Nathan

Things hadn't always been like this. Truthfully, I couldn't remember a lot about our parents from back when I was a kid. It was grandma and grandpa who had always been there, who'd taken us to school and picked us up, who went to the zoo and museums with us, who organized birthday parties and board game nights. Our parents had always been gone, on business trips or to their other house to concentrate on work, on spa retreats or holidays in European cities. Grandpa had frequently argued with his son whenever they'd finally return to Palo Alto, but it'd never helped. They would stay for a while, and then they'd grow bored and leave again.

But then grandpa had died, and grandma shortly after, and suddenly, Simon Jr. and Madeline had to look after their own kids. For a while, it went alright, even though I fought with them a lot. I had Lena, and Lena was a master at making up plans to annoy them, and with her as a friend, it wasn't hard to survive living under one roof with my own parents. Of course, at one point, they grew restless once more and hired a nanny for Sam, so they could disappear again whenever they wanted. First, only a few days. Then, it turned into weeks at the time, then a month, a couple of months — and even longer, like now.

They stayed for two weeks. Time always slowed down when they were home, and ever since Lena wasn't here anymore, it seemed to go even slower. Luckily, there was June. Sam mainly went to her place after school — Simon Jr. and Madeline were mostly busy anyway, entertaining their Californian friends and business associates.

The first night, they took Sam to the theater, as if he would enjoy that, under the false pretense of spending quality time with their son. In truth, they wanted to let everyone know they were back in town and that they were doing as fantastic as ever. I wondered if anyone ever fell for their little displays. After that, they felt like they'd devoted enough time to Sam and ignored him again, like they had done with me when I was his age.

June had tactically confessed she missed being at her own house, so for the duration of our parents' stay, Sam and she went to her place after school instead of ours. I made sure I remained at campus for as long as I could, even though I never really liked being there. I didn't deserve to go to Stanford, after all; if it hadn't been for Simon and Madeline, I would've never gotten in. But now, I voluntarily crashed in someone's dorm and even attended the obligatory party. They weren't as bad as they could've been: with a decent amount of booze in your system, it was alright, especially with the knowledge I was escaping my parents' nauseating dinner parties.

So, after two weeks of maneuvering through the depths of hell, I was sitting in the Mercedes-Benz, admittedly with large circles under my eyes, but smiling contently. It was over. It could be months until we had to endure them again.

June was the first to spot me. I liked to think she let her gaze travel over the waiting cars every single afternoon, seeing if I was there to get them. She smiled, and elbowed Sam. He clenched his jaw, but then she pointed at the car, and he smiled as well, immediately breaking into a run. For once, June copied him, ignoring all the kids who were staring at her legs.

"They're gone?" Sam asked, and when I nodded, he and June did a high five — twice, because she missed the first time.

"Well, I think I know the perfect way to celebrate," she said. At that moment, I would've loved to high five her as well, no matter how many times we had to try before we got it right.

She didn't want us watching her. She said it made her nervous. So, I pretended I was rewatching one of my lectures, and Sam was in the living room, putting the Xbox back where it belonged after Madeline had banned it to his room.

Sorry, but June was way more interesting than my lecture. Every time she almost caught me staring at her, I hastily focused on the screen again, making sure I looked profusely bored. She was cooking for us, her abuela's recipe with a complicated Spanish name. I hadn't even known she could cook, much less cook like this. The smell rising from the pots and pans on the stove was mouth-watering, and my stomach rumbled more furiously every time she lifted one of the lids to add another mysterious spice.

We'd taken her to the market — she'd refused to go to a supermarket, saying her abuela would die of a heart attack if she'd know her granddaughter was preparing her friends food bought from a store. Silently, we had carried the bags and paid the market people, while she sped through the little lanes, searching for the freshest laurel and the best tomatoes. Sometimes, she spoke Spanish to the sellers — they seemed to love that, just like they loved her bright smiles, and one of them actually went to the back to collect her the tastiest carrots that they'd kept aside for select customers.

Sam and I were in awe of her tactics. We usually ordered our groceries online; I couldn't remember the last time I physically entered a supermarket. Seeing her like this was a little gift in itself; I'd never seen her as much in her element as then, and I wished she'd speak Spanish more often, even though I understood none of it.

June cursed when her left arm didn't listen to her again and she accidentally spilled the grated cheese all over the counter. I knew she would check if I'd noticed that, so at once, I made sure my face told her I was bored as hell, while in reality, I wanted to chuckle. Once she made sure I hadn't caught her, it was safe to look again.

I was curious as to how she'd fix this. I'd seen her filter eggshells with a strainer, and even though I didn't know a lot about the art of cooking, I was sure people ordinarily didn't do that. This time, I had no idea what she was planning. She opened the drawer under the messy counter, one that contained placemats, and put a bowl into it. Then, meticulously, she started to sweep the cheese from the counter into the bowl.

This time, I couldn't help but chuckle. Talking about being resourceful.

Immediately, she turned towards me, frown on her face.

"What?" I said, taking one of my earbuds out.

"Why'd you laugh?"

"The professor made a joke."

She narrowed her eyes, and it took all of me not to start laughing. She let it go, though, and I realized I had to be more careful if I didn't want her to send me away. I hated to think Sam and I made her nervous, and I couldn't understand why, but I guess you might need to have cerebral palsy yourself to get what she was feeling. I'd offered to cut the onions for her exactly once before the fiery look on her face told me not to suggest something like that ever again. Everything took her thrice as much time as it would any able-bodied person, but she didn't seem to mind, just worked hard to get the tomatoes in uneven pieces, splashing most of them in the process. I'd never seen someone struggle this hard and enjoy it anyway. With the amount of stuff she dropped and all the vegetables that landed beside the pan instead of in it, you'd think a person would give up at some point. Not her.

Fifteen minutes later, I thought she'd detected me watching her, because she was suddenly walking towards me, a little more wobbly than usual, and pulled out one of my earbuds. "Can you drain the water for me, please?" she said instead, and I was glad she allowed me to help her. I could see she didn't like asking me, though.

"Of course," I said. "Although I must confess, I've never done it before."

She giggled. "Obviously. It looks like these pans are brand new. Don't worry, it's easy — well, it's easy if your arms actually listen to you."

She could say it was easy, but I burned myself, luckily not that severely, and she and Sam, who had come to investigate after hearing my string of curses, laughed at me while I held my hand under the cold-water stream. "It needs to be lukewarm," she said, changing the temperature of the tap for me. "Cold water on a burn isn't good for you."

Later, we helped her put the dish in the oven, and for the next forty minutes, Sam and I took turns asking her if it was ready already. I'd never been this hungry in my life. While we set the table and tried to find candles, as instructed by our cook, my gaze flickered to the oven every so often, and I thanked my lucky stars I had told Sam June sounded like a cool girl.

I knew what Sam and June said about Mrs. Guevara's cooking — that it came straight down from heaven. Well, in my opinion, June surely matched her mother's level of skill. I wished she would cook for us every day. Her movements got jumpier with every compliment we gave her, yet instead of holding back, I figured she just had to get used to it. I breathed in deeply, taking in the taste of the pasta, thinking of all the times we had take-out when we could've been enjoying this. "June," I said, my eyes closed. "Please marry me and cook for me every single day."

Sam snorted. "Suck-up!"

"Well," June said, and from the tone of her voice, I knew she was smiling brightly again. "I'll think about it once I'm eighteen, alright?"

When I looked up, she blushed as red as the tomato sauce stuck to the corner of her mouth.