend she isn't excited to meet you…" He thought about this for a moment, then nodded assuredly. "Yes, very soon I'll invite you over."

"That sounds wonderful," I said breathily, contemplating the familiar scene he had set before me. I happy family around a long, beautiful table full of dishes upon dishes of food. Smiling faces, a big beautiful house. What would it be like to have such things? They seemed just out of my grasp, escaping from my fingertips.

"It is occasionally," he said with a sigh, not knowing of his fortune. "What's your family like?"

"It's just my father and I," I said casually, putting on an emotionless face. "My mother died not too long ago."

"Lo siento," he said immediately, his voice surprisingly tender.

I smiled uncomfortably, never dealing well with sympathy.

"I mean, I understand, Anita. I've lost someone too," he said softly. With a small smile of memory, he sat up and plunged his hand into his back pocket to fish out a worn photograph. He handed it to me, and it felt so delicate that I placed it onto the table for fear of tearing it. The picture was of a small girl with large, soft eyes. She had the same smile as Bernardo.

"That was my little sister, Paola. She died from influenza," his voice drifted off as his gaze met the photo, lying on the tablecloth.

I took his hand in mine.

"We're not so different then, are we?" I asked.

A flicker of light passed through his dark eyes as he glanced up at me and squeezed my hand.

"One day, I'm going to get us out of here," he said suddenly, almost like a promise.

I did not have to wonder what he meant; he meant out of Puerto Rico.

"Us?" I interrupted. "We just met! What makes you think we'll be together that long?"

He melted from his seriousness and gave a short laugh. "So we're 'together' then?" he teased.

I gave him a look and he laughed again.

"I just seems I've known you forever!" he exclaimed happily.

A moment passed as we exchanged glances. In those few moments, sitting in a restaurant, we had just exchanged our hopes and fears, our sorrows and joys. And the strange thing was Bernardo was right; I felt as if I had known him all of my life.

Before I had a chance to ask him about leaving Puerto Rico, our food came and my focus shifted to the first real meal I had eaten in months.


Spanish Translations:

En cierto, el destino es una cosa maravillosa In truth, destiny is a marvelous thing.