Don’t Make Me Turn This Life Around by Pagán, Camille (top novels of all time txt) 📗

I said. “I bet a good meal will have us all feeling better.”

After a few minutes on the phone, we ended up back in Condado at a restaurant that served traditional Puerto Rican food. Shiloh immediately decided on mofongo, a dish made of mashed, well-seasoned plantains topped with meat or seafood, while I settled on the ropa vieja with a side of red rice and beans. But Isa had abandoned her menu in favor of her novel without choosing a meal, and Charlotte was scowling off into the distance.

“What is it, Char?” I asked.

“I don’t like anything they have,” she said, still looking at the wall. “Can’t you just ask them to make chicken fingers?”

“No,” said Shiloh. “You can find something on the menu to eat, or you can go hungry.”

I glanced at him, wondering if he was hangry; he didn’t usually snap like that. “Actually . . . ,” I began. Actually, she couldn’t skip meals without risking a serious dip in her blood sugar—which he knew. “What about the grilled chicken with rice and beans?” I suggested.

“Whatever,” she muttered.

“Is this about the beach earlier?” I asked.

“No.”

“It’s about you being spoiled, Charlotte,” Isa said, not glancing up from her novel.

I could feel something stirring in me. It wasn’t strong enough to qualify as anger, but it wasn’t mild enough to be mere irritation. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I would have diagnosed myself with a raging case of disappointment. Was I the only person on this vacation who remembered how fortunate we were to be able to hop on a plane to spend a week on not one but two tropical islands?

I opened my mouth, then clamped it shut just as fast, because I’d just remembered that my own mother had never broken up my arguments with Paul by telling us which one of us was in the wrong. She’d figured out early on that it was far more effective to play head cheerleader than referee.

“Isa, chicken with rice and beans work for you, too?” I said pleasantly.

“Fine,” she said from the other side of her book.

“Great!” I said, waving our server over. He took our order and asked if we wanted anything to drink. I glanced at Shiloh, who hadn’t seemed relaxed since . . . well, since the jellyfish incident, come to think of it. In fact, unless my eyes were playing tricks on me, he looked just as tense as he had in New York. I needed to turn this ship around, and fast.

“A piña colada for both of us,” I told the server.

Shiloh arched his eyebrows.

“The ibuprofen’s not cutting it,” I explained, “and hey, we’re in Puerto Rico.”

“Thank you . . . I think.”

“You’re welcome, I think. Hey, remember when you took me out for piña coladas when we went to San Juan together?” I said, hoping the reminder of those heady days would make him smile.

He broke into a grin. “You didn’t believe me, but they really were the best, weren’t they?”

“They were,” I agreed, grinning back at him.

“I heard from my buddy that the place is actually still there,” he said. “I wish our trip was a little longer.” We were spending five nights in Vieques, then another night in San Juan before flying home.

“Maybe we can come back with just the two of us,” I said, eyeing the girls. From the way they were slouched down in their chairs, you’d think we were making them sit through a trigonometry lesson. I had to remind myself that I’d planned a family vacation on purpose; they needed this as much as the rest of us did.

“What are you both looking forward to?” I asked them after the waiter delivered our piña coladas. It was a question my father used to ask Paul and me at dinner; he’d believed that even if we were just having microwaved lasagna, meals were for interacting with each other.

“Going home,” said Charlotte.

“What she said,” said Isa.

“That’s enough,” said Shiloh. His voice was low, but all business. “We’re on vacation and we are going to have a good time.”

“Aye, aye,” said Isa as Charlotte pretended to salute him.

For a second, I was on Team Twin. Forced fun—sign me up!

Then I remembered that this whole thing had been my idea.

“Let’s change the subject,” I said before taking another sip of my drink. “You still think we’ll have time to see your dad on the way back from Vieques?” I asked Shiloh, who was staring at the television over the bar. A soccer match was on, and although he was a fan, I suspected Isa and Charlotte’s behavior was the real reason his eyes were trailing a bunch of soccer players on teams he didn’t follow.

“It’ll be tight, but we’ll manage,” he said, glancing at me quickly before looking back at the screen.

“Maybe we can look for souvenirs for your friends after we get settled at Milagros’,” I said to the girls, but now they were watching the game, too. I sighed; what was wrong with good old-fashioned conversation?

A whole lot, based on the little my family said to each other after our meals arrived. Maybe that’s why, when our server appeared to see how our food was, I ordered a second drink, which I drank with gusto as everyone else continued to vegetate.

“You’re in rare form,” whispered Shiloh as we made our way back to the hotel.

“Are you suggesting I can’t walk in a straight line?” I joked, leaning against his arm. In truth, I didn’t actually like feeling tipsy, but it was easier to harness my inner Pollyanna when the world around me was all soft and fuzzy. “Anyway, I need to let my hair down at some point, right?” I said, looking over my shoulder to make sure the girls were still straggling behind.

“I guess so. I know things have been pretty intense for you lately.”

I frowned. “For all of us.”

“But your brother and Charlie’s divorce, and your dad . . .”

Boy, he really knew how to accentuate the positive. “My dad’s been dead for six