Page 22 of Tastes Like Summer

I am a horrible mother.

Emi gently pushes my hand off her cheek. “I’m fine,” she grumbles.

“Emi, please,” I beg.

With a sigh, she lets me lead her to the closest picnic table where I offer her a cold bottle of water, leaving Michael to manage the rest of the hungry crowd on his own. When I’ve double-checked Emi’s levels are okay and she’s hydrated, we walk back to the buffet table, where I pull out the cooler of prepared food I made for her early this morning. I don’t miss her wince when she peers into the containers.

“Thanks, Mami,” she says with a forced smile.

I don’t blame her. How many times can she eat the same thing every day? But I haven’t had the time to learn new recipes that are quick and easy and work for her, so I’ve been sticking to my tried and trues.

Diabetes is hard.

Michael clears his throat beside us, whispering. “I, uh, actually made something special for her, if you wanted to give it a shot?”

I gawk at him for a moment. “You… what?”

“Well,” he starts, his cheeks flushing a deeper red. “I figured you’d have her bring her own food and stuff, and maybe she’d feel a bit left out, so I made some friendly options.” He grumbles something under his breath as he pulls out his own small-sized cooler from under the table, the line of people waiting for their regular food growing.

“How…” I clear my throat. “How do you know all the nutritional value and everything?”

“I wrote it down. Here.” He shrugs once, pointing at a bright yellow Post-It taped to the lid of the container. “I don’t know if that’s okay, because I know it’s all like a delicate balance and stuff. And you need to adjust her bolus, right? But I googled a bunch of recipes and used what I already knew and… Yeah. It’s dumb, now that I think about it. But I just didn’t want her to feel left out.”

“It’s anything but dumb. It’s… very considerate of you.”

I look down at the cooler in my hands, inspecting the containers.

“I’m not trying to poison your kid,” he whispers. “I promise it’s all legit and accurate.”

“It’s not that. It’s—” I try to control the stinging behind my eyes. “I… don’t know what to say. Thanks for wanting to help and for being so considerate.” Considerate being the standout word. I can’t remember the last time someone did something like that for me. For us.

I think I hear him whisper Fuck under his breath as he looks away. Watch how he quickly busies himself by getting back to feeding impatient, hungry campers. “Don’t—Don’t even mention it, okay? It’s dumb. I… I just wanted to help.”

Emiliana looks between us, a slow smile forming on her lips. She walks over to him and tugs at his apron until he looks down at her. “Thank you,” she says. “Mom and I really appreciate it.” She takes the container from me and waits for her sister and friend to get their food, while I stare blankly at a tense Michael, a frown on his face.

I double-check the nutritional value of everything, check her blood sugar, and adjust Emi’s insulin bolus before letting her dig into the food. But when I get back to the buffet table to finish serving the last of the campers, parents, and counselors, Michael and I don’t go back to the easy conversation we had going before. We’re silent as we finish up our task, avoid each other’s gaze as we clean up the table, and are almost indifferent as we pack everything up at the end of the afternoon.

The awkward tension is nearly painful by the time I finish tying up a trash bag. But before I can figure out what to say or even begin to understand why something nice suddenly shifted our entire dynamic again, he takes the bag from my hands with a deep sigh.

“Okay. I’m sorry. I know I crossed a line and stepped over a boundary I probably shouldn’t have. But I promise I was just trying to be helpful, and it wasn’t intended to be a dig at your parenting skills. I don’t know why I did it, but I swear I just wanted to help. Maybe because I know I can? And I could tell you needed it? And I hated the thought of you feeding them the same depressing shit over and over again when I know they can still eat delicious food and have a ton more variety even though Emiliana has T1D. So I’m sorry if—Why are you smiling?”

I laugh once. “Honestly, I wasn’t aware that I was smiling.”

He frowns. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t either. But I wasn’t mad. Not at all. It just caught me off guard, is all. I think that was very kind of you. And given our short past, it was unexpected. I’ve… I’ve really misjudged you, Michael Haynes. Thank you for proving me wrong.”

Michael sputters. “Are you serious? Did you just thank me? For proving you wrong?” A heartbreaking smile spreads across his face.

I shake my head and take the garbage bag from his hand, but he takes it back.

“I’m taking the trash out, are you kidding me? But seriously, did you just admit you were wrong again?”

I roll my eyes and shove him once. “Don’t get cocky,” I say, pointing a finger in his direction. “It’s not often that I’m mistaken.”

He laughs. “I believe that. I just feel honored.”

“Thank you for being so thoughtful. Now, will you let me help you take out the trash, or what?”