Page 84 of Tastes Like Summer

He beams down at her. “It’s why I put it on the menu. You guys are my toughest critics, so I thought if it was a winner with you, then…”

Emi giggles. “I’m not sure I would call you a winner just yet…”

Michael brings his hands to his chest, mock-dying from a gunshot wound, I suppose. “You’re killing me.”

“Da-ad,” Rachel whines, rolling her eyes.

And it’s such a beautiful scene. Such a lovely, glorious scene.

I want to cry.

I do cry.

I cry because I want it. I want it every day of my life starting from this very second. I want him and Rachel and us together.

Family, I think. This is family.

And while I had exactly that growing up, it never translated into the one I tried to have with Rodrigo. He was lazy and neglectful—Weaponized Incompetency was his middle name. So I grew resentful and bitter. Tired of having everything fall on my shoulders constantly. Tired of always being the one taking care of everyone.

I’ve never truly had the familial experience I had this summer—only as a child. And even then, I was held responsible for my little sisters’ actions. Asked to teach them how to act, make sure they were okay. That they were acclimating to the US as best as possible. I was parent 2.5, it feels like.

And now that I have a taste for it—the perfect partner, with the exceptional kids—I’m on the precipice of losing it all. Be it in one, two, six months—even a year—or now.

Now would be better.

Now would be the best thing for all of us.

Now would mean less of a mess—as clean a break as we can get.

It would save us time. Pain. Arguments and discussions. A lot of heartache.

It would upset the girls at first, I think. But over time, they’d see it would be for the best. They can remain long-distance friends without the pressures of having their parents be in a relationship. Without having the subconscious instinct to pick sides.

Rodrigo is right—letting Cami and Emi grow attached only to have another man they love disappear would be a nightmare. Too much for them to bear. And while I won’t shoulder the entirety of the blame for the divorce—not even the majority of it—this would absolutely be on me.

“Hey,” I greet Diana with a smile. But something’s wrong. I can tell as soon as my eyes meet hers.

“Hey. How’s everything?”

“Good.” I smile again, but this time it’s forced. “We were just talking about the food. And Emi was asking me questions about the cooking process.”

She looks at her daughter. “Oh, yeah? You into cooking now?”

Emi blushes and looks down at the table. “I mean, it’s kinda cool. After Michael forced us to watch those episodes of that kid cooking show⁠—”

I scoff. “Forced? You wish.” My chest fills with pride, but I try to hide it. No need to tell a bunch of preteens I’m emotional over them liking Masterchef Junior.

Emi smiles a little. “Anyway, I thought it looked a little cool. So Michael was just explaining how he made it.”

“That’s amazing. What was your favorite part?” Diana’s all smiles and enthusiasm for the food as Emi talks.

After, she congratulates the girls once again for their performance in the talent show, but the light in her eyes isn’t there. The one that shone brightly in the dead of night in her bedroom as I made love to her the night before. Sure, it faded with Rodrigo’s arrival, but it was still present. Now, though…

She fake-smiles through the rest of dinner, and apologizes to her daughters on behalf of their father for having to leave so soon without saying goodbye, leaving me with so much intrigue, it’s almost painful. Cami and Emi take it better than I would’ve ever expected. And while I’m happy they aren’t distraught and wailing, a sheen of tears the only sign of their sadness, something about the mildness in their reaction is louder than any tantrum could’ve been. It means they’re used to being disappointed by him. In my opinion, that’s even more heartbreaking since they deserve the goddamn world. They deserve to feel loved.

Diana’s gaze flits to mine, and I finally see it. The anxiety. The concern. The clear signal that something isn’t right. Before, she was hiding it. Now, it’s obvious she’s close to losing her grip.

Fuck.