I’m not hungry, but I don’t want to say this after she’s been baking for God knows how long. I see at least three Tupperware cases stacked between the toaster and fridge.
"Where are you bringing all of those?" I ask.
"You’re bringing one to the shop, and I’m bringing the other two to the hospital. The nurses have been so kind."
"Are you allowed to bring food into the hospital?"
Mom waves her hand at me as if she’s shooing me off. "Oh, I don’t care about their stupid rules. They’re just muffins."
"Mom," I say.
"Melody, please, have a muffin, then bring these to the shop before you head over to the hospital. Also, you can take Dad’s truck today if you don’t mind filling up the gas tank."
Mom places a small white dish down onto the apple red placemat, then places a muffin down, followed by a coffee cup.
"You don’t have to wait on me hand and foot," I tell her, taking a seat at our old family table, the one where I etched a heart into the soft wood when I was fifteen. I got in a lot of trouble for doing this, but Mom has strategically had it covered with various placemats since then. I slide the placemat over an inch, exposing the scratches and trace my finger around the uneven heart, trying to remember why I would do such a thing.
Mom returns to my side with the carafe of coffee and fills my mug, then tops it off with a little cream. "You and your crush at fifteen," she says, watching me trace the heart. "Oh my,you were in love with that boy since you were old enough to realize boys weren’t as gross as you once claimed. Of course,you never admitted to it, but I knew."
“What boy?" I question.
"You know I’m talking about Brett," she continues. "Every time our families were together, you stared at him with shimmering eyes. Your father and I both knew."
I hardly remember when my crush started, and I don’t recall Brett being the reason for this heart on the table, but it seems like something I would do. "How do you know he was the reason I scratched this heart into the wood?" I ask Mom, breaking off a crumb of the muffin.
"You said you were in love, and ‘love can make a person do crazy things.’ I couldn’t even get mad at you because it was so adorable."
"I’m pretty sure you got mad at me for destroying our kitchen table.” I do remember the scolding and getting sent to my room.
"Well, I had to teach you it was wrong to destroy furniture, but I didn’t stay upset for toolong," she says, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.
I take another few bites of the muffin, feeling my stomach twist and turn each time I swallow. I don’t feel hungry at all right now.
"When are you going to the hospital?" I ask her, feeling the long seconds tick by. It seems as if I knew the timer would beep and interrupt my question.
"As soon as this last batch cools, I’ll be heading over."
Mom takes the top container of muffins and places them down on the table. "These are for the shop."
"Are you okay?" I ask her, wondering how she’s holding up so strongly.
"No, but what choice do we have right now?"
I force the rest of the muffin down my throat and chase it with a few gulps of coffee. The moment I push my chair out from the table, Mom collects my plate and mug. "I can do the dishes, Mom."
"I have it under control.” She hasn’t stopped moving since I got downstairs, and it’s making me dizzy. Maybe this is her trick, too—just keep moving.
I collect the muffins and stop Mom from opening the fridge door a fourth time in the last two minutes. I wrap my free arm around her neck and squeeze. "I love you."
"I love you too, sweetie. I’ll see you soon."
When I’m halfway to The Barrel House, I stumble across a thought, wondering if Mom purposely gave me a reason to stop by the shop, and it isn’t for the sake of kindly bringing baked goods. It’s the same feeling I got last night when Journey only gave me the house keys to Mom and Dad’s. I must believe it was pre-planned since she had no issues getting into her apartment last night with whatever key she held onto along with the Jeep key.
Why are they pushing me to be around Brett? Especially now, of all times. I still have Ace calling me, and my mind is focused on Dad.
I claim the parking spot beside Brett’s truck. I wonder if his daughter will be here again today since it’s early and before school hours. I also wonder where Journey is this morning because I haven’t heard from her. Though, she’s probably scared to talk to me, knowing I’m smart enough to see the trap she organized last night.
The lights in the back room are on along with the lights in the front of the shop. I head there first, finding Brett counting cash from the register. "Good morning," I say, announcing my presence.
