Rushing across the terrazzo floor, Cassie Maldionado pushed her hair through the rubber band a third time. Sticky Florida summers had a way of wreaking havoc on a head full of fresh highlights, turning the most perfectly coiffed hair into a tangled mess of frizz.

"Damn humidity," she uttered as she clicked past the living room window and noticed the steam rising from the rain-soaked sidewalk. July afternoons were always the same in Tampa: muggy mornings, followed by a searing Noon sun that vacuumed the thick air into the clouds, until they burst open in a torrential afternoon downpour. An ongoing cycle that made it nearly impossible to breathe, even indoors.

But she kept moving, smoothing back her locks and telling herself that she wouldn't have to live with such conditions much longer.

She chose Sunday on purpose. She knew that it was a time for family gatherings and good food. Most of all, she knew that Sundays were a time when her mother's black beans could soothe any tension that developed when she announced to the family that she was moving. But gurgling in her stomach told her they would not take it well.

An unspoken rule in Latin families was that you lived together, ate together, prayed together until death do you part. Moving away, no matter what the reason, brought on a load of guilt that could cripple the ambitions of even the most determined. Most families created a network of job opportunities to keep their loved ones within 10 miles from home. For Cassie, it was her father's Ybor City cigar shop where she worked while she pursued a career in advertising.

She wasn't sure if it was the pungent tobacco smell, which had infused inside her pores or the fact that Tampa was not a Mecca for junior ad executives, but her experience was limited to short-term, freelance projects with ad agencies that never seemed to be hiring full-time employees.

Of course pursuing a career that needed no family assistance and kept one close to home garnished the most respect. If only Cassie had chosen nursing. Tampa was filled with health care-dependent senior citizens. She could have gotten a job at Tampa General, providing a good salary and the opportunity to purchase a home next to her parents. However, advertising was her calling, and her best offer was not in Tampa. It was 500 miles away.

Well, she reasoned. At least it's in the south. I could be heading to New York. Regardless, she knew that her family considered Atlanta to be in the next hemisphere.

As Cassie made her way into the kitchen, the aroma of simmering bell pepper, garlic and onions infused the air. It was the smell that began every meal. From arroz con pollo, to the white bean and collard green soup, caldo gallego, her mother's diverse repertoire always started with the same three ingredients that made her home a gathering place.

Any other time, she would have welcomed the tangy smell floating through the air, but today it was just a countdown to breaking the news and fueled her acid-wrenched gut.

"Are you OK?" Ava Maldionado asked as she unsealed the pressure cooker's lid. "You look pale."

"I'm fine, just tired," she lied patting her stomach.

"When are we eating?" Cassie's grandmother called out from the other side of the kitchen where she sat picking lint off of her mourning dress.

Ignoring her mother-in-law, Ava silently stirred the beans.

"When!"

"Soon Abuela."

Cassie bent down and gave her grandmother a respectful kiss. "Hola, Abuela."

"Hola, chica," she said motioning in Ava's direction. "Your mother is trying to starve me."

Since her grandfather died 20 years ago, her grandmother's wardrobe consisted of a perpetual garb of black, from the lace dress to the bloomers that peaked out underneath as she crossed her legs. Maria Julia Maldionado was in mourning and she made sure that everyone knew it.

"Where are Elana and Angel?" she asked.

Ava took a deep breath and calmly answered her. "Abuela, they are stopping by the bakery to get the Cuban bread. You know that they do this every Sunday before they come over."

"Hmmmph," she huffed, turning her attention to the lace-covered table, bearing a crackled, antique photo of a stone-faced woman also dressed in head-to-toe black. The woman stood in the middle of a dirt road with her dark hair pulled back tightly in a bun staring stoically into the camera. "Mama, why must I suffer the way that I do?"

"I'm home." The muffled voice called from the living room. Cassie watched as her sister popped into the kitchen. It was amazing that even after a full retail shift, she still looked shower fresh. Brenda's powdered ivory face showed no signs of fatigue. Her dark hair was pulled in a perfectly coiffed ponytail that swung back and forth with each peppy step.

"Hi everyone!" Brenda beamed as she gave her mother a dutiful kiss peering over her to check on the progress of the beans.

"Why do you have to work on Sunday?"

"That's when most people buy furniture. I have to."

Ava handed her youngest daughter a plate of Cuban crackers and guava paste. "Go take this to your grandmother."

Still donned in her green Rooms-in-a-Jiff vest, Brenda clicked across the room and extended the plate to her grandmother. "Abuela, here's a little something to snack on."

"You're a good girl, Brendanita," she said as she smeared the red paste onto the biscuit. "Come here and tell me about your new job."

"It's wonderful," Brenda said, her red lips shined in the sun as she spoke. "You know, so many people have no idea how to make a room look good, and they are asking me for my advice. I. Me, abuela! Can you believe it?"

"Que bueno."

"It's just to get me through school. You know, until I become a real interior designer."

While Brenda briefed her octogenarian grandmother on her job as a one-stop interior shopping associate, Cassie swallowed hard and consulted with her mother.

"Mom, there's something that I'd like to say at dinner."

Pre-occupied on putting the finishing touches on the upcoming meal, Ava unsealed the pressure cooker and began stirring the black beans. "It's fine with me if it's OK with your father. He's outside with Jose."

Cassie walked across the terrazzo to the sliding glass door where she saw her father and cousin chatting on the lanai. They sat leisurely smoking cigars swaying back and forth on the Cuban rocking chairs waiting for Jose's parents to arrive.

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" she said as she swallowed down the bile gurgling in her stomach.

"Oh no," Jose said. "Your father and I were just discussing why on earth it's taken Tampa so long to get a Bloomingdales."

"We were?"

Jose gave Cassie a nodding wink.

"Dad, there's something I'd like to say at dinner."

"It's fine with me if it's OK with your mom."

"Well, I guess it's OK."

"Communication," Jose gleamed. "I love it."

Two knocks at the door signaled that her aunt and uncle had arrived.

"Hola!" Tia Elana's voice loomed through the house.

"Where have you been?" Abuela snapped. "I'm starving."

"Mama we stopped at the bakery. A Cuban meal isn't a meal without the Cuban bread." Tia Elana tossed the crusty bread on the counter, sending two-thirds of the loaves spilling out of their brown paper casing.

Cassie watched as Tia Elana and Tio Angel moved throughout the small living room greeting everyone with kisses and hugs.

Marcelino put both hands on the rocker's oversized mahogany arms and pushed himself out of the chair. "Looks like we can eat now. I'll see you all inside."

Jose rose to his feet and began chanting. "B-I-G N-E-W-S...Biiiggg Neewss!"

Cassie crossed her arms and looked at the spectacle before her. "Are you trying out for the Buccaneers' cheerleading squad?"

Jose mockingly put a hand over his eye. "Oooh, a swashbuckler. That's a new thought. I'd look great in one of those cute, little mid-drifts."

He reined his train of thought back to the issue. "No, what's the big news?"

"I'm moving to Atlanta. I got a job. A good job. In advertising, with real clients, in a real city, and I'm going to take it.

"That's wonderful!" Jose squealed. "Atlanta's a great town! So young and vibrant, not saturated by old bitties the way Florida is. I swear, every time I go to Cacciatore's Market it's like stepping into a senior citizens' convention."

"Yes, but I'm so nervous about telling the family, that I'm about to throw up."

Jose put his hand on her shoulder. "They'll get over it. You do what you've got to do...and besides it's not like you're coming out or anything. Try that at Sunday dinner. 'Mom, Dad, I'm gay.' Now, that's worthy of a good hurl."

He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "Well, this should be good. Let's go eat."

"Yes, let's," she said through a belch as she latched the sliding glass door behind her.

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