Page 75 of With a Cherry On Top

“Maybe,” she says, a grin playing on her lips. “But until then, Cole, this cherry is yours.”

CHAPTER 14

Cheer Up! It’s Pancake Time

The sizzle of batter fills the kitchen, the scent of butter thick in the air, but it does nothing to settle the anger rolling through me. My grip tightens on the spatula as I flip a pancake, jaw clenched so hard it aches.

Josie was supposed to see Sadie today. Weagreedwe’d go visit, that we’d spend time together—because that’s what our kid needs. Stability. A mother who shows up.

After she kept her promise to call every day, I let myself believe I could trust her.

And then, two hours before we were supposed to leave, a nurse called.

“Josie isn’t up for visitors today,” he’d said.

That was it. That was the explanation. When I pressed for more, all I got was “She’s having a bad day.”

A bad day.

Does she know how many bad days I’ve had over the last six months? How many times I wanted to shut down, crawl into bed, pretend the world didn’t exist? But I didn’t. Because you don’t get to tap out when you’re a parent. You don’t get to decide you’re not up for it.

I meant to bring up the Mother’s Day recital with her today. I figured I might have a better shot if I didn’t try on the phone, and now that’s gone to hell too.

Sadie was inconsolable, of course. Tears, shoulders shaking, endless questions I didn’t have the answers to. Eventually, she settled when I promised to make pancakes, but this is temporary. It’s a distraction, not a fix.

“No, not like that. You said to split it into three, right?” A pause. “Ugh, mine looks dumb.”

I frown, lowering the spatula. That doesn’t sound like Sadie talking to the cat. That sounds like she’s...answering someone.

I turn off the burner and step toward the living room, wiping my hands on a dish towel. “Sadie, who are you?—”

I stop dead in my tracks.

She’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, Mollie draped across her lap, and in her small hands is—my phone, pressed right up to her ear.

“Sadie? What are you doing?”

She barely glances up, as if this is something she does every day. “Talking to Charlotte.”

“You—what?”

“I called her.” She tugs at a section of her hair, frowning. “I wanted to learn how to braid.”

A heavy breath pushes through my nose. “Sadie,” I say, my voice much sharper this time. “You took my phone without asking?”

She hesitates now, sensing that she might be in trouble. “...Yeah.”

“And made a phone call?”

She shrinks into the couch, her grip tightening on Mollie. “I just wanted help.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, a mix of frustration and mortification creeping up my spine. I pluck the phone from herhands before she can protest, bringing it to my ear. “Charlotte, hi. I’m so sorry about this. Trust me, I had no idea?—”

“Relax, Chef. I like talking to your daughter.”

Damn it. We spent a couple of hours texting-slash-talking last night, and hearing her voice now feels like finding the missing piece of a song stuck in your head.

“Apparently you’re a poor braider, huh?”

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