Page 62 of Tastes Like Summer

This makes Emi gag and grimace; she shakes her head slowly as she keeps her eyes on the ground.

I swallow. “Yes. I guess, so. Yes?”

“With that guy in the suit?”

“I—” And then I freeze. Because I want to correct her—I should correct her—but Michael is their best friend’s dad. And if they say no? Well, what will that mean for their friendship? Will the girls pull away from Rachel because I’ve decided to selfishly follow something I want for the first time in years? I need to check whether they’d be okay with me dating anyone first.

“I mean, it’s no one specific,” I lie with a shrug. “It’s just a thought.”

Emi visibly relaxes with a nod. But Cami? Cami has narrowed her eyes at me, and I can tell she’s evolved into some form of guard dog. She’s bitten into this piece of information and will not let go until she gets more of it.

“I don’t understand.”

“Well,” I say, clearing my throat. God, when did nine year-olds get so terrifying? “You know how Dad has a girlfriend now?” Does he? Honestly, who knows at this point. The man has disappeared into the ether without a second thought. “Well, he’s found someone else he wants to spend time with, and I was thinking it might be time for me to do the same.”

Cami looks away, face and neck red. When I watch her raise a hand and wipe a tear away, I realize with horror how my words must’ve come out.

“He’s found someone else to spend time with,” and she thought I meant he’d abandoned them for someone else—which, for all we know, he has. At least the abandonment thing we know for sure.

I turn quickly in my seat to face her and take her hands in mine. “That’s not what I meant—” the words burst through me, loud enough to cause some passersby to turn and stare. “I don’t mean I’d rather spend time with someone other than you guys—never that. You and Emi will always be my priority. Always.” Not like your dick of a father, I don’t add. “I just mean that I would like to spend time with another man—one who cares about me—instead of your father. We are not together anymore, after all.”

My eyes jump from one daughter to the other, back and forth, making sure they understand my meaning.

“I don’t know…” Cami finally whispers. “You’re just going to do the same thing he did. Forget we even exist.”

The pain in my chest is visceral, the rage coursing through my veins burning through me like acid.

Fuck Rodrigo. Fuck Rodrigo to the deepest depths of hell.

It’s the first time we’ve spoken about their father outside of our weekly card-writing sessions when they write and send him letters that always go unanswered and it takes everything inside me not to throw up. If I’m angry and upset, I can’t imagine how my girls feel.

“Hey.” I grab her gently by the chin, forcing her to look at me. “I will never do that. I will never allow anyone to come between us. It’s why I’m even having this conversation to begin with. Your happiness and well-being will always be more important than anything else.”

Cami’s lower lip trembles, her eyes filling with tears.

“Please don’t leave me, Mami.”

My heart shatters when she throws herself into my arms, sobbing into my chest. Emi hugs her sister from behind. I reach around my oldest to clutch at my youngest’s shirt, bringing her closer and closing our group hug. It’s in that moment that I realize that this is my family now; this is who we are as a nucleus. Rodrigo is long gone, not just for me, but for them, too.

“I will never leave you,” I say through soft tears, my nose runny and gross. I can’t even begin to imagine what people around us think as they walk by. “But I deserve to be happy, too, I think.” It’s not the first time someone says that about me, but it’s the first time I say it about myself. And I believe it. I do deserve to be happy. So long as my girls always feel loved and taken care of by their mother, then this can, of course, work out for everyone.

I hope.

“So are you ready for tomorrow?” Michael’s deep voice, low and gravelly, sends shivers down my spine.

I can’t help the way my heart tightens in my chest when I think about going out with him, or the way my stomach fills with actual butterflies when my mind runs through what we did the other night and whether we’ll do it again. Whether I’m even ready to do more. “Yes. I think.”

This makes him laugh. “You think? Did I stump you with that question?”

I bite my lip as I flip the seasoned chicken from one of the new recipes he taught me. “No,” I say with a blush. “Why are you whispering, by the way?”

“Ah. I… haven’t exactly told Rachel about my date tomorrow. So I’m hiding in my room.”

I snort and shake my head. “Coward.”

“You told your girls?”

“You sound surprised! You didn’t think I’d be able to tell them I would start dating again?”