Page 77 of Tastes Like Summer

“I know,” I say, rubbing his bicep. “But I’m going to be fine. And you need to change before today. You’re still wearing last night’s sweaty clothes.” I try to throw him a smile, but even I can feel how weak it is. “I’ll take Rachel to camp today, and we’ll see each other there for the performance just like we planned, okay? Nothing is going to change.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

With great reluctance and without another word, Michael exits through the kitchen door, leaving me alone with the actual smallest man who ever lived.

“You know, you really should lighten up. I thought all you wanted me to do this entire summer was show up for the kids. Here I fucking am and you’re still not happy. As per usual,” Rodrigo whispers as we find our seats in the audience.

Michael and I were supposed to sit together, but he seems nowhere to be found.

“And child support. I also wanted you to pay child support, remember?”

Rodrigo rolls his eyes and whispers, “I haven’t forgotten. Your lawyers have made sure of it. You need to relax—I already told them I’ll get to it eventually.”

I scoff. He’s so lucky this isn’t the right time for this conversation.

We haven’t had the chance to discuss the events of this morning or his pitfalls as a father. Once Michael left, I had to get the girls ready for camp, make them breakfast, and make sure they had their costumes and everything in their backpack. With everything that had gone on, I barely had any time to make myself look presentable. And it’s not like Rodrigo could be bothered to even ask whether he could be of any help at all—god forbid he thinks of someone else for a change.

He tried to pull me aside while Cami and Emi finished their breakfasts, but the second he reached a hand out to wrap it around my arm, I sidestepped him, putting all my attention on the girls. My two daughters, who didn’t know what to make of their dad’s sudden appearance after going MIA for more than three months.

Cami asked him where he’d been, asked why it took so long for him to reply to their letters, and it absolutely gutted me.

Because Rodrigo smiled through his answers as if none of it had been a big deal and said, “Sorry, kid. I’ve been busy.”

Too busy for his own kids?

“I wanted you to show up for our daughters’ sake,” I hiss at him, shifting uncomfortably in my chair (the same ones from that torturously long orientation Michael and I suffered through). “I wanted you to show up for them. Not out of some twisted sense of ownership you have over me. I didn’t want you to come and act like some primitive ape trying to mark his territory the second you find out I might be moving on. In case you’ve forgotten, we’re divorced, Rodrigo.”

He snorts. “No shit. And you wish I cared that much for you. That’s not why I’m here; I don’t give a shit about who you’re dating.”

“Oh, yeah? Then why did it take our daughter telling you I’m starting to date for you to come out here? For you to talk to them again? And why are you giving me so much crap for having a boyfriend?”

“So he is your boyfriend, then. Confirmed?” He raises a brow, challenging me.

I sigh, and cross my arms in front of my chest, looking away. “I can’t do this. Can we just enjoy the girls’ dance, pretend to tolerate each other’s presence for their sake, and then go back to our regularly scheduled program?”

He laughs once. “Which is what, exactly?”

“You go back to your debauched life back home, while I raise our two daughters. I don’t tell the court you’ve been neglecting your agreed-upon parental duties, and all is well,” I whisper, my words coming out with more fire than I was ever able to muster throughout our entire marriage.

“And the boyfriend? How does he fit into the equation? He coming back with you to Colorado, then? Don’t think opening up a restaurant a day ago and having a kid in school here is exactly compatible with a big move, is it?”

It takes everything in me not to slap that smug smile off his face, but I manage. I bite my lip, thankful for the dimming lights as my eyes begin to water.

Last night, we agreed to give long-distance a chance. But if there’s any hint at all that the girls aren’t okay with us dating, then… then that’s it. And given that Camila felt the need to write her dad, all signs point to a continued single life on the other side of the country.

“Where is he, by the way? The boyfriend, I mean. I thought you told him to meet you here,” Rodrigo whispers as the introduction to the talent show begins. “Shouldn’t he be sitting with his girlfriend?” Rodrigo snorts once before laughing softly at his own comment. Someone in front of us turns in their seat and shushes him.

The emcee introduces the show, tells the audience about Camp Sugar Maple traditions and what an amazing summer it’s been. They discuss what kinds of acts will be performed and how many age groups are included in the end of season talent show.

Beside me, Rodrigo groans, muttering, “Are you fucking kidding me?” when he realizes just how many acts there will be.

I scoff once, because he’s so clearly inexperienced in this kind of stuff, never once having showed up to a single school event.

While he squirms uneasily in his seat, likely regretting his decision to come here in the first place now that he’s faced with having to watch three hours of acts from kids he couldn’t care less about, I look around for Michael again. I do my best to act natural as I scan the audience, struggling to see much of anything from my chair, but it’s nearly impossible. Just when I’m ready to give up, I spot him from the corner of my eye, leaning against the auditorium wall, arms crossed in front of his chest.

As if sensing my gaze, he turns and looks back at me. I’m not sure exactly what I expected to see in his face, but I don't think it was hurt. The way he stares back, the way his eyes meet mine even in the darkness of the auditorium, hits me like a bat to the chest. It makes my lungs seize. Before turning away from me, he frowns and shakes his head once. After that, I don't focus on anything else until I hear my daughters’ and Rachel's names being called to the stage.