7. Diana #2
“I wrote it down. Here.” He shrugs once, pointing at a bright yellow Post-It taped to the lid of the container.
“I don’t know if that’s okay, because I know it’s all like a delicate balance and stuff.
And you need to adjust her bolus, right?
But I googled a bunch of recipes and used what I already knew and…
Yeah. It’s dumb, now that I think about it.
But I just didn’t want her to feel left out. ”
“It’s anything but dumb. It’s… very considerate of you.”
I look down at the cooler in my hands, inspecting the containers.
“I’m not trying to poison your kid,” he whispers. “I promise it’s all legit and accurate.”
“It’s not that. It’s—” I try to control the stinging behind my eyes. “I… don’t know what to say. Thanks for wanting to help and for being so considerate.” Considerate being the standout word. I can’t remember the last time someone did something like that for me. For us.
I think I hear him whisper Fuck under his breath as he looks away. Watch how he quickly busies himself by getting back to feeding impatient, hungry campers. “Don’t—Don’t even mention it, okay? It’s dumb. I… I just wanted to help.”
Emiliana looks between us, a slow smile forming on her lips.
She walks over to him and tugs at his apron until he looks down at her.
“Thank you,” she says. “Mom and I really appreciate it.” She takes the container from me and waits for her sister and friend to get their food, while I stare blankly at a tense Michael, a frown on his face.
I double-check the nutritional value of everything, check her blood sugar, and adjust Emi’s insulin bolus before letting her dig into the food.
But when I get back to the buffet table to finish serving the last of the campers, parents, and counselors, Michael and I don’t go back to the easy conversation we had going before.
We’re silent as we finish up our task, avoid each other’s gaze as we clean up the table, and are almost indifferent as we pack everything up at the end of the afternoon.
The awkward tension is nearly painful by the time I finish tying up a trash bag. But before I can figure out what to say or even begin to understand why something nice suddenly shifted our entire dynamic again, he takes the bag from my hands with a deep sigh.
“Okay. I’m sorry. I know I crossed a line and stepped over a boundary I probably shouldn’t have.
But I promise I was just trying to be helpful, and it wasn’t intended to be a dig at your parenting skills.
I don’t know why I did it, but I swear I just wanted to help.
Maybe because I know I can? And I could tell you needed it?
And I hated the thought of you feeding them the same depressing shit over and over again when I know they can still eat delicious food and have a ton more variety even though Emiliana has T1D. So I’m sorry if—Why are you smiling?”
I laugh once. “Honestly, I wasn’t aware that I was smiling.”
He frowns. “I don’t understand.”
“I don’t either. But I wasn’t mad. Not at all. It just caught me off guard, is all. I think that was very kind of you. And given our short past, it was unexpected. I’ve… I’ve really misjudged you, Michael Haynes. Thank you for proving me wrong.”
Michael sputters. “Are you serious? Did you just thank me? For proving you wrong?” A heartbreaking smile spreads across his face.
I shake my head and take the garbage bag from his hand, but he takes it back.
“I’m taking the trash out, are you kidding me? But seriously, did you just admit you were wrong again?”
I roll my eyes and shove him once. “Don’t get cocky,” I say, pointing a finger in his direction. “It’s not often that I’m mistaken.”
He laughs. “I believe that. I just feel honored.”
“Thank you for being so thoughtful. Now, will you let me help you take out the trash, or what?”
“I will, on two conditions,” he says, pulling the bag just out of reach.
I narrow my eyes at him. “What conditions?”
He smiles mischievously. “First, you tell me how you found out my last name.”
Now it’s me who flushes viciously—I can feel my cheeks practically aflame. “I—I googled your catering company. I remembered the name from Barbara’s wedding.”
His grin widens. “Cool.”
I roll my eyes and put a hand on my hip.
“Don’t go thinking you’re special. I needed to check who my daughters’ friend’s parent was.
” Which is true, but that’s not the entire reason I googled him a couple of nights ago.
My having a glass of wine too many and thinking about how attractive he was, however, did add to it.
I need this part of the conversation to be over. “What’s the second condition?”
“That you let me come over and teach you some recipes—quick and easy ones. Let me help you. Help Emi.”
For a split second, I almost consider it. But my instincts overpower that part of me that is screaming for help because I was always taught it’s rude to do so.
“No, I’m okay, thank you. You’re right, though—I should be doing more research.
” I sigh internally because the idea of adding one more thing to my mental load makes me want to scream.
I reel it in, feeling the weight of guilt from that thought press down on my chest. What kind of mother am I?
Of course I should be doing all this research. I have to do better, though. Be better.
“Okay, well. If you have any questions… Just know I’m here.”
“Thanks,” I say, slapping on my best smile.
We stare at each other in silence for a minute, unmoving.
I take in his features, noting the way the sun hits his hazel eyes, making them look almost emerald green.
Vibrant, full of life. But also tired. Overwhelmed.
And it makes my heart ache just a little.
Because, despite having annoyed me at first, I can see how big of a life change this has been for him, too. That, I can empathize with.
“Hey, so. Do you guys have any plans for Fourth of July?” he asks.
This takes me by surprise. “Um. No, actually. I mean, I was thinking of taking the girls to the next town over’s parade—some people have recommended it—but nothing other than that.”
He scratches the back of his head and looks down at his feet as the words rush out of his mouth: “Well, I’m hosting a barbecue with a bunch of people at a beach in Southampton—just about twenty minutes from here.
Good food, corn hole—other activities. You know.
I’ve already invited Barbara, though she hasn’t really RSVP’d yet.
Do people still RSVP? Anyway. We’re gonna do the whole seafood and hot dogs thing and see the fireworks over the ocean and have a bunch of people over.
And I was wondering whether you’d like to come. The girls and you, I mean.”
Is he… is he nervous?
“Barbara won’t be back until the last couple of weeks of summer. But, yeah, I’m sure the girls would love to come hang. That sounds like a lot of fun.”
“They’ll be other grown-ups there, too. Not just me. So you won’t be bored out of your mind.”
I laugh. Did he use the word grown-ups? Adorable. “Listen, we might not have gotten along in the beginning, but it’s never been boring between us.”
Us.
“No, it hasn’t,” he says quietly. He stares at me for a moment before breaking the unexpected silence between us. “Can I get your number? So I can text you the address, I mean. And you can call me if you get lost or anything.”
My chest tightens while I pause for a second, eyes roaming his face, taking in his expression—so kind; such a difference from our first few interactions. Do I want to give him my number? “Yes.”