“When?” she fires back. “January?”
I pause, instantly seeing the flinch on her face. She knows the last thing that would be helpful is making it sound like I’m disappointing her. I’ll just think I need to work harder.
Finally, she smiles, blinking a slow apology, and I’m almost irritated by how fast she can switch gears. By the time she became Katherine Caruthers, though, she knew how to handle my father, three teenage boys, and addiction. I kind of wish I’d gotten more inexperienced parents, but they knew all the tricks by the time I arrived. They were home for dinner every night and pancakes on Sundays. And while they took my phone at night to force a good night’s sleep on me, they pretended they didn’t know that I had a tablet and a laptop.
She takes a plate, using the towel to dry dishes, instead.
“Are you complaining that people like my bakery?” I ask, but don’t wait for a reply. “I’m busy. This is a good thing.”
Yes, I’m busier than I would like, and I’d love to manage time for maybe a social life—and sleep—but I’m handling it. We knew this would take time to figure out.
“Itisa good thing,” she says. “I’m so proud of you.”
“I can do this on my own.” I gently take her towel and dry the dishes myself. “I have a staff.”
She lowers her gaze, her warm eyes filled with worry and things unspoken. Things she still feels guilt over with my brother.
“I know you’re there if I need you,” I tell her.
It’s the best I can do to ease her mind. I know she’s there, even though she wasn’t for Jared.
We’re quiet, and I dry some more plates and put them away as I feel her attention on me.
I glance at her, seeing her mouth slightly open like she wants to say more. “What?” I ask.
She doesn’t seem to breathe for a moment, finally shaking her head. “Can you be free Saturday after two? For the rest of the day?”
“Why?”
“Madoc and Fallon are having everyone over.” She takes more plates from me, stacking them on the shelf. “Lucas’s flight is late. They’ll have a cookout, some fireworks…”
I unplug the sink, not hearing the water drain over the sound of my heart in my ears.
He barely stayed.
Once he sells the house, there’ll be no reason for him to return. Ever.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’ll try.”
If he’s leaving, then I don’t think I want to see him. What’s the point? Giving him a whole evening when he’ll never spare five minutes for us again?
My mother moves behind me, starting to leave, but she stops and turns.
“I’m not trying to overcompensate,” she clarifies, as if she’d read my mind.
I look over at her, the solemn look on her face telling me she’s aware of the baggage her boys still carry.
Her brow pinches together in sadness. “I just want to see you having fun.”
I shake out the towel, flexing my jaw. “I am.” I offer her a grin. “I love this. Promise.”
She’s quiet but doesn’t move, and I finish stacking dishes onto shelves.
“You’re just always so busy,” she tells me. “The studying and extracurriculars in high school. Finishing your college degree a year early, culinary classes in your spare time, this shop in the summers… Like you were always rushing to be thirty or something.”
The world in front of me blurs.
She’s not wrong. I’d just been hoping no one would notice. Or if they did, they would say I was “motivated” or “a hard worker.” But the truth is, I was never excited to be in college. I was excited to be done. I never wanted to go on Spring Break with friends. There were better ways to spend that time.
