Honey

HONEY

By Emily Lozano

Today, I’m going to my grandmother Rosa’s funeral for the 5th time. As I lay in bed with my little dog Rico, I think over the choices I’ve made in my life. Death makes you do things like that.

I think about my grandmother’s life, too. She was fierce, funny, joyful, and wise in the way only years of experience can make you. She gave advice, “as required from grandmothers,” but always ended it with a gentle “Bueno, everyone makes their own choices. Do what makes you happy and brings you peace.”

She was my rock when my parents died when I was 19. She was there at every one of my great joys or sorrows. Again, and again. This will be the last funeral for her I’ll attend.

I’ll start from the beginning. Or what I think is the beginning.

ONE

On the morning of my grandmother Rosa’s funeral, I was awakened by my little terrier, Rico, licking my face.

“Good morning, Rico!”

He bounced on the bed with a little bark.

“It’s cuddle time!” I scooped him up and plopped kisses all over his furry little body.

Waking up with Rico never failed to cheer me. This was a sad day, but it would also be joyful. My whole family was coming to my house after the graveside ceremony to tell stories about Abuelita and eat food made from her recipes. We’d show the little ones old photos and they’d be astonished that the wrinkled old woman, who always gave them sweets, could ever have been a baby.

After Rico’s breakfast, a quick walk in the freshly fallen snow, and a cup of espresso for me, I put a tray of tamales in the oven to warm. I dressed in black, of course, but we’d all agreed to wear something hot pink, Abuelita’s favorite color, so I added a fuchsia scarf. I double checked my black goes-with-everything purse— wallet, lipstick, tissues, phone— kissed Rico on the head and headed out.

The ceremony was simple and short. Abuelita wouldn’t have wanted a long-drawn-out affair and it was especially cold. Seventeen of us gathered, including aunts, uncles, cousins and their children, all in black, flashed with pink. We made a distinct mark against the snow and stone landscape. Like a strange flock of birds against a pale sky.

Back at my place, everyone got busy unwrapping casseroles, opening bottles of rum and beer, and lighting cigars, while the children played with Rico outside.

It happened when I was taking the tamales out of the oven. The warm smell rushed me and suddenly I was overwhelmed with despair. The tray clanged as it slipped from my hand. Then there were a dozen hands moving in sync around me, taking the tray, lifting me up and enveloping me in a hug like a tittering, shushing octopus.

“It's ok, mija,” Tia Ximena said, soothing me.

“I’ll never see her again!

“Leyla, don’t cry,” she continued. “She lived a good life. She’d want you to be happy. You know, she told me that after her funeral she wanted everyone to dance!”

Everyone laughed at that. Abuelita loved to dance.

“Do you have someone to take you dancing?” Tia Luisa asked.

Wiping away tears, I said “No.”

This triggered a flurry of outbursts.

“Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

“You need to get married.”

“What ever happened to Martin?”

“She’s too picky.”

“Mario, don’t you have someone you could introduce to your cousin?”

Mario chuckled and said, “Mami, I wouldn’t do that to Leyla. They’re good friends but, husbands? No.”

I looked around at my cousins realizing they were all paired off, some with children. My aunts and uncles, despite their bickering, had stayed married, too.

“It’s fine. I’m ok.”

But I started to wonder if I really was ok. Maybe I could’ve made more effort in that area. Were my standards too high? I thought back on old relationships, wondering if I may have struck them off too quickly. Were they truly that bad? Or was there something wrong with me?

After the food had been eaten, many toasts made and, yes, a little dancing, things were winding down when I noticed an older man coming towards me with a wooden box. He was an old friend of Abuelita’s.

“Hola, Señor Ramos. Thank you for coming.”

“Of course! Rosa was a wonderful lady. Full of surprises.” His eyes twinkled. “In fact, she left one more. She wanted me to make sure you received this.” He extended the box to me.

I took it asking, “What is it?”

“That, I don’t know. It’s for your eyes only.”

The box looked very old, made of a rich, dark wood with a small brass key in the lock.

After everyone was gone, I settled on my couch to open it. Inside was a jar of honey with a handwritten label reading:

Almiva

Toma una cucharadita.

Regresa a un momento pasado.

Cambie una decisión.

(Honey

 Take one teaspoon.

 Return to a past moment.

 Change one decision.)

And there was a note.

Beloved Leyla,

I am passing along a powerful gift from your Taino ancestors. This honey gives you a second chance, should you need it. If, when looking back on your life, you realize you took the wrong road, that you turned left when you should’ve turned right, take a teaspoon of this honey, and bring to mind that precise moment. Then sleep.

Use it carefully, my child. And when it’s time for you to pass it on, choose wisely.

All my love was, is and ever will be with you.

Rosa

Taino ancestors? Leyla had heard her grandmother talk about the native Cubans who’d been all but wiped out by the Spaniards. But even she knew little about them. Most of their knowledge and traditions have been lost. But this honey… could it date from way back then?  

I stretched out on my couch considering. Had I made a wrong choice somewhere along the line? At that moment, I was definitely feeling like I may have passed up an opportunity for a happily married life. And in the cool darkness of my apartment, the grief of my grandmother’s passing was sitting heavy on my heart. All my family had someone, for better for worse, to hold tonight to ease their sadness. And although Rico snuggled by me and was always there, there were limits to his comfort.

I ruminated on this over the next weeks, waiting for grief to pass, but the loneliness was embedded like a stubborn splinter. If this wasn’t just old country superstition, maybe I could make a new choice. In any case, what’s the harm in eating honey that might be hundreds of years old?

It was two months later when I sat down again with the box, the note and the honey. I pried open the ancient jar and dipped a teaspoon of the honey into a cup of hot tea. It looked and tasted quite ordinary.

I drank slowly, thinking of a past relationship I had discarded after two dates. Why had I ended it? Martin was passionate, fun, creative. Before long I was drowsy, so I cocooned myself into bed with Rico, making a mental note to look up Martin in the morning.

TWO

On the morning of my grandmother Rosa’s funeral, I was awakened by my little terrier, Rico, licking my face.

“Rico!” a gruff voice complained “it’s my turn.” A pair of masculine hands picked up the little dog and set him aside.

“Morning, Leylita,” he whispered, pulling me into an embrace.

“Martin?”

“Yes, honey?”

Martin was in my bed. Well, of course Martin was in my bed, our bed, because we’re married. Married? Yes. Married. I shook my head trying to dislodge a dream about… my grandmother’s funeral. Was that yesterday?

“How are you feeling?” Martin asked.

“A little foggy.”

“It’s the grief. We’ll get through the funeral, then take a little vacation.” He was up on his elbows, stroking my hair, looking at me with beautiful, warm, empathetic eyes.

Of course, Martin. He’s my husband. We met after college, dated, married. Abuelita was at our wedding. Strange that I had to remind myself of these things. I must’ve stayed up too late making tamales, I thought.

I readied myself and went to the kitchen.

“I’m leaving these tamales in the oven, so they’ll be warm when we get back.”

“Sure. Where are my nice shoes?” Martin walked into the kitchen barefoot, checking his phone, drinking a kale smoothie.

“The closet? And wear the hot pink tie I laid out.”

“For a funeral?”

“Yes, I told you, we’re all wearing her favorite color.”

“Right. I remember.”

After Rico’s breakfast, a quick walk in the fresh snow, and a green smoothie for me, I double checked my black goes-with-everything purse — wallet, lipstick, tissues, phone, Martin’s water bottle and granola — kissed Rico on the head and headed out.

We drove to the cemetery, held a quick ceremony (it was snowing hard) then led the clan home  for the eat, drink and reminisce part.

When I opened the oven to pull out the tamales… they were cold.

“Martin, did you turn the oven off?”

“Yes, silly,” he mocked. “You left it on. Could’ve burned down the whole place.” He kissed my cheek and strutted out of the kitchen.

I sighed and all the women exchanged a knowing look.

“He’s a man,” my Tia Ximena said. “You didn’t marry him for his kitchen skills.”

I put the tamales back in, resetting the oven.

I slumped at the kitchen table, exhausted and heart weary. Someone brought me a demitasse of coffee. Strong, black and sweet. I had given up coffee in support of Martin’s latest health kick. One of the aunts must’ve made it. I was so grateful. Just the smell of the espresso was enough to re-center me.

“What’s wrong, mija?” It was Tia Ximena.

“I don’t know. Something seems off with us, lately. And I’m stressed about this loan he took out.”

“Loan? Oh, for that health business he’s starting with that little yoga chica.” Her tone was suspicious, and her lips were curled into a smirk that made it look like she was trying to kiss her own cheek.

“Yeah. I cosigned since he hasn’t found a new job yet. I can’t sleep from worrying about it.”

“Well, maybe you need a break, sweetie. You can always come stay with me for any reason.” She underlined the last part with an arched eyebrow and a head tilt.

Just then, Señor Ramos came towards me with a curious wooden box.

Moments later, I was putting the box under my bed when I heard an electronic ping. I searched for the source of the sound thinking it might be a well-wisher calling Martin’s phone.

What I found, in one of Martin’s pockets, was a cell phone I’d never seen before. It was one of those burner phones you get at convenience stores for, well, usually for no good reason.

As I read the texts the reason became obvious.

“Baby, I need to see you. Come to the yoga studio. Have you told her you want a divorce?”

Yoga chica.

Martin sprinted into the room, a little out of breath. He’d heard the phone too. He stopped short when he saw me, and his face fell.

“It’s nnnot what you ththink” he sputtered.

I threw the phone at his feet, grabbed my coat and purse and made for the door saying “I’ll be at Tia Ximena’s.”

“NO!” he shouted. He reached for my arm and caught my purse instead, pulling it with enough force to tear the handle. I froze him with a stare, and he backed off.

“You’re making a big deal out of nothing,” he pleaded. “It’s for the business.”

“The business? What does that even mean? No, I don’t care.”

Remembering that this was actually my apartment before he moved in, I shouted “Get out!”

A crowd had gathered at the door by then and, as if I’d given a command, three cousins escorted Martin out the door, not gently.

A few hours later, after I’d sobbed myself into a wretched heap, I opened the wooden box.

THREE

On the morning of my grandmother Rosa’s funeral, I was awakened by my little terrier, Rico, barking at the door of my bedroom.

Groggy and heavy-headed, I tried to remember what I’d drunk last night.

Then Alex walked into the room.

“Good morning, sleepy head. Let’s go. Funeral day.”

Alex. My husband. Yes. We’d met after I broke up with Martin after two miserable dates. Abuelita came to our wedding.

I looked back on life with Alex searching for words to describe it. Comfortable? Normal? Good enough?

I found Alex in the kitchen trying to make coffee with our new coffee machine. I say “trying” because he could never get it right. Too much coffee. Too little coffee. Each time he’d say, “I’ll never make it as good as you.” I don’t even like American coffee.

After Rico’s breakfast, a quick walk in the snow, and a cup of “coffee” for me, I put the tamales in the oven to warm. I helped Alex tie his pink tie and find his nice shoes. He waited for me in the car while I double checked my black goes-with-everything purse— wallet, lipstick, tissues, phone, Alex’s phone, his inhaler, his epi pen. I might need a bigger bag. I kissed Rico on the head and headed out.

Not much to say about the ceremony. It was sleeting so we kept it short and went back to my place.

We came home to the fire alarm going off, smoke billowing from the oven and Rico barking wildly. An uncle was dispatched to turn off (or destroy) the alarm while I pulled the tamales out. They were burnt. I turned to Alex.

“What did you do?” I asked as evenly as I could.

“Well,” he said “you had it so low it was never going to cook that way. Don’t want to make everyone sick, do you?”

He shrugged his shoulders adding “You said you wanted me to help more so…”

I was trying to think of a reply when a man in work overalls entered by the back door.

“Hi!” he said cheerfully. “We’re ready to get started on the remodel.”

Stunned, I twitched my eyes to Alex, silently questioning him.

“Oh, I forgot to cancel the workers for today. Sorry.” He walked the man out to the garage.

I dumped the tamales into the trash and fell into a seat at the kitchen table like a marionette whose strings had been cut. And I wept.

“What is it, mija?” Tia Ximena asked.

“I’m. So. Tired!” I cried. “We’re supposed to be a team, but he makes my life harder. Everything falls on me. If I don’t do it, it doesn’t get done, or doesn’t get done right. It’s every day, everything. I started seeing a therapist because of the stress. He took out another mortgage to pay for garage remodel. There was nothing wrong with the old garage. And his crypto business isn’t doing great so it’s on me to make those payments.”

“Mi amor, you’re seeing a therapist because your husband is a man-child? Please. If I don’t cook for Frank, he goes hungry until I come home. One time, I wasn’t home till 10 o’clock. I worked a double shift then I had to make him dinner because the man can’t heat up a hot pocket. At least it’s better than being alone.”

“Is it?”

Señor Ramos came in with a box for me.

FOUR

On the morning of my grandmother Rosa’s funeral I was awakened by a digital voice cooing “Good morning, Leyla. Today is your grandmother’s funeral. There is a blizzard warning for your area.”

Julio walked into the bedroom.

Julio. My husband.

He was dressed impeccably in a black suit, silk tie and hot pink pocket square.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” he said, smiling.

This was promising.

Carrying a large shopping bag, he sat on the bed and said “Nothing can take away the pain of your grandmother passing but this might help a little.”

He reached into the bag and pulled out a large red leather and obviously expensive purse. Fancier than anything I’d ever choose.

“It’s a Birkin,” he said. “All the partners wives have one so you should too.”

“You got me a $10,000 purse?”

“No, silly. $30,000. Aaaand look inside.”

I opened the bag to find a tiny, white, impossibly fluffy designer puppy.

I burst out crying.

FIVE

On the morning of my grandmother Rosa’s funeral I’m awakened by my little terrier, Rico, licking my face.

“Good morning, Rico!” I say as I scoop him up in my arms.

We lay in bed for awhile, and I think over the choices I’ve made in my life. Death makes you do things like that.

I think about my grandmother’s life, too and I remember the last bit of advice she gave me.

I was visiting her after my most recent breakup. Julio looked great on paper, and everyone thought I was crazy to end it. But my gut told me our values weren’t aligned. And I tend to go with my gut.

Abuelita was the only one who had my back.

“Aye,” she said waving a hand like she was swatting a fly, “your aunts and cousins all made their choices. One chose a husband who runs her ragged, another chose a man whose eyes and hands wander, and the one with the brute who leaves marks on her skin, well, she will have to make her own choices too.

Leyla, every choice comes with a bag of joys and problems. Only you can decide what bag you want to carry.”

That was many years ago, and I’ve never regretted taking that advice.