9. Diana
With shaky legs, Michael follows my instructions.
He settles in a chair under the shade—one that’s still far enough removed from the group so that we have our own space to talk.
I toss my popsicle in the trash and run to the coolers and find a cold water bottle.
When I bring it to Michael, I press it to his face in an effort to lower his body temperature.
He closes his eyes and hums, leaning into it, taking it from my hands to press it to his other cheek. After a moment, he cracks it open and finally takes a long swig. “Jesus, that feels good.”
“Better?” I ask after giving him a moment to cool down.
He nods once, lifting his backwards facing hat and running his hand through his hair before placing it back. “Yeah. Thanks. Must’ve been the sun, like you said.”
“It happens. When I was a kid, my family and I used to go to this archipelago called Los Roques back home. It’s all white sands and clear, turquoise water.
The most beautiful place on earth. True perfection.
But it’s easy to get dehydrated without really noticing because the sun is so aggressive, and the wind makes it so that you never really feel the heat.
So we had to always remember to keep drinking water. ”
I try to control my mind from going down memory lane, but I can hear the nostalgia and ache in my voice.
Normally, I’m good about controlling it—a habit I had to pick up when we first moved here in order to survive—in order for my sisters to survive, too—but something about having the beach close by these past six weeks has triggered a yearning for home.
Except, after all these years, I don’t really even know where that is.
“Do you miss it?” he asks.
I look away, staring out to the ocean in front of us. “Sometimes,” I reply after a minute.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry. It’s just… I want to know more. About you, I mean.”
I look back at him, at his flushed cheeks, the way he scrunches his nose in embarrassment.
“Shit, I’m sorry. I mean that it would be nice. To get to know you better. Because we see each other all the time, you know.”
My lips twitch, almost upturning into a smile.
But this topic weighs heavy on me, filling me with guilt and nostalgia.
“It’s been more than fifteen years since I moved to the US, but it’s never truly felt like home.
And I know that if I were to go back to Venezuela now, I wouldn’t feel at home, either.
Not fully.” I sigh deeply, gently grabbing the bottle of water from his hands and taking my own sip.
“It’s gotten better over time. Still, it’s hard knowing what I’ve left behind.
Knowing that so much of who I am has changed.
My sisters… they were younger than me when we left, so I’m pretty sure it must have been easier for them.
I could’ve struggled the most, but I’m the oldest. So I guess I always thought I had to lead by example.
Really teach them that we had to assimilate and do so quickly. So I did.”
“In which ways?”
I pause. “My name, for example.” I wince, not sure how I feel about it even over a decade later.
“Your name? What do you mean?”
“I sort of changed it.”
“You mean your real name isn’t Diana?” He raises a brow, sitting up in his seat.
“It is. And isn’t. It’s Diana,” I say, pronouncing it like Dee-ah-na. “Not Diana.” I exaggerate my American accent, which makes us both chuckle.
“Diana,” he says, trying to pronounce it Spanish, letting the word tumble out of his mouth.
My name sounds delicious coming from his lips—foreign and all too familiar at the same time—and I want to taste them. Inhaling sharply, I try to suppress whatever has my cheeks flushing a deep crimson.
Even so, a smile on my face widens when I look at him. I pull my knees up, wrapping my arms around them.
“Almost perfect pronunciation,” I tell him.
A big, adorable grin spreads across his face.
My god, when did he get cute? And are those dimples in his cheeks right beneath his scruff?
“I want to get it right. Be respectful of you,” he tells me.
“Thank you. But it’s unnecessary. I’ve gotten used to the English version, and, in a way, I’m glad only my family and relatives are the ones who call me that now. Serves as a way to compartmentalize everything.”
He deflates a bit. “Shame. It’s a beautiful name.”
I lean my cheek on my knee, staring up at him as my chest tightens at the soft expression on his face.
“You’re not as horrible as I thought you were,” I murmur, voice so low I wonder whether he even heard me over the sound of the children laughing as they play and the waves crashing on the shore.
“Neither are you.”
“Are we officially friends now, then?” I ask, my voice a bit too hopeful for my liking.
An odd look passes over his eyes, but it’s gone in a heartbeat. Quickly replaced by mirth. “Yeah, I guess so.”
He sticks his hand out toward me, and I place mine in his to shake it.
I don’t know whether it was the refreshing coolness of his hands from holding the water bottle or the way he looked at me when I slipped my hand in his, but chills run up and down my spine at his touch.
My lips part as I gaze up at him, speechless.
I’d be embarrassed if I weren’t the only one without words.
I’m not sure who lets go first, but we eventually slip our hands away. The warm breeze blows between us as we grin at each other before Michael kills his water bottle.
“Are you feeling any better now?” I ask, after a couple of minutes of companionable silence.
“Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.”
For a moment, we quietly watch the girls play paddle tennis on the beach, laughing without a care in the world. Something inside me unwinds and relaxes, and for a second, I feel like the girls are going to be okay.
As if reading my mind, he says, “Your daughters are amazing. Pretty sure they made Rach’s summer. Truly.”
I smile, reaching out to readjust his cap to face forward. “This is the correct way to wear a hat.” He mock glares at me. “And I could say the same about your daughter. It’s obviously been rough for both our families, but it looks like things are getting better, right?”
Michael frowns.
“What? Did I say something wrong?”
Michael shakes his head but sighs. “I’m happy the girls found each other,” he starts.
“But I’m concerned what it’ll do to Rachel once the summer is over.
After Jessie, her mom, passed away, I moved back home for Rach.
But even still, the place I got… It’s in a different school district.
So she kind of lost a lot of her friends and has been struggling to make new ones.
Any, actually. That’s why I’m extra grateful for your daughters.
I just hope that her making new friends this summer will give her the courage and confidence to make new ones in the next school year, and not have her missing the friends she made at camp. ”
I nod, absentmindedly making shapes in the sand with my index finger, loving the soft way it trickles from my fingertips when I cup some in my hands. “I understand what you mean.”
“Any advice? You’ve got more experience, and seem to be kicking ass at this single parent thing.”
I burst out a laugh, dry and sad. “You’re asking me for advice? I thought this entire time you’ve been telling me I suck as a parent.”
“C’mon. You and I both know you’re not a bad parent, and there wasn’t a second I believed otherwise. You’re a rockstar.”
“A washed up rockstar, maybe.” I sigh. “Most days, I feel like a failure.”
“What? Are you joking?”
I bite my lower lip and look away as my eyes begin to sting, not able to bear seeing the expression on his face as I admit that every time he doubted my parenting, I was doing it, too.
“Well. I keep trying to keep it together for the girls, but I feel like I’m drowning half the time.
Between this new job and juggling taking care of them, managing Emi’s medical condition and learning more about it, I’m exhausted.
I don’t want them to see, but sometimes I feel like I can barely keep it together. ”
To my horror, a tear slips down my cheek. I manage to quickly wipe it away with the back of my hand, but I’m sure he saw it. “Shit. I’m so embarrassed, sorry. I just had a rough work week, that’s all.”
From the corner of my eye, I watch as he instinctually stretches out an arm—I assume to pull me into him and offer some comfort. But Michael pulls it back, and shifts in his seat instead.
Part of me feels practically deprived. To my embarrassment, I realize I would’ve loved to have been comforted. But I remind myself I’m acting insane, because we aren’t even friends, for Pete’s sake. Not really. Just summer pals.
“I can help,” he says, his voice dripping with something akin to affection.
I sniff and laugh once. “What? How? Why?”
He shrugs. “Because I can. And it could be something as simple as babysitting the girls to give you time to work or catch up with your studies. Whatever.”
I wipe at my cheeks. “You’d do that?”
He sits up straight. “For you, I would.”
“For me?” I ask quietly.
“Yeah,” he replies, voice deep.
I turn to face him head on, lifting my hand to shield my eyes from the sun.
“Don’t you have any sunglasses?” he asks with a frown.
I sigh, appreciating the sudden change in subject. “Left them at home like an idiot.”
“Here.” He takes off his aviators and gently places them on my face.
I promptly take them off and offer them back.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “Take them.”
“I’m trying to help you.” His voice is soft, if a little hurt, by my unexpected rejection.
“What about you? Don’t you need them?” I twirl the glasses around in my hands.
“As you’ve pointed out, I have my hat. See? I only brought my sunglasses in case I needed them, and I’m fine.” He points at his faded blue Yankees cap.
I smile, bashfully putting them on. “Thank you. You’re sweet.”