Page 72 of Make Mine Sweet
Hope keeps watching me, waiting for her answer. Will I make her wedding cake? To quote August:duh. I’ll be thrilled to be part of her big day with Griffin in any way I can.
“Obviously, I will make your wedding cake for you,” I tell her.
She grins, all happy sparkles, no doubt imagining herself getting married to her favorite handyman. They’re achingly happy, and I love it for them.
A bell rings on her side of the pass-through, and she backs away into her shop. “We’ll set aside time later to talk cakes!”
I return to the front counter, the giddiness of another wedding cake order tempered by Mom’s apprehensive look. This is what makes it tough. She’s not mean. She doesn’t tell me I don’t know what I’m doing, or that she hates my cakes, or that I’m a failure. She’sworriedabout me—about all of us—and that’s so much harder to argue with.
“I was always going to make Hope’s wedding cake if she asked.” A preemptive explanation seems like the best move here. I’m going to make the cake for her engagement party, too, but Mom will figure that out when she sees it.
“I don’t have any problem with that,” Mom says.
Thebutis implied. I hate implied buts.
Wren and I share a look. Waiting.
“It’s so much extra work for you to take on,” she finally continues. “I worry about you sacrificing time with August. That’s all.”
Her “that’s all” is a mountain of guilt. Wren hung out with August so I could get everything done for the Moonlight Lodge couple’s wedding cake. He loved spending extra time with his aunt, but he wasn’t with me. Should he have been?
I want to fight back. Point out that I have to step up as August’s motherandfather. And I pay for everything. His up-to-date monitor and pump? They’re not cheap. That extra money goes a long way to cover what insurance doesn’t for his insulin and medical supplies.
And maybe I want to admit I need something for myself, too.
But Mom doesn’t need to hear it—she lived it.
“You were a single mom, too.”
“Yes.” She straightens the napkin dispenser on the counter. It’s her tell she doesn’t want to have this conversation, and I hate the sense of déjà vu it gives me. I am she. She is me. “And I relied on your grandparents with you girls. They’re gone now, so it’s just us. We have to make the best decisions we can for our family.”
Ugh. The scent of guilt in this room is overpowering. She’s doling it out, and I’m soaking it up like a sponge. I love our family and our business. I don’t ever want to jeopardize any part of it. And I hate that she thinks I might.
“I won’t do anything that would negatively impact August or our family.”
Mom squeezes my shoulder, her smile like someone offering condolences to the bereaved. “I know you won’t, sweetheart.”
We don’t say it, but we’re agreeing I won’t pursue my wedding cake business. We’ll maintain the status quo. I’ll be happy with my occasional special orders, and that’s it.
Disappointment curls and expands inside me like it’s trying to fill in all my cracks. It’s no less than I expected. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.
Her phone pings, and she startles out of her sorrowful encouragement. “That’s Hans with the fruit delivery. I’ll be in the back if you need me.”
Wren and I stare at each other a long moment after she’s gone. Trying to find the right words.
“This is some bull?—”
I shush her as if August is close enough to overhear.
She glares. “You know it is. You can’t pursue your own dreams? What about me? Can I chase mine, or is that forbidden, too?”
“What are your dreams?” Other than wanting to finally move out of the family home, Wren doesn’t ever talk like she’s missing out on something.
“I don’t know, but I’d like the freedom to have them if they ever make an appearance.” She slumps against the back counter, arms crossed over her chest. “You’re a good mom to August. It’s not fair to use him against you like this.”
“She’s trying to help me be practical.”
Wren snorts. “You don’t need help with that. Being practical is your whole deal. You need a shove into theimpractical.”
