Rosita Fresita Novels & Stories

Grace, who brought me herbal teas every evening and smiled too tightly while telling me how good they were for my womb. “This one is good for blood,” Grace would say. “This one for balance,” Rosita would add. “This one for stress.” They stocked the fridge like I was a science experiment—vegetables arranged by color. Fruit is washed and cut ahead of time. No sugar. No caffeine. No indulgences. Rosita would open the fridge herself sometimes, inspecting it with a critical eye. “You are too thin,” she would remark. “Eat more.” And then, a week later, “Do not gain too much weight. Balance is important.”

The charity case. “Congratulations to you too.” Emily turned and left. Outside his office, she exhaled shakily. She’d held back so much—she hoped Scott hadn’t noticed. The kiss flashed in her mind. She touched her lips, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. That’ll be the last time he tries that. She hailed a cab to Rosa’s and texted her saying she’ll be there soon. A text came back instantly: [Door’s open] When Emily arrived, the scent of herbs and spices welcomed her. Savory wine, roasted beef—oxtail. Rosa’s famous Rabo de Toro. Emily’s stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten properly in over twenty-four hours.

I said, standing up from the chair. “My name is Rosita. We are friends, are we not? Please drop the honorifics.” She said with a smile and urged me to sit. I sat back quietly, wondering when she had become so commanding. Well, being friends with the enemy will benefit me. Gathering insider information will be far easier this way. Yet, the feeling in my heart contradicts my reasoning. I pushed it down and decided to enjoy the moment. I raised my cup and clinked it gently with Rosita before taking a sip. The moment the familiar flavor hit my tongue, I froze. Jasmine tea, my favorite. The last time I'd had it was six years ago. My heart tightened with a strange mixture of pain and longing.