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"We did."

"How long have you known him?"

"Long enough to have made several bad decisions together."

"That sounds promising."

"It wasn't." He laughs. The sound catches me off guard. There's something familiar in it, a piece of the little boy I remember. I look down at my plate. One thing at a time.

Diego asks about the greenhouse after we eat, so I show him. He listens while I explain the growing system, asks how we regulate temperature through the winter, then crouches beside one of the irrigation lines and studies the connection.

"You could reduce the pressure loss here." I look at him. He points. "If you changed the angle coming off the main line. Not much, but over this many rows it would add up."

Mechanical engineering. I only learned that about him a week ago. Now I'm standing beside him while he sees a problem I've walked past a thousand times.

"You're probably right."

He looks up. "Probably?"

"I'm protecting my dignity." That earns a smile.

"Mom said you do that."

I still. Diego does too. The first mention of Diana since he arrived. He stands. "Sorry."

"You don't have to be."

He rubs the back of his neck. "I don't really know the rules here."

"Neither do I."

His eyes meet mine. "Maybe we don't need any."

"Probably need a few."

Diego smiles. "Maybe."

I smile. "We'll figure them out."

He nods. "Okay." It's a small word. Feels bigger.

We come out of the greenhouse and nearly run into Noah. He skids to a stop.

"Uncle Martinez."

There it is again. I haven't corrected him. I'm not going to.

Noah looks at Diego, then at me, then back at Diego. "Who's he?"

"This is Diego." Noah waits. Apparently that's insufficient. "My son."

Saying it out loud does something to me. Diego glances over. Noah accepts the information with far less difficulty than either of us.

"I'm Noah."

"Hey."

"I'm eight."