As we drive, I keep up my role of improvised tour guide whenever we pass a building of interest, like the local brewery, or the Katharine Hepburn museum and the cultural arts center. “And that’s my high school,” I say, pointing. “And right there, under the ledge near the entrance, is where I had my first kiss.”

“And who was the lucky guy?”

“Michael Connell, a real jackass. The jerk dumped me for Rebecca Miller three weeks later.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, my first heartbreak. Took me a whole month to get over him,” I joke. “What about you? Who broke your heart for the first time?”

“Ah, freshman year. Sally Parker agreed to come to the school dance with me only because her parents knew me, then she ditched me to go make out with a senior all night.”

“So, you weren’t a ladies’ man in high school?”

Looking at him now, I find it hard to believe.

“I was a late bloomer. In the ninth grade, I was your typical skimpy kid: skinny and short. Then the summer between freshman and sophomore year I shot up a foot and started playing basketball, packed on some muscle.”

“Did Sally Parker ever regret her decision?”

Diego shrugs. “Don’t think so. We never talked much after that night.”

I don’t know why, but I’m pretty sure old Sally did curse herself for not sticking with the ugly duckling until he turned into a swan.

***

When we get back home, the house smells like kale and rotten eggs.

“Mom,” I call. “We’re back.”

“Great.” She comes out of the kitchen, looking a little frazzled. “Dinner is almost ready.”

“Yeah, what is this smell? What did you make?”

“Your sister…” She lowers her stare to the floor for a second before answering. “She’s offered to cook us dinner tonight.”

“Julia’s cooking?” I ask, horrified.

“She swears we could all use the detox, and she’s put a lot of effort into making dinner, so don’t you dare be nasty about it.”

Of course, we wouldn’t want to hurt poor Julia’s feelings.

“Now, go sit at the table,” Mom orders.

Filled with dread, I step into the dining room and stare at the laid table, aghast.

I quickly turn toward Diego and whisper in his ear, “I’m really sorry for what’s about to happen. Please pretend you still like me after this.”

But if anyone wanted to know what real terror looks like, they should watch my father’s face as Julia presents our multi-course vegan dinner. To my credit, I’m trying to keep a neutral expression, as is Diego, while Paul has the resigned look of someone who has listened to this speech multiple times. The only one showing an ounce of enthusiasm is Mom.