Page 20 of Mom Com

“This isn’t about my father,” I say, barely above a whisper.

“You’re wrong, Maddi,” he says gently. “That’s exactly what this is about.” His voice is clear where mine is garbled.

“I’m not moving back here, Wilder. Not in a million years,” I say, intending my tone to be firm, but it comes out tinted with panic. I take a breath, collecting myself. “If you refuse to buy it, I guess you’ll just have to send my share of the profits to California.”

“Sorry, but I can’t do that,” he says, his eyebrows momentarily pinching like something I said was off.

Death by pastry knife is now looking like a decent solution. “You’d actually refuse—”

“Not me,” he says, and opens his mouth. But there’s a lag before his words follow like he doesn’t know how to deliver this next part. “I think...” he starts reluctantly, “that you might want to read the rest of your father’s will.”

My frustration instantly turns to sweat-laden anxiety. I almost ask him to explain but can’t seem to get past my own pride and admit that he’s right that I didn’t read it.

Eyes locked, we stand there for a long moment at an impasse, neither of us sure what to say. And the longer the silence stretches, the more embarrassed I become.

“Did you know it was my grandmother who taught me to bake, Madeline?” my father says, turning the pages of recipes encased in plastic sleeves.

I push a wooden stool to the counter and step onto it so I don’t have to stand on my toes to see the ladyfingers he’s soaking in rum and coffee.

“She used to watch me while Mom was out. And while I wasn’t a loud child, I was sensationally curious. Gram used to say she couldn’t leave me alone for ten minutes without me tangling all her yarn into a giant ball. So, in an act of self-preservation, she brought me into the kitchen one day. She said, ‘Charlie, today we’re going to create an entirely new flavor of scone for your grandfather’s bakery, one the world has never heard of. And I need you to help design it.’”

I stare up at my dad. “What did you make?”

He smiles. “Orange and chocolate—not a new invention by any means, but new for me, which I suppose was the point. And once she got me measuring and mixing, I got the baking bug.” He points to the recipe book, to one of the pages written in neat loopy cursive. “See here, this is the recipe we made up that day.”

I run my fingertips over the numbered instructions, thrilled by the idea of creating new recipes that might also be in this book one day.

I break eye contact with Wilder. “I have to go check on Spence,” I say.

He starts to say something, but I’m already pushing through the door into the front of the bakery, putting on my mom mask, and building a big fucking wall between me and everything that just happened in that kitchen.

CHAPTER8

Off like a Herd of Turtle Bars—

layers of nougat, pecans, chocolate, and caramel so sticky it feels like you’re stuck

In direct contrast to my frustration with Wilder and my hellish anxiety over Dad’s will, Haverberry Square is serene—frosted shrubberies surrounding a stone gazebo strewn with twinkle lights and red velvet ribbons twirling up its columns. On the south side of the lawn is a giant tree decked in matching reds and whites. Likewise, the whimsical menorah sculpture is topped with bulbs that imitate flickering candles. The only thing that mars the bay-windowed shops with Victorian arches is the ubiquitous Buenaventura family logo—a calligraphy-inspired B that I used to think was fancy but now reminds me of boobs with ungodly large nipples. And while every raw nerve in my body is telling me to jump into my car and race home to find out what that addendum says, Spence is lit up like the neon singing Santa on the roof of Christmas Barn, and I simply cannot drag him away. He shoves the last bite of his maritozzo into his mouth—a sweet brioche bun stuffed with whipped cream and drizzled with salted caramel, an addition I made to my dad’s recipe when I was ten, convinced I was onto something special.

“No way,” Spence says, pointing at the toy store with giant stuffed animals and an impossibly elaborate Lego sculpture. “Do you even see that castle? It must have like five thousand pieces.”

I hold his hand as he drags me across the square toward the toy store, guiding us both inside with enthusiasm. As we enter, I sneak a peek at the Lego castle price, and it reads a whopping $389on sale. My heart constricts, struck once again by the knowledge that I don’t have the money to buy it. It’s not that he needs it. No one needs an expensive toy; it’s my lack of freedom surrounding money, the constant voice in the back of my mind that tells me something is wrong and that I’m the only one who can fix it.

I glance out the window and across the square at the bakery, jaw clenched, when I feel a tap on my elbow and spin so fast, I nearly take down the display.

“Maddi!” Kate says with a bright voice, and my stomach plummets. “You remember Lyndsay, right?” Kate gestures to a woman with a very pregnant belly and freckles on her pale cheeks.

My first thought is, I wish I didn’t. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with her, it’s that no matter how old or young Haverberry residents are—if they were here while I was growing up thenyesI know them, their parents, and the goddamn color of the trim on their houses. Haverberry is an earworm of the highest regard.

“Of course,” I reply, trying my best not to look like I want to run. I gesture at Lyndsay’s belly. “And congrats.”

Lyndsay touches her stomach lovingly. “My first,” she says. “I’m so excited. And well, a little nervous about birth.”

Kate, whose makeup is both precise and tasteful and whose clothes are the hallmark of wealthy preps everywhere, turns in my direction. “How was it for you, Maddi?” she asks. “It must have been difficult being in California all by yourself.”

My eyes flit to Spence, who’s enthralled with a worktable filled with the sand version of slime.

I manage a smile. “Truthfully, I think it’s challenging no matter where you are or who you’re with. But also, I don’t think I’ve ever had an experience that proved my own strength in such a dramatic way. I kinda felt like a superhero... if superheroes have hemorrhoids and wear mesh underwear over diaper pads, that is.”