“I have a subject,” Joey announced. “Dessert. There’s a mysterious tin on the table and I’ve been told I can’t open it.”
“That’s mine.” Fiona smiled, steadier now. “Stella and I made them this morning. Family recipe—my grandmother’s Anzac biscuits.”
“You baked?” Anna looked impressed. “In Margo’s kitchen?”
“At five AM,” Stella added. “She couldn’t sleep.”
“I was nervous about tonight.” Fiona shrugged. “Baking helps.”
Joey was already retrieving the tin. He opened it with ceremony, inhaling deeply.
“These smell incredible. What’s in them?”
“Oats, coconut, golden syrup, butter.” Fiona ticked off the ingredients. “My grandmother was very particular about the butter.”
“Can I have the recipe?”
“You want to laminate it,” Stella said. “I can tell.”
“I want to preserve it. There’s a difference.”
“There really isn’t.”
The biscuits made their way around the table, disappearing rapidly. Bernie took three and looked ready to fight anyone who commented. Luke pronounced them “the best thing I’ve eaten that didn’t come from the ocean.” Even Bea, who claimed to be avoiding sugar, quietly pocketed two.
Margo took a bite and closed her eyes. Butter and coconut and something that tasted like history—recipes passed down, kitchens shared, the particular magic of food made with love.
“These are wonderful,” she said to Fiona. “Really wonderful.”
“Thank you. For everything.” Fiona met her eyes. “I really appreciate all this.”
“I know you do.”
Margo watched Fiona settle back into her chair, watched Stella steal another biscuit from the tin, watched her family expand to hold one more person.
Later, after the dishes were done and the guests had scattered to various corners, Margo found Fiona on the back patio.
She was standing at the railing, looking out at the garden. The night was clear, stars visible above the ambient glow of Laguna Beach.
“Getting some air?”
“Processing.” Fiona didn’t turn around. “That was a lot. The speech. The announcement. All of it.”
Margo came to stand beside her. “You did well.”
“I almost didn’t do it. Almost just left quietly tomorrow without saying anything.” Fiona shook her head. “But Stella deserved better than that. She deserved to have everyone know I support this. That I’m not just... tolerating it.”
“That took courage.”
“It took desperation.” Fiona laughed softly. “I was so afraid of losing her. And then I realized—the only way to actually lose her was to keep fighting.”
Margo thought about Sam. About all the years of fighting. About where that road had led.
“You figured that out faster than I did,” she said quietly.
They stood in silence, two mothers who had both learned something about letting go.
“She’s coming to Sydney for Christmas,” Fiona said. “Stella. She promised.”
