12. Diana
“Alright, girls. Let’s make it quick—I need to get back home and back to work,” I say when I pick the girls up at camp.
“Yes, Mami,” my girls reply in unison as they climb into the car.
“What are we having for dinner?” Cami asks.
“Probably chicken breast and veggies,” I tell her, loading up the car.
Both girls grimace, but it’s Cami who speaks up. “Ew. Gross. Again? Can’t we try something new this time? We always eat the same things. Can’t we have pabellón or something?”
I sigh, hanging my head in my hands. Pabellón is the Venezuelan national dish and used to be a staple at our house: white rice, black beans sprinkled with a bit of sugar, carne mechada, and fried sweet plantains. Not exactly diabetes friendly.
“Sorry, Cami. Not this time.”
I miss the days when I could just prepare the staples I learned from my mom—arepas and empanadas.
Carb heavy meals that soothe the soul… They’re not always the healthiest options when eaten fried or every day, but they’re delicious no-brainers for days when you don’t want to think too much.
And while having T1D doesn’t mean Emiliana will never be able to have any of that kind of food—especially now that technology has progressed with CGMs and insulin pumps—minimizing consumption of those meals is preferable.
Especially as we pay attention to the different ways Emi’s body reacts to certain foods as she grows.
Which is why it’s been grilled chicken and roasted veggies almost every day.
I mean, it’s fine. There are some people who love that. But I grew up in a family where decadent yet simple food was a part of our DNA, and every day felt like a culinary experience. And now… I’m a horrible mother, I know, but for the time being, this is the only thing I can handle.
“That’s what we’re having, and I won’t hear anything else about it,” I say with finality.
Cami huffs and crosses her arms in front of her chest as I shut the door behind her.
I’m just putting the girls’ backpacks in the trunk when I see Michael jogging over to me from his truck with a smile on his face.
“Hey,” he says, his breathing perfectly even, as if running from one side of the parking lot to the other was nothing. “I’m so glad I caught you guys before you left.”
“Oh, hi,” I say with a forced smile, my stomach tightening.
The things I’m starting to feel for him are still incomprehensible to me.
I wouldn’t say I’ve been actively avoiding Michael over the past few days since the party, but I’ve also not stopped to say hello during pick-ups and drop-offs like I normally would’ve since our truce. “Where’s Rachel?”
He nods back to the camp. “Restroom.”
“Oh. Okay.” I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. Is he just going to stand here next to me while he waits for her? Are we supposed to make small talk? God, please no. “So… What’s up?”
“I just wanted to thank you for what you did the other night.” He laughs awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. The way his cheeks flush does something to me I’m not quite ready to admit aloud now or possibly ever. He’s so… adorable. When did that even happen?
“I didn’t do anything,” I assure him. “That was all you. All I did was encourage her to talk to you.”
“Regardless, you played a part in getting her to feel comfortable enough to talk to me. And I’m eternally grateful.”
“It’s not a big deal, like I said.” I wave a hand in the air. “Seriously.”
He presses his lips together and nods. “Either way, I’d like to do something to express my gratitude.”
“Michael, you don’t have to do anything for me, I promise. I’m good.”
“I—I can carpool for the rest of the week. Or even the summer.”
I laugh uncomfortably. “Tempting. I could definitely use the free time but, you do not need to carpool for me.”
“Are you sure? Because I’d be saving you from afternoon traffic. You can use that time to focus on work?”
“It’s a good time for me to run smaller errands. Even though I could probably be using that time to study or work, I like doing it because I get to bond with the girls in the end.”
He sighs. “C’mon. Work with me here. How about if I cook for you? Or give you a free cooking lesson or something? Your knife skills need some help. Teach you a few recipes?” Michael smiles; my knees weaken.
Two girls’ voices in the background cut into the conversation before I can get a word in: “Yes! Yes, please!”
I stare at the girls, slack-jawed. They’d just overheard everything through the open trunk door.
Cami sits up on her knees and twists in her seat to look at us.
“Yes, Michael, that’d be so cool. Mami, you should totally let him come and cook for us.
Let him teach you how to cook something different. Please.”
“I—I don’t—”
Laughter bursts through Michael. “Perfect. Thanks girls.” And with a dimpled grin, he tells me, “I’ll see you tonight with groceries and a meal plan.”
“Michael, you don’t—”
“Diana.” His hands come up on my shoulders, then drag down my arms, until he takes mine in his. I gawk down at our clasped hands, skin heating everywhere. “Let me do this for you.”
I nod wordlessly, giving in.
Michael smiles and shuts the trunk door. “See you at five-thirty. We can start cooking then.”
“Oh my god,” Rosie laughs on the other end of the line. “Oh my god.”
“You know, this isn’t helping,” I whisper over the phone, hoping the girls can’t overhear my conversation from the living room.
“I’m sorry, but how would I not find this hilarious? Between the girls roasting you and you ending up in this situation in general… I mean, I told you, didn’t I?”
“You told me to befriend him. You didn’t say this would happen.”
“And what is ‘this,’ exactly? Because all I’m hearing is he’s coming over for an innocent cooking lesson as a thank you. Right?” But the suppressed giggle in Rosie’s voice is obvious, and I want to murder her for it. “Unless there’s something more you want to tell me…”
“I know you know the cooking lesson is not why I’m freaked,” I whisper through gritted teeth. “I-I… his friends said he had a crush on me. Or that they thought he had a crush on me. Now, unless Liza and Danielle were saying that just to mess with me—”
“They’d never do that,” Rosie assures me.
“Fine, whatever. Then he’s either just a super duper nice guy, or maybe they’re right, and he does have a crush on me.”
“You gotta stop saying crush; it’s giving me the ick. We aren’t in grade school.”
“Danielle and Liza started it!”
“Well, let’s end it, because gross.”
I sigh, pinch the bridge of my nose as I squeeze my eyes shut in frustration.
“Would it be so bad if he did, though? Like you, I mean?” she asks.
“Yes!” I sigh in exasperation.
“Why? If you like the guy—”
“I don’t know if I like the guy.”
Sure, I find him attractive. With his Scott Eastwood good looks, who wouldn’t?
And, despite our initial interactions, Michael turned out to be a considerate, sweet man—something I haven’t seen in a long time.
His actions and our conversations during the Fourth of July have led me to believe that Michael is more than an okay guy I misjudged when we first met.
He’s actually an incredible man I consider myself lucky to know.
And the fact that he’s offered to come to my house and cook for my family as a thank you…
Well, it speaks volumes. The men in my life haven’t historically ever acted that way.
Rodrigo was an entitled ass who expected everything to be done for him without even a whisper of a thank you.
And while I love my father and respect him, he still lives under an old school, machismo mentality: women raise the family and are in charge of the home; men work and bring home the tocineta.
So, yeah. You could say that Michael has been a breath of fresh air.
“You like him—you know you do—or you wouldn’t be acting this way. Even if it’s just on some level, you like him as more than the dad to your daughters’ friend. So why would it be so bad to just… kinda see where it goes?”
“Because,” I start. “Because I’m not even sure how much I like him. Because I live about five thousand miles away from here. Because, even though my marriage has been over for years, I only just now got divorced and have to figure my life out. Because I wouldn’t even know what to do.”
Rosie snorts. “Sis, you are out of your mind. You’re not one to get worked up, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone get under your skin quite like this.”
“Stop,” I beg.
“I’m serious.”
“I know you’re serious, which is the worst part.” Rosie scoffs, but I keep us on track: “Can we get back to the reason I called you, though? I need some advice on how to handle this. How to control whatever the heck is going on here.”
“Okay, we also need to put a moratorium on ‘heck’—it’s okay to curse sometimes; your girls aren’t even around.
Second of all, you’re overthinking things.
Just go with the flow. He clearly has a thing for you, and a little flirting might be the best thing for you and your self-confidence right now.
Just lighten up. You’re getting adult company for once and what sounds like a delicious free meal from a gorgeous man.
I don’t know what the hell you have to complain about, girl. ”
“I think you’re missing the point.” I sigh.
“Maybe. But I think you are, too.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and rub my forehead.
“Listen, Dee. It really isn’t that hard.
Wear something cute, be nice and polite.
If you say you’re not looking for anything, then I’m not sure why you’re stressing at all.
However, if you wanted a summer fling—which no one would blame you for, by the way, because I totally think you deserve to have some fun for the first time in your goddamn life—I think you should wear something hot, be a little flirty and mysterious, and still be nice. ”
“Hot? I don’t own anything hot. And I am always nice.”
“You know what I mean.”