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I throw my head back in a laugh and take a bite. “Well, that’s good, because that may very well have been the end of this,” I tell him, motioning my fork back and forth between us.
“I’d never take that risk,” Mateo says solemnly before taking his first bite. “I haven’t had tiramisu before, but I’m officially a fan now.”
“I’m a good influence,” I giggle.
“No arguments there,” he winks. “Okay, while we eat dessert, we each get to ask each other three questions.”
“Any question we want?” I ask.
“Yes. The only rule is that you can’t repeat the other person’s questions,” Mateo replies. “Since I’ve already had time to give it thought, I’ll ask first.” When I nod my agreement, he continues. “Question one: what’s something about younger Lana that would surprise your friends you met in college?”
Wow, that’s a really great conversation starter. Also, there is a lot about younger me that would surprise my college friends. I take a bite of tiramisu to buy time to consider what I want to share. I can tell Mateo sees the wheels turning in my head, and I get the feeling that he’s going to be prying more of these stories out of me in the future. For now, I settle on a safe but entirely shocking fact.
“When I was in middle school and early high school, I had my own lawn care business,” I state.
“No way,” Mateo responds with surprise.
“Yes way,” I laugh. “When I was in middle school, my parents were trying to balance taking care of me plus my three young siblings along with two demanding careers, so they taught me to mow the lawn to take something off their plate. I realized that being outside—alone, in my own zone, having a break from the noise of my siblings—made me feel calm. Plus, it was satisfying to see the finished product.
“I was a practical kid, and I knew I’d need to save up to buy a car someday—my parents told me that they would match whatever money I had to put toward a car when I turned sixteen. So, I decided there was no reason that boys should have a corner on the lawn care market, not when I could earn money doing something I enjoyed,” I finish with a smile.
Mateo is looking at me with open admiration. “That’s super impressive,” he says. “How many yards were you mowing?”
“By the final summer, I was up to ten lawns,” I share, realizing how proud I am of my younger self. “I paid for my first car and got a great tan.”
Mateo laughs and waves his hand toward me. “Okay, your turn for a question.”
“Wait, give me a second to think,” I stall. Mateo looks out at the final traces of the setting sun as I rack my brain. What do I want to know about him? I’m starting to feel like I want to know a lot about him.
“What’s your favorite thing about your family?” I ask. I figure there’s a lot you can tell about someone from what they think of their family. Mateo turns to me and smiles as I take a bite of tiramisu.
“Well, joke’s on you, because you just asked the question that could keep me talking for hours,” he says with a twinkle in his eye. “I should have brought you a second dessert.”
I smile at him. “Better get started then! I’ll just steal the rest of yours while you’re talking.”
He jokingly guards his box from me, but then sets it down between us like an open invitation. “My favorite thing about my family…I guess if I had to sum it up, I would say it’s how we’re always there for each other when it counts.”
I angle my body toward Mateo, stretch my legs out, and lean against the side of the truck bed, settling in to listen.
“My brother is four years older than me, and my sister just eighteen months older, so we were all close growing up. My parents were really busy running the restaurant they own, my siblings had their activities, and I had soccer, but when it really mattered, we were always there for each other. We couldn’t eat dinner together often, but my mom would make us a big breakfast to share before school.”
Mateo pauses for a moment, formulating his next thought. “Even as adults now, my family has each other’s backs. My sister had a bit of a rough time a couple of years ago,” he pauses, voice thick with emotion. He clears his throat before continuing, “But we were all there. My brother flew in from New York, and I went home for the summer.”
“Summer after freshman year?” I ask. “The year you didn’t go to Summer Project?”
Mateo nods. “We always tackle life together. We’re in each other’s corner, no questions asked. I love that about my family, and it’s how I always want to be,” he finishes with conviction.
I digest this personal tidbit of his life he just shared. I’m burning with curiosity to know more about his sister’s story, but it seems like something he’s protectively guarding, in the best sort of brotherly way. I admire that about him. “How did your family wind up in Michigan?” I ask him.
“Nope, sorry, you have to wait your turn,” Mateo says, his joking tone cutting through the serious air and making me laugh. “You’ll have to save that for question number two, because now I get to ask mine.”
I hold my hands up in surrender.
“Okay, next question,” Mateo begins as he copies my position and stretches his legs out next to mine. “Why cello music?”
“Why cello music?”
“Yes, why do you like listening to cello music?” he asks. “I mean, it’s a pretty-sounding instrument, but I get the feeling there’s a specific reason you like it.”
