Page 71 of Tastes Like Summer

I snort and turn in his arms. “Please. I’m just an assistant.”

“Being an assistant is hard work—don’t downplay it. Plus, you’re almost a paralegal, too,” he reminds me, the heat in his eyes slowy cooling. “And I really think you should revisit the whole lawyer thing. I mean, besides the fact that you’re brilliant and even your boss seems to think you’d be good at it, can you imagine how fucking hot you’d look in those pencil skirts?” He groans again. “Actually, I take it back. No pencil skirts. I don’t want anyone staring at that ass but me.”

“You know pencil skirts aren’t part of some uniform for female lawyers, right? This isn’t Suits.”

“Please, let me dream a little.” He kisses me again.

“You heard Edgar and I’s last part of our conversation, though? About considering law school?”

“Diana. I was two feet away from you. It was a little hard to ignore what you were talking about. I don’t think I can forget how your boss was encouraging you to do something we all think you would be great at.”

I exhale and look out the window. “I don’t think that’s true at all,” I admit out loud for the first time.

“What do you mean? Your boss just waxed poetic about the amazing work you’ve been doing and the incredible instincts you have and⁠—”

“Listen,” I cut him off, eyes back on his. My hands drop to his ribs, tightening as I finally speak these words aloud. “Corporate contract law is fun to me because it’s like a game. Like, you have to find these loopholes in contracts or create iron clad contracts that benefit your client in ways that you have to think about one, five, ten years down the road. It’s fun and something I know I’d be good at. But every time I even begin to entertain the idea for even a second I think ‘It took me years to leave my husband—and that was only because his girlfriend showed up at my doorstep—so who the hell am I thinking I can stand up for other people when they need me when I failed myself so miserably?’ I let myself rot in that horrible marriage for years, never standing up for myself or my kids through his neglect. Who the hell am I to do it for someone else when they’re in trouble? Or when they need their lawyer to stand up for them?” I close my eyes before I start crying and press my forehead to his chest, hands fisting his t-shirt as I pull myself closer to him.

“Diana,” he sighs, his eyes fierce as they roam all over my face. “I know you. You probably thought you were doing what was right for your daughters. You probably thought half a dad would be better than a divorced dad, than one they’d rarely see.”

“And I was right, wasn’t I? I mean, my girls have not been able to speak to their father since we left Colorado. They’ve gotten nothing. So now I’m raising children who used to believe their dad at least cared about them. Now they know he doesn’t. Thankfully, they seem to be too distracted by the end-of-summer talent show lately to notice. That choreography for Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift has them in a goddamn chokehold,” I say trying for a joke and failing. He shoots me a look, like he knows what I’m trying to do, so I get back on subject. “I mean, I thought before we got a divorce that he just didn’t love me. But now to find out it was our entire family he didn’t love? He made mention one time of giving up all parental rights, but I thought he was doing it to rile me up. But now I’m beginning to wonder whether he was being serious.” I scoff, tears streaming down my cheeks. Michael cups my face and wipes them away with his thumbs, letting me finish. “And then I just sit in bed at night wondering whether I made a mistake, whether we should’ve just agreed to have a kind of arrangement or something, so my girls wouldn’t have to grow up like this. I’ve spent countless sleepless nights wondering whether my girls are going to be negatively affected by this well into adulthood, how it’s going to change the fabric of who they are and—” The sobbing intensifies, making it nearly impossible to speak. So Michael just holds me, arms wrapped tightly around me as he waits for me to calm down.

“As someone who grew up with shitty parents,” he says, breaking the silence after letting me cry on his shirt for a few minutes, “your girls are better off. Knowing that my parents didn’t give a shit honestly would’ve been better than having to constantly wonder about it. It’s better than doing everything in your power to please them and never succeeding, never getting a thank you or good job or shit. Or worse, do what I did, which is negatively try to get their attention by doing stupid shit. At least your daughters know now. At least they know and they won’t have to try and live through that shit in their teenage years, wondering why Dad can’t show up to their school activities or why he’s always on business trips or why his eyes glaze over whenever they talk to him. It’s better this way.”

“I’m not sure you’re right,” I tell him.

He shrugs once, a sad smile on his face. “I’m not sure, either. But I think I would’ve preferred it that way. I would’ve loved the freedom of not having to care because they didn’t care first.”

More tears streak down my cheeks, but this time they’re for him. “I’m so sorry. People are just… shitty.”

My simple statement makes him laugh once. “Yes. But it is what it is. I’m sorry for Emi and Cami, though. They don’t deserve to feel unloved. Hopefully they do know how fucking amazing they are and that they have an equally amazing mother who loves them with a fierceness I’ve never seen in anyone else.”

I sniff and wipe my snotty nose with the back of my hand, clearly throwing any type of modesty or demureness out the window. “Who knows? Sometimes I feel like Cami hates me or blames me for this, even though she doesn’t know the details. The amount of attitude she’s been giving me lately…” I attempt a pathetic whistle. “It makes me fear her teenage years.”

“I think maybe it’s easier to be mad at you because you’re actually here. But as she matures, she’ll realize what really happened. Hopefully, she’ll grow to realize that you were never the problem.”

I sigh deeply, feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders. “You don’t know that.”

“Fuck yeah, I do.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. “C’mere,” he whispers, pulling me into him again. I nuzzle his neck and breathe him in, feeling the weight on my shoulders lighten just a bit—enough to where maybe I can relax a bit and enjoy the rest of our time together today.

“I’m sorry I ruined our date with a breakdown. I don’t know what that was exactly. I never really…” talk to anyone, I want to say. “Anyway, I promise to be a functional human from now on. No more drama.” I grin, finger-combing my hair.

“Sometimes we need to break down in order to rebuild better versions of ourselves, and that’s okay.” He pushes me away just enough to look me straight in the eye, brows furrowed. “And I’m not here because of any notion I may have that this is easy, or that it should be just for funsies, Diana. I’m here to be with you. And that includes the good, the bad, and the ugly. I’m here because I want to be a part of your life, and I hope that you want to be part of mine, too.” He pauses when I inhale sharply at his words. “Isn’t that what you want?”

I bite my lip and consider his words before speaking. Do I want him to be part of my life? Yes. Do I want to be part of his? Yes.

But…

“But what about after the summer is over?”

He swallows once, his muscles tensing with a flash of concern in his eyes. “We’ll check back at the end of summer. See what we want to do.”

“That’s playing with fire,” I whisper, my lower lip trembling once more.

“Maybe. But I’m not about to let that stop me from enjoying my time with you while you’re here.”

FIVE WEEKS LATER

“Doors will open in t-minus two minutes, chef,” Danny, my head maitre d’ announces.