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He smiles as the waiter comes back asking if we’d like anything else, and we both shake our heads no.

When she leaves he leans forward and whispers, “The coffee here is terrible.”

And since I’m not ready to be twins with the guy and share similarities, I choke down the rest of my coffee as if it’s the best thing I’ve ever had.

Camila

The incredible blend of spices,vegetables, broth, and wine fills my nose causing my stomach to rumble. Mom is making her paella soup with orzo instead of rice—a childhood favorite of mine. Since I’m flying back tomorrow, we decided to have a family dinner at home tonight. I didn’t want to ruin my trip by bringing everything up the day I landed, but I let it sit too long and now the thought of ruining my last night with them is beyond dreadful.

The setting sun dances along the water painting a beautiful backdrop of purple and orange. The sunroom is quiet tonight, unlike our usual over-the-top loud dinner conversations. The sounds of silverware clanking against bowls fill the silence.

“Did I tell you I saw Mrs. Nova a few weeks ago?” my mom asks before she blows on a spoonful of her soup. “She was only in town for two days so I’m surprised I ran into her. She said she was going to try and make a trip out to visit you girls sometime this year.”

Taylor’s mom has been saying that every year since we moved. I think I’ve seen her once, and Taylor’s seen her maybe twice. I won't hold mybreath waiting for her visit.

I’ve been blowing on the same spoonful of food for what feels like an eternity. I know I won’t be able to eat, until I have this conversation—hell, depending on how hurt and upset they are, it’s very likely I won't be able to eat after either. I set my spoon back down in my bowl and my mother’s head not so subtly snaps to me while my dad looks at me only out of the corner of his eyes.

“Is something wrong with the soup, mija?” my mother asks, looking down at her own bowl.

“No. The food is good. I just—” I crack my fingers under the table and ask my nerves to call the fuck down. There’s no clock in the sunroom but I can hear a faint ticking in my head. I take a breath to steady myself before continuing. “I just wanted to talk to you, and let you know some changes I’ve made recently.”

My mom stops eating and puts her hands in her lap, her full attention on me now. My dad thankfully keeps eating rather than boring his eyes into mine, but he nods to let me know he's listening.

Inhala. Exhala. You deserve to be happy, not a bullshit happy for everyone else, but a genuine happiness for you.Miles's words bounce around my head and I feel stronger because of them.

I keep my eyes trained on my finger where it spins the invisible ring around. “Um, so I guess I should start by saying, I quit my investment banking job a while ago.”

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and when I look at my mom her eyebrows are up in her hairline. My heart rate continues to increase but I keep going, “I hated that job. My boss was horrible, and I dreaded going in every day. And not in a normalI don’t want to go to workway. More in amy stomach hurts, I feel nauseous, and I can’tdo anything on my time off because I’m so physically and mentally drained from my jobkind of way.”

Now my dad puts his spoon down and turns his full attention on me.

“Mija, you’ve been there for over five years. Why would you stay there so long if it made you so miserable?” my mom asks, and her voice is just as shaky as mine.

“I know how proud you were when I got that job, and I didn’t want to disappoint you.” I feel so small. Like a cartoon mouse backing up into the tiny cut-out in the wall.

My parents both look at each other now, the weight of my father’s fist drops to the table and my mom covers her dainty hand over his. I watch her thumb rub lightly at it as if she’s trying to calm him down but comfort herself at the same time and my eyes burn as liquid rises. I’m reminded of all the times Miles’s fingers brushed my leg or his hands rubbed my back. All the times he was there to comfort me and help me feel brave and I wish he were here now.

“I—” my mom shakes her head slightly, looking at me with the exact same furrowed brow she had when I told her I was going to school in California.

“I’m sorry.” My whisper is pathetic as I look down to my lap and two large tears plop into my hands one after the other.

“Camila.” My father’s stern voice has both my mom and I looking at him. “I’ve never been disappointed with you a day in your life. Why would you think that?”

I swallow the rock in my throat. “I guess I’ve just always felt like you expected me to do things a certain way. I know you were upset about my decision to leave for school.”

“Camila, I’m your mother. I know you down to your core. I wasn’t disappointed, I was worried. You’d never made an impulsive decision like that in your life. For four years you talked about going to medical school here and then out of nowhere you were moving across the country for finance? None of it made any sense.”

My fingers rub at the back of my jaw as I try to piece together some of my uncertainty. I had been wanting to move for over a year, I just never told them. It’s not surprising that they would be concerned that I decided to leave the way I did.

“Not that it really matters now, all these years later, but it wasn’t an impulsive decision. I guess, I was just too scared to tell you before.” My mom’s eyes are glassy as her lips twist to the side. “Mom,” I reach across the table for her, and to my surprise, she squeezes my hand back, tightly. “Not a day goes by that I’m not so appreciative of everything you and Dad have done for me and Seb, and I never wanted what you’ve gone through to be for nothing. The thought of not making you proud tears me up.” I’m surprising myself with the way the words are freely tumbling from my mouth.

“Camila, your mother and I worked hard so that you and your brother could have every opportunity to do whatyouwant to do. And we do what we do because we love it. I can’t think of a time when I’ve ever been upset or angry with you for doing something you wanted. So I’m really confused where this is coming from.”

I’ve wondered for a while how much I’ve internalized my fear of going after the things I want. Putting a mask over them by sayingI can’t disappoint my parents or I can’t do something because it’s not good enough for them.It’s easier to say I don’t want to disappoint people than it is to say I’m scared that I’m not worthy of the good things I want. But the reality is, I have so many good things—the best things, in my eyes. The world’s greatest friend, my dream art gallery, parents who love me, and a man who…

“Mija—”

I blink away my tears as my chest feels noticeably lighter. “Well, I have some more news.” Both my parents straighten in their chairs, my mom inhaling and holding her breath. “I’ve acquired an art studio that I’ve been working on for a few weeks now and I’m going to open an art gallery in the city.” There is no false bravado in my voice.