That makes me smile. It’s true. My mother and I—and even Immy—are wearing the same hairstyle today. My mother’s gray hair is pulled into her usual long, double Dutch braids. I did mine and Imogen’s last night before we fell asleep reading, so ours are looking less smooth and put together, but not terrible. Nothing about me is put together at the moment, though. I’m wearing yesterday’s clothes and I’m overdue for an appointment with my shower and toothbrush. It’s okay. I have a glass of Diet Coke and a waffle coming up.
It’s quiet for a moment when my mother says, “I have to say, he’s even better in real life.”
My gaze shoots to Immy, who, luckily for me, is completely engrossed in stirring the batter. I nod at my mom. “Yep.”
“He’s also thoughtful. Generous. An attentive father. And he smells pretty good, too.”
Like I need to be reminded of his positive qualities. “I know.” I sigh.
“He wouldn’t be the worst option, is all I’m saying.”
“Mom, he isn’t an option.” She knows the position I’m in as his daughter’s nanny. “Can we just focus on the waffles?” I shoot a meaningful look in Immy’s direction to let my mother know that she’s listening and smarter than she gets credit for. She’s also a parrot. I don’t need to have this entire conversation repeated to her father—or worse, Oliver. No, thank you.
“I am focusing on thewaffles,” she drags out the word. “I think you could use somewafflesin your life.” She wags her eyebrows.
I can’t believe my mother, whose intuition is usually spot on, is encouraging this. Hope sparks in my chest, but I smother it.
“Wafflesaren’t safe. They’re too rich. Too fancy. Way out of my league. I’m not opposed towaffles, in general. I’m just more of a Captain Crunch Berries type of girl.” I want her to disagree with me. I want to be wrong.
“How do you knowwafflesaren’t safe? Because I’m seeing otherwise. Andwafflesare not out of your league. You are smart, beautiful, witty, sensitive—wafflesshould be so lucky.”
My face burns under her praise. “You’re my mom. You are supposed to think that. But the sad reality is, waffles and Captain Crunch Berries don’t go together. Besides, even if I did deserve waffles, I’m not allowed anywhere near them. They are strictly off limits. I’m on a no waffles diet indefinitely, thanks to all the paperwork I signed.”
My mother smiles at me. “You're right. You always were my little rule follower.”
“My dad loves Captain Crunch Berries the most,” Immy interjects, slopping the batter-coated spoon onto the counter.
There is no way she understood that conversation, right?Please, Universe. Do me this one favor.
I’m saved when the back door opens and Joe and his fiancée, Indigo, come inside. She’s looking bright-eyed and adorable, as always, with her dark red hair piled on top of her head and my brother’s arm slung around her shoulders. These two are almost unbearable in their syrupy happiness with each other.
“What are you two up to?” my mom asks, while demonstrating for Immy how to safely remove the waffle from the hot iron, sliding it onto a white plate with a long fork.
“We’re here for breakfast,” my brother says, jostling past me to take the plate.
Indigo yanks his arm. “No, you don’t. You know the rules. First one’s for the birthday girl. Hand it over, sir.” She arches an eyebrow at Joe, who winks and kisses her cheek in response. Gag me.
But at least he passes me my waffle and wishes me a happy birthday.
“Thanks, Indigo,” I say, taking a dramatic bite of my waffle while making eye contact with my brother.
While Immy spreads a cup of batter on the iron, Joe, Indigo and I sit in a row at the counter.
“This is fun,” Indigo whispers to me as she shoots a look at Immy. “Is this your first time making waffles?”
“Yep. Miss Sarah teached me, but it’s pretty easy.”
I take another monstrous bite. “I think this is the best birthday waffle I’ve ever had, Im. Thanks for working so hard to make it.”
“I was just telling Sunny that she needs more waffles in her life,” my mother announces to the group, unhelpfully. “Waffles,” she repeats, flexing her loose bicep and nodding at Immy to drive the point home.
“Muscles?” Joe asks.
“No,waffles,” Indigo repeats in her deepest voice, mimicking a burly man the best she can with her petite frame.
“Waffles?” Joe parrots, deepening his voice even further. “I’m not following.”
Immy sighs, like her patience with my brother has already worn thin after this two-minute interaction. “Waffles means my dad, but Sunny thinks she is just Captain Crunch. But I told her my dad likes Captain Crunch the very best.”
