I started cooking. My mom called. I told her what I was doing. She said, “Whatever you do, do not serve that woman powdered cheese. I raised you better than that. Grate it fresh.”

I said nothing.

She said, “Leo? Do you hear me? Buy a good block of Parmesan.”

I went back to the store. I bought a good block of Parmesan. I bought a grater. At this point my grocery budget for the week was gone, maybe even for the month. The cheese was really expensive. I started grating. I grated the first layer of my third finger along with the cheese. I threw out the cheese, all of it, because I couldn’t tell where the cheese ended and my finger skin began. I went back to the powdered cheese. I poured it into a little bowl I found in the back of the cupboard, hoping it looked classier that way. It didn’t.

My finger kept bleeding. Did we have Band-Aids in that apartment? I’ll let you guess.

I served the woman who became the love of my life the most boring, most predictable, least homemade meal there is with a hunk of toilet paper wrapped around my finger and held there with a piece of duct tape. When Jacqui ate every bit of that meal and asked for seconds, I knew I loved her. When she heaped the powdered cheese on and gamely used the back of her fork to flatten a cheese ball, I knew I loved her more.

Flash forward. Tonight I am serving my taco salad with vegetables I grew myself in my backyard garden. I might make a summer cocktail to go with it: something with tequila and jalapeño. (Recipes to follow.)

I learned to cook as my gift to Jacqui and our family. This is what I could do for them to make all of us happier and healthier and give us all a reason to come together. You can do it too, readers. It doesn’t have to be hard. But it does have to be better.

When Maggie was finished at Joy Bombs and ready to help Lu, she toted the boys off to the beach, taking extra care with their sunscreen. Due to Sebastian’s near miss earlier in the summer, they were under a strict no-swimming order when Lu wasn’t there. But they could build sandcastles, run footraces, play tic-tac-toe in the sand.

Lu was trying to figure out how best to photograph the tequila cocktail when the doorbell rang. She started, then took cover behind the living room curtain so she could peer out at the driveway without being seen. Shit: it was Nancy.

“Lu! Yoo-hoo! Lu!” Nancy rang the doorbell and knocked at the same time. Nancy was the only person Lu knew who actually said, “Yoo-hoo!” with a straight face.

Lu watched the doorknob turn slowly; she was cursing herself for not locking it, but Lu had confirmed that Nancy had an extra key, and she definitely had enough gall to use it, so it was hopeless either way. She took a sharp left turn and tiptoed quickly up the stairs, bringing her laptop with her. She needed to save everything she’d been working on and keep it out of Nancy’s sight.