Page 47 of Frosted Fakes

"Those scones look a little wonky," Gabby said, finally tearing her eyes away from Jamie’s and scowling at the display case.

Elliott was about to snap at her, but Julia astonishingly got in first. "They’re perfect," she said firmly. She was standing straighter now, her shoulders back, and there was something almost defiant in the way she met her mother's eyes. Elliott's chest did something she didn′t understand.

"Mmm," Gabby said, though her attention was clearly now more back on Jamie than her daughter. "I thought you might be just the man to introduce me to a few of the farmers in the area, for research, you understand."

Jamie opened his mouth, but was rescued by the buzzing of a phone.

Gabby sighed dramatically. "No rest for the weary." She answered with a clipped "Yes, what is it now?" and her expression shifted into something sharp and professional. "No, we discussed this. The lighting needs to be softer. I'm not going to look washed out on my own show."

She was already moving toward the door, phone pressed to her ear, barely pausing to wave at Julia. "Must dash, darling. Jamie, I'll call you."

And then she was gone, leaving silence in her wake.

Jamie caught Elliott's eye and mouthed "you're welcome" before gathering his container and heading back to his restaurant.

Julia sagged against Elliott like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

"Hey," Elliott said. "She's gone."

"I know." Julia pulled away, not meeting her eyes. "I should check on the kitchen."

"Julia."

"The éclairs probably need—"

"Julia." Elliott caught her arm. "Stop."

Julia stopped.

They stood there in the middle of the empty shop, the silence stretching between them. Elliott should let go. Should walk back to her kitchen and her éclairs and her careful distance. Should remember that she was still angry about the mixer, about the casual assumption that money could fix everything.

Instead, she said: "Why do you let her treat you like that?"

Julia blinked. "Like what?"

"Like you're something she's disappointed in. Like you're not good enough just by existing." The words came out sharp. "You practically disappeared when she walked in."

"She's my mother."

"That's not an answer."

Julia's laugh was hollow. "She terrifies me. Is that what you want to hear? My own mother terrifies me." She pulled her arm free and wrapped both arms around herself. "You've seen what she's like. Can you imagine growing up with that? Every meal was a test. Every family gathering was a competition."

"I can't imagine," Elliott said quietly. "No."

"Wolfgang's a molecular gastronomy chef in Seattle. Loads of James Beard nominations. Marcella runs a two-Michelin-star restaurant in Paris." Julia's voice cracked. "They're exactly what Mum wanted. And then there's me. The family disappointment. The one who can't make toast without setting off the fire alarm."

Elliott thought about her own family. The silence. The door closing behind her.

"At least you have a family to disappoint," she said.

Julia looked up. "What do you mean?"

"I'm no contact with mine." Elliott kept her voice flat, matter-of-fact. "Have been since I was seventeen. So that's one problem I don't have."

"Elliott…"

"Don't." She held up a hand. "I'm not telling you for sympathy. I'm telling you because it's relevant. I know what it's like to feel like you're never going to be enough. I just dealt with it differently."