The Wrong Man by Delaney Diamond

some Cubans took to enter the country. As long as he had breath in his body, he had intended to make it onto American soil. Not only for himself, but for his family back home.
    “So all your family is still in Cuba?”
    “Most. I have an aunt in New York, and cousins scattered in Florida and on other Caribbean islands. I’m not close to them, though. My mother and my two younger brothers live in Santa Clara, where I’m from. I had an older brother…” His throat constricted. He didn’t talk about his brother much, but he’d idolized him, and every time he mentioned Manuel, he experienced a wave of grief that never failed to take him unawares.
    Talia’s small hand covered his on the table and squeezed before she withdrew. The brief contact comforted him, and he pressed on, the empathy in her eyes filling him with an urge to tell the rest of the story.
    “My brother, Manuel, tried to come here before me. The smartest one in our family, he always made good grades in school and enjoyed science and math. We knew he would do big things if he could make it to this country and take advantage of the opportunities the United States offered, but he didn’t make it.” Ten years had passed and still his brother’s death remained an ache in his gut, almost as fresh as the day he learned of his passing. His mother had collapsed and didn’t leave her bed for days when they received the devastating news.
    He shifted in the chair and rubbed his hands on his thighs to regain his composure. “As the second oldest, I offered to come next. My mother begged me not to after what happened, but I wanted to finish what he didn’t. She’s raising Manuel’s two kids now.”
    Talia’s eyes filled with sadness. “I’m sorry about your brother.”
    “It happened a long time ago,” Tomas said.
    “But we never recover from the death of a loved one, do we? No matter the circumstances or when it happened.”
    Her voice softened and sounded pained. He suspected she was very familiar with the loss of someone she cared deeply about.
    The waiter arrived and he let her order for him. She requested samosas filled with meat to start, insisting he try them because of their similarity to empanadas . She ordered him a plate of lamb vindaloo, described as a spicy dish with potatoes and a splash of lemon juice. For her, chicken tikka nestled in a rich tomato cream sauce.
    The food arrived piping hot in stainless steel serving dishes. The enticing aroma whet his appetite and he dug in, heaping spoonfuls of basmati rice and vegetables onto his plate. Each bite seemed better than the last, and he wolfed down the meal. He ate most of the naan bread himself, and not wanting to leave a single morsel behind, used the last piece to sop up every bit of the spicy curry sauce on his plate.
    At the end of the meal, he patted his stomach. “Delicious.”
    “I told you.”
    “So you were right once in your life. There’s a first time for everything.”
    She pursed her lips. “You refuse to give me one little bit of credit.”
    Tomas threw up his hands. “All right, fine. You were right. I can’t believe I never tried Indian food before. Happy now?”
    “You’re welcome,” Talia said, her smile triumphant.
    Tomas drained the last of the mango lassi from his glass. “So, are you coming to my picnic on Saturday?”
    “You really do want me to come,” she said, sounding smug. “I should let you suffer without my presence.” She rested her chin on her hand.
    “Don’t get a big head, Talia. I just think you need it.”
    “Oh really?” She tilted her head. “Something else I need, according to you. You’re quite the expert on me and my needs.”
    He planned to be. “The fresh air will do you good.”
    “I prefer my air filled with all the smoggy goodness of car fumes, thank you very much. I can’t think of any reason why I’d want to drive that far outside of the city with all the mosquitoes and bugs. Ugh.” She shivered.
    He folded his arms on