6. Michael #2
“—reminded me a bit about how cavalier Rodrigo used to be about our children. And just life responsibilities in general. When it came down to what he wanted, what was best for him… Well, he sure went after it. Whether it was taking a job that forced us to move and resulted in me marrying him way too young and dropping out of college a semester before graduation, or whether it was the twenty-five year-old blonde he met on a flight to Phoenix and left me for. Either way, he never really stopped to consider his wife or children. Or anyone else for that matter, especially since he soon after cheated on said girlfriend, too. And you were talking about only recently taking ownership of the things you’d done—not that Rachel is something you did, like crashing a car or something—but…
” She shakes her head, frustrated. “I’m not explaining myself properly.
Again.” She catches her breath, brows pinched, luscious lips pressed tightly closed.
After a few seconds of silence, she tries once more: “I’m sorry.
That’s what I really want to say—what I really want you to take away from this verbal diarrhea I can’t seem to control.
I don’t know you—not really—and I was too wrapped up in my own stuff to give you the benefit of the doubt. ”
“Thank you.” A knot unwinds in my stomach and I smile back at her. I don’t know her well, either, but something about Diana tells me that this apology didn’t come easy to her.
“You’re welcome, I guess.” She sighs, as if relieved to get this over with.
Her apology is more than welcome, even though I keep reminding myself I shouldn’t give a shit.
This woman literally has no bearing on my life.
The best way to deal with this situation would be to go on as we have: let our girls be friends, maintain a very surface-level relationship, occasionally see each other at camp pick-ups and drop-offs, and make polite conversation over playdates.
But then what I can only assume is an alien takes over my fucking brain and next thing I know the words “I know we already called a truce the other day, but… How about we actually start over?” escape my lips as I stick out my hand and grin expectantly.
“My name’s Michael. I’m thirty-four years old and a former workaholic.
I grew up around here before moving to New York City to be a chef.
After my best friend passed away unexpectedly, I inherited Rachel, my biological daughter, and moved back to the area.
Currently, I own a farm with my cousin Lexi.
We’re opening a fine dining farm-to-table restaurant here in Long Island, but it’s been a bitch to do as I learn to navigate and balance single-parenthood with work. ”
She stares down at my hand, biting down on her lip to keep from smiling. After some internal battle, she laughs once and takes it. “Diana. I’m thirty-one and from Denver, though I was born and spent most of my childhood in Venezuela.”
I raise my brows at that brand new information, a piece of the puzzle that is Diana, falling into place: her soft accent. I ache to ask her more about herself, to tell me the story behind that, but choose to let her continue to share whatever she’s comfortable with.
“I am also new to being a single parent—kind of. The concept of Married Single Mom was invented thanks to me. My kids, Emiliana and Camila, are my whole life, and it’s been really difficult managing my recent divorce and my youngest’s recent T1D diagnosis on my own.
Especially while finishing my degree, applying to new jobs, and now studying to complete a certificate as a paralegal for the state of Colorado.
My life is a mess and I’m trying to keep it together, so I apologize if I can get persnickety sometimes. ”
I laugh, her small, soft hand still in mine. “Persnickety?”
“Persnickety.”
“Okay, then.”
“Friends?” She looks up at me with a hopeful expression that tugs at something in my chest—weird—her caramel cheeks flushed in anticipation.
Friends. Something about the word doesn’t sit right with me, and I’m not sure why. Regardless, friends would make my life easier. Being friends with Diana would make Rachel’s life easier, too.
So: “Yes, let’s be friends.”
“Oh, good!” Daisy pops up once again out of nowhere.
“You’ve introduced yourselves. Saved me the hassle!
” She laughs as she looks nervously between us, then at our still-held hands, and back again.
“Wow, that sure is a long handshake.” Daisy laughs once more, though her disappointment and discomfort is impossible to hide this time.
Jesus, this is awkward.
Diana pulls her hand from mine with a little too much force, though her expression remains unchanged—the perfect picture of zen. As if she meant to hold my hand for longer than usual, and she stands by it. As if this young counselor isn’t acting out of line.
“Right, well. I just came over to see if you two needed some help, but it looks like you’re doing just fine. So I’m just gonna…”
“Yup. No issues here,” Diana says, voice saccharine. “Thanks so much for checking up on us.”
Daisy clears her throat once, visibly uncomfortable. “Okie dokie. Let me know if you have any questions, alright?”
Once she’s out of earshot, we burst out into laughter.