Raisin raced past me on the stairs, and I grabbed the handrail for balance.
“Lunatic!” I called. “If I break my neck, who will feed you?”
At least he didn’t stop to bite me. I had to count my blessings where I could find them.
A free trip to France, for example.
I stuffed the thought into a mental lockbox and wrapped the container in chains. I wanted to go, but the reveal of my lie could result in a withdrawal of his offer. I couldn’t think about that before I had at least one cup of coffee.
My phone dinged as I padded across the first floor toward the kitchen. Another order for the Invisible Baker.
I’d have to work all day to fill the orders, and I’d have to turn away additional orders to catch up. The influx was a result of Virginia’s video, and if her views and responses kept growing, my orders might as well.
Until I learned to duplicate myself, or stop time while I worked, I had no hope of keeping up with demand.Champagne problems,I thought. But the issue remained nonetheless.
I fed Raisin, then made a cup of coffee and carried it onto the patio.
Dew clung to the blades of grass, and a chill lingered in the air. My second season in this house, and a new era in my life. Nature’s fanfare felt poetic. A rainbow of autumn leaves. Pumpkins and mums on doorsteps. Little ghosts and goblins soon flooding the streets on Halloween night.
I couldn’t wait. I craved every change, big and small. New traditions. New memories. I wanted it all. But only if I could share the moments with my daughter.
I sent my eleventh text since our botched lunch, begging for her to talk to me. Then I sent up the usual prayer to go with it.Please let me fix this. Let me heal us.
I needed a plan to deal with the obstacles in my path. My phone buzzed, and I smiled. Instead of an answer to prayer, I received another order. I guessed I’d start there.
If I wanted to help as many customers as possible, I had to streamline. A number of favorite seasonal desserts came to mind. Mini pumpkin pies, baked apple fritters, and cinnamon-spiced coffee cakes, for starters. Limiting available options would allow me to bake in bulk, satisfying more than one request at a time. Buying only ingredients for the set options would save me time and money as well.
I opened the notes app on my phone and started a list. An incoming call from Cami interrupted the process.
I looked at the ceiling, hoping my mom could see this, and that she’d help me do better with my daughter than she had with me. “Cami,” I answered. “I’m so sorry for the things I said. I promise I’ll do better.”
“I know,” she said. Her voice was soft and remorseful. “It’s okay.”
I shook my head, though she couldn’t see me. “It’s not okay. Stealing your joy is never okay. I let my old wounds cause you fresh pain, and that’s not acceptable. Ever.”
She released a long breath, and I held mine, wondering what she might say next. “I understand, Mama. I know you’re hurting and frustrated with Dad. You’re going through so much right now. I get that, and we support each other when we struggle, remember?”
My heart swelled at the sweet memory.
The first time I’d said those words to her, she was still learning to tie her shoes. The accidental knots she’d created made it impossible to take off her sneakers. We were late for something, and she lashed out in anger. I didn’t blame her. I understood her screams and tears had nothing to do with me and everything to do with her situation. Then I’d told her we never get mad if we can be compassionate instead.
“I remember,” I said, emotion thick in my throat.
My baby girl had grown up to be a kind and compassionate woman.
What happened to a mother-daughter relationship when the daughter didn’t need parenting anymore? I couldn’t begin to guess. I wasn’t sure I’d ever been parented. But I knew unequivocally, I didn’t deserve my precious daughter.
Camilla sighed, and instinct told me something bad was coming next.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Can I make a confession? No judgment?”
“Always.”
“I talked to Dad last night, and I lost my shit a little,” she said. “So you weren’t the only one saying things that were probably better kept to yourself.”
I bristled, nonsensically, at the thought of her speaking to Robert, though he was her dad. And I hated that he’d upset her. But I bit my tongue and waited, letting her talk while I listened.
