“And he’s cut ties with her?”
“He said he has.”
“Hmm…” The three of them share a glance.
“What?” I ask.
“It seems like he did that for you,” Mom says.
“He hasn’t. And that crazy way of thinking is what allowed her to take Oliver in the first place,” I say, more sternly than I’d intended.
“No one is blaming you. I think maybe you made that man see his mistakes. Maybe he’s trying,” she says.
“Sure,” I say, standing, and then I remember that conversation I had with him about his sister.
“Good. Why don’t you focus on that and leave me alone? She thinks I’m the reason for your sudden change of heart when it comes to her.”
“You are.” His voice is steady. Certain. There’s no softness, just a fact laid bare.
My head jerks back in surprise. “What?”
“You are the reason. I realized it because of you.”
I try not to dwell on those words or what my family said as I head inside to find my father in the kitchen cooking. My mother is the baker of the family, and my father is the cook.
My parents have a fantastic marriage. They’ve been together for more than forty years. Not once have I seen them fight to the point of no return. Yes, they argue now and then, which is healthy for a relationship, but my father is always the first to apologize.
I remember him sneaking up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, and telling her he loves her. The bad news is that I thought I had found that with Noah, but I was wrong. I don’t regret that relationship for a single second, though, because it gave me Oliver.
“What’s up, kiddo?” Dad asks.
“Just came in to see what you’re doing.”
“Or are you avoiding your mother and sisters?” He laughs and waves for me to come closer.
I always love helping him in the kitchen. My sisters hate it, and to this day, they still don’t cook. I learned how to cook from my father. I’m not the greatest at it, but he taught me a few things for which I am grateful.
“You know, you’re more like me than they are.” He chuckles. “It’s why I cook. It gives me a break from being surrounded by beautiful, opinionated women. However, I do miss having you around, kid. No one joins me in the kitchen anymore.”
He hands me a peeler to start on the potatoes, then says, “Oliver is so big now. I miss seeing him.”
“I’ll try to bring him home more often,” I tell him. “My life is just so busy. And I know that’s not an excuse.”
“Of course it is. You’re a single woman in a city, raising a son. Life is busy.” His words provide me with some comforting relief. “Though I would like to come visit you. We now have help on the farm since I’m getting older.”
I stop peeling and look at him. “Really?”
“Yes, if that’s okay with you.”
“I would love that.”
“So would I, kid. So would I.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
SOREN
Cressida is backfrom her trip, but I haven’t seen her. Though I have stalked her social media and seen many photographs of her and her family from the time she was away, I still don’t know her well. She looks happy in almost every single one of them. A part of me is jealous that I can’t make her that happy. I’ve tried to avoid listening to her conversations, because if she finds out, she’ll probably kill me. Pretty sure I’d die with a smile on my face if it were she who killed me, though.
