Page 41 of Tastes Like Summer

Max, a baby-faced twenty-something year-old, looks like he’s two seconds away from a panic attack. “I-I was. I am. I just need to find this one file that⁠—”

I can’t take this anymore.

“Um. If I may. I believe what you’re looking for is the initial construction agreement with the builders? I have a copy in my folder if you’d like to see it while Max looks for the original.” I slide the contract across the conference room table to my boss, the company’s own internal legal team, and Jonathan Bloom, our big fish. The one who insisted on seeing us in person.

Edgar sighs in relief and smiles. “Thank you, Miss Castillo. And now, Mr. Bloom, you can see that we’ve adjusted this clause, as per your request—but we also added this consideration.”

I smile to myself as I look out the conference room window over Edgar and Mr. Bloom’s shoulders, a wave of appreciation for Michael crashing over me. There would have been no way I would be here without his help.

The view from the seventieth floor is magnificent and unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Definitely a different kind of view than the ones you get from the Colorado mountains but still just as awe-inspiring. My mind drifts for a moment to the sheer amount of engineering and architectural talent, to the decades of innovation that it took to create one of the most legendary skylines. But my whole world comes to a halt with the chilling sound of a notification from my daughter’s CGM app.

I gasp and pull my phone from my purse, chills covering every inch of my skin as I read the banner across my phone: “Urgent - Low Glucose”

“Excuse me,” I mutter, pushing away from the table, knocking the chair over.

My heart beats so loud in my chest, I can barely hear Edgar’s words or process his concerned expression. All I know is I need to call Michael now, and I need to know how my daughter is doing.

I search for his contact in the hallway just outside the conference room, cursing myself for making such a colossal mistake. I should never have left them. I should never have left Emi alone with Michael. I should’ve⁠—

“Mami?” Camila’s voice comes through Michael’s phone.

“Cami? Why are you answering Michael’s phone? What’s going on?” Tell me, because I can barely breathe.

I hear Michael’s voice in the background, speaking to my daughter.

“Michael says to tell you that everything is going to be fine. That he’s got it handled.”

“What?” I screech, causing some people passing by me in the hall to shoot some well-deserved looks in my direction. “What do you mean he said he’s got it handled? Let me speak with him right now.”

He’s supposed to be taking care of my girls. He’s the one who offered to do this for me. If he can’t even make sure she’s okay…

“Um,” Cami says to Michael. “She’s yelling. You should probably take the call. She wants to talk to you.”

I hear Michael’s frustrated sigh. Hope he enjoys it, because it will be his last one.

“Put the phone on speaker while I help your sister, please.”

“Help her how? What is he doing to her?” I nearly scream into the phone. I’m two seconds away from jumping out of my skin, from taking the first train, bus, taxi, or helicopter out of here to get to my daughter as soon as possible.

Cami apparently does as she’s asked because I hear Michael say, “Emi’s going to be fine. I’m just helping her sit up right now. We’re checking her pump and monitor.” His voice sounds a bit far from the receiver.

“What the fuck is going on, Michael?”

He gasps. “Whoa. I’ve never heard you curse before.”

“Don’t try to be cute. What is going on? I’ve asked this question about three times too many. In fact, any time is too many. I shouldn’t have to ask it at all. You said you would take care of them. You said that⁠—”

“I was taking care of them. I am.”

“That’s my daughter’s life you’re playing with.”

“Playing with?” He scoffs. “We didn’t calculate how much sitting outside to watch the seal show would affect her and her blood sugar levels. How the sun would dehydrate her. We were about to hit the cafeteria after the show when it happened. But everything is fine now. Emi is resting, I gave her some of the candy you had in her backpack and gave it to her like you said to get her blood sugar up quickly, and a cold bottle of water to rehydrate. Once she feels better, we’re going back home to have real food, and a rot day.”

“What the hell is a rot day?”

“It’s when you stay home and rot on your couch. Watch TV. Don’t do anything.”

“Mami, I’m fine,” Emi says, her voice faint.