Page 35 of Tastes Like Summer

“Probably chicken breast and veggies,” I tell her, loading up the car.

Both girls grimace, but it’s Cami who speaks up. “Ew. Gross. Again? Can’t we try something new this time? We always eat the same things. Can’t we have pabellón or something?”

I sigh, hanging my head in my hands. Pabellón is the Venezuelan national dish and used to be a staple at our house: white rice, black beans sprinkled with a bit of sugar, carne mechada, and fried sweet plantains. Not exactly diabetes friendly.

“Sorry, Cami. Not this time.”

I miss the days when I could just prepare the staples I learned from my mom—arepas and empanadas. Carb heavy meals that soothe the soul… They’re not always the healthiest options when eaten fried or every day, but they’re delicious no-brainers for days when you don’t want to think too much. And while having T1D doesn’t mean Emiliana will never be able to have any of that kind of food—especially now that technology has progressed with CGMs and insulin pumps—minimizing consumption of those meals is preferable. Especially as we pay attention to the different ways Emi’s body reacts to certain foods as she grows. Which is why it’s been grilled chicken and roasted veggies almost every day.

I mean, it’s fine. There are some people who love that. But I grew up in a family where decadent yet simple food was a part of our DNA, and every day felt like a culinary experience. And now… I’m a horrible mother, I know, but for the time being, this is the only thing I can handle.

“That’s what we’re having, and I won’t hear anything else about it,” I say with finality.

Cami huffs and crosses her arms in front of her chest as I shut the door behind her.

I’m just putting the girls’ backpacks in the trunk when I see Michael jogging over to me from his truck with a smile on his face.

“Hey,” he says, his breathing perfectly even, as if running from one side of the parking lot to the other was nothing. “I’m so glad I caught you guys before you left.”

“Oh, hi,” I say with a forced smile, my stomach tightening. The things I’m starting to feel for him are still incomprehensible to me. I wouldn’t say I’ve been actively avoiding Michael over the past few days since the party, but I’ve also not stopped to say hello during pick-ups and drop-offs like I normally would’ve since our truce. “Where’s Rachel?”

He nods back to the camp. “Restroom.”

“Oh. Okay.” I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. Is he just going to stand here next to me while he waits for her? Are we supposed to make small talk? God, please no. “So… What’s up?”

“I just wanted to thank you for what you did the other night.” He laughs awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. The way his cheeks flush does something to me I’m not quite ready to admit aloud now or possibly ever. He’s so… adorable. When did that even happen?

“I didn’t do anything,” I assure him. “That was all you. All I did was encourage her to talk to you.”

“Regardless, you played a part in getting her to feel comfortable enough to talk to me. And I’m eternally grateful.”

“It’s not a big deal, like I said.” I wave a hand in the air. “Seriously.”

He presses his lips together and nods. “Either way, I’d like to do something to express my gratitude.”

“Michael, you don’t have to do anything for me, I promise. I’m good.”

“I—I can carpool for the rest of the week. Or even the summer.”

I laugh uncomfortably. “Tempting. I could definitely use the free time but, you do not need to carpool for me.”

“Are you sure? Because I’d be saving you from afternoon traffic. You can use that time to focus on work?”

“It’s a good time for me to run smaller errands. Even though I could probably be using that time to study or work, I like doing it because I get to bond with the girls in the end.”

He sighs. “C’mon. Work with me here. How about if I cook for you? Or give you a free cooking lesson or something? Your knife skills need some help. Teach you a few recipes?” Michael smiles; my knees weaken.

Two girls’ voices in the background cut into the conversation before I can get a word in: “Yes! Yes, please!”

I stare at the girls, slack-jawed. They’d just overheard everything through the open trunk door. Cami sits up on her knees and twists in her seat to look at us. “Yes, Michael, that’d be so cool. Mami, you should totally let him come and cook for us. Let him teach you how to cook something different. Please.”

“I—I don’t⁠—”

Laughter bursts through Michael. “Perfect. Thanks girls.” And with a dimpled grin, he tells me, “I’ll see you tonight with groceries and a meal plan.”

“Michael, you don’t⁠—”

“Diana.” His hands come up on my shoulders, then drag down my arms, until he takes mine in his. I gawk down at our clasped hands, skin heating everywhere. “Let me do this for you.”