—Gladiolus? I never liked the way they smelled much.

Esperanza pretended not to be offended. Everyone has a right to an opinion.

—Well, I ain’t gonna die until I touch Cuba again. I don’t care if I have to live till I’m a hundred. Maybe that’s the difference between those of us whose land was taken from us and those who run away from it.

—And Mr. Hernández?

Mrs. Hernández looked over at Mr. Hernández, who was reading the paper. It was as if he wasn’t in the room. She fixed her curl so it landed to the side and curled toward her ear. She pressed her lips together to spread the pink lip color.

—Me dió una pena, to divorce him. Of course it’s only on paper, so the government could help us. I can’t take care of him by myself anymore. I’m too tired. He’s too heavy. And he’s like a child now. Twenty-four hours he needs to be watched. When am I supposed to work? I might be sixty years old, but I’m not staying home all day with that crazy man. You know something, it’s less work to go to my job every day and have you deal with him than me put up with his shit all day and night. All the time he complains. Tears the place apart looking for something he doesn’t need. But after being married forty years, it still made me sad to write down in the application that he was abandoned and left alone. I would never do that. I just rather work a little, save up some money, so when I’m left alone, I can retire back home. Maybe by then, all of us could go back home.

Esperanza washed her hands in the kitchen sink.

—Un cafecito? Mrs. Hernández said.

—Sí, señora, Esperanza said, grateful for Mrs. Hernández’s hospitality.

—Let’s see if you can do that right. The other lady couldn’t boil an egg.

Esperanza was taken aback. She wondered if she would even be allowed to have some. Back home, las trabajadoras weren’t allowed to drink from the same cups as their employers. What if she didn’t make the coffee, would she lose her job? Esperanza looked over at the stove and saw the percolator waiting. She excused herself to use the bathroom and then began to make the coffee, dark, the way she liked it.

She waited for the coffee to rise and listened to it purr on the stovetop. She served Mrs. Hernández and watched her take a sip. Mrs. Hernández smiled, drinking it all until she was done, and then abruptly got up and peeled off her bata, revealing a skirt and blouse that tugged around her breasts.

—Where are you going? Esperanza asked.

—To work. I told you that’s why you’re here, so that I can work the twenty-four-hour laundromat down the block. Don’t give him any sugar, even if he begs for it, Mrs. Hernández said. —It makes him crazy.

—Sí, señora, Esperanza said, looking over at Mr. Hernández, who must’ve met many home attendants before. She was happy to be left alone with him. She was ready to curl up in bed and take a nap. But Mr. Hernández didn’t look tired. He was on page three of the newspaper, reading every word, looking up on occasion.