How to Bake a Perfect Life - Barbara O'Neal [69]
“No problem.” I glance at my mother, widening my eyes to say, Where did you find this sunny child? Her mask cracks slightly and she grins. “Katie has an aptitude for flowers. I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“Not at all.” I frown at Cat, who is still standing there in the middle of the kitchen. “Thanks for everything, Cat,” I say pointedly. “I’ll see you later.”
He lifts a finger. “Right. So long, ladies. Enjoy your flowers.”
“I’m hungry,” Katie says. “Are there any more doughnuts?”
“No more doughnuts,” I say.
“Have a sandwich or something, sweetie,” Lily says.
Our eyes meet over her head. My mother’s eyes say, This is not finished.
“It isn’t what you think,” I say aloud, crossing my arms.
She raises an eyebrow in disappointment, and it is as devastating as it was when I was seven or fifteen or twenty. “Really.”
Katie is in the fridge, comfortably taking out sliced turkey and mustard, and I’m glad, at least, for that. “What’s not?” she says, oblivious to the undercurrents.
“Nothing, kiddo,” I say. “You want some iced tea?”
• • •
My cell phone rings later, as I am refreshing the sourdough starters. I glance at the unfamiliar number and debate whether I should answer. I’m not interested in talking to solicitors. “Hello?”
“Mom?”
“Sofia!” I head out into the backyard. Merlin follows me. “What’s up? It must be very late there.”
“It is.” Her voice sounds squashed. “Past midnight. I couldn’t sleep. How’s Katie doing?”
“She’s with your grandmother, planting flowers.”
Sofia gives a soft laugh. “Gram must love that.”
“Yeah.” For a long moment I listen to the silence, the phone pressed tightly to my ear for fear I might miss some clue. Between us, the air rushes, sounding like the ocean that divides us. “What’s on your mind, honey?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want you to worry about me, okay, because I know you have other things on your mind, but you’re the person I really need to talk to. Can you promise to just let me fall apart without needing to solve my problems?”
“Do I do that?”
“Yes. You’re a fixer. That’s your entire impulse, and it’s okay, but it’s not going to work for me right now.”
“Okay. I promise.” I rub a hand over my belly. “Fall apart.”
“I don’t know if he’s going to live. He has so many things wrong and he’s really burned. I don’t know if he’ll want to live. I don’t know what to say when he’s lying there to—” Words give out and a puff of air comes through instead. I can see her in my imagination, hand pushing through her thick dark hair, making the bangs stand up. “I don’t know what I’m calling you for.”
I take a breath and try to find the right non-fix-it words. “Because you know I love you. Because you know I’d rather hear your voice than any other on the planet. Because I’m thinking about you and it’s really good to hear from you.”
“Yeah. All those things. The funny thing is, Mom, there’s no list to make this any better. I don’t know what to do,” she says, and begins to cry. “I have to be strong. For him. For Katie. For my own baby. And I have no idea how. I don’t know if I’m that strong.”
Tears well up in my own eyes, but it’s absolutely critical that she not hear them. I blink and look up at the tops of the lilac bushes. “Close your eyes.”
“Okay.”
“Now imagine for one minute that you’re standing in the backyard with me. There’s a soft breeze, and it smells almost too much of lilacs. Somebody nearby is watering their lawn, and the sprinkler is making that tick-tick-tick sound. Milo is sitting at your feet.”
“Okay. This is good.” Her voice is still wavery but better.
“Now imagine, sweetheart, that I am taking your hand. Can you feel it?”
“Yes.”
“I’m right there with you. I’m always holding your hand. I am always here, whenever you need me. You are not alone.”
“Imagine that I’m putting