Confessions from the Quilting Circle - Maisey Yates Page 0,29

unearned wisdom in her voice that seemed innate to teenagers, “you’re going to need a gluten-free option for dessert.”

“I’ve known about this new initiative for five minutes and it’s already a chore.”

“It’ll be fun,” Emma said. “Honing your creativity.”

“My creativity is a finely pointed blade, child,” Anna said. “I don’t need to hone it with subpar baked goods.”

There was laughter filling the kitchen, and it reminded Anna of simpler times. Happier times. Something she would have said couldn’t happen on that terrible day when everything had changed. That this quickly they would get back to talking, to laughing. To being them.

“Can I just supervise?” Rachel asked. “Because all of this sounds like it’s above my pay grade.”

“I’ll supervise you,” Anna said. “I’ll tell you what you’re doing wrong.”

“That doesn’t sound very fun.”

“It will be lots of fun. For me.”

Anna rolled out the crust for the pies they were making and placed them in the pie plates. Emma and Rachel mixed together the fillings.

“So does everyone get surprise-pie hour instead of wine-and-cheese hour tomorrow?” Rachel asked.

“I was thinking,” Wendy said. “It isn’t a bad thing to have surprise pie.”

“Unless it’s Adam’s pie,” Emma said.

Rachel was laughing, and wiped a swipe of flour from her cheek, which only added more. “Yes. And can you imagine if you were going to work at the diner you would have to be around his subpar food all the time.”

Emma frowned. “Why would I work at the diner?”

Rachel sputtered and shook her head, blowing a strand of red hair out of her eyes. “It’s just... He mentioned to me that he was looking for someone. And he asked me if you would be interested. I told him no.”

Emma frowned. “You didn’t ask me.”

“You have a job here. And we’re... We’re adding to the menu.”

“But you can’t just tell him no. It’s up to me.”

“Adam asked me if I thought you would be interested. He didn’t ask you. And, apparently, he could’ve asked you that morning when you came in, which you did not tell me you were doing. You told me you had an early class.”

Anna recognized that maternal tone. Shock layered with deadly disappointment. She’d heard it often enough when she’d been around Emma’s age.

“I didn’t realize omitting that I’d stopped at the diner for a doughnut was a cardinal sin. I didn’t think that it was relevant. I did have an early class.” She also recognized that answer back. And knew Emma didn’t realize what danger she was in.

“You just normally tell me things.”

“It wasn’t something that I needed to tell you. I decided to stop for a doughnut. It’s not like I decided to stop for some weed.”

“Well, the problem is you might have, and if you’re not telling me things—”

“The bridge from doughnuts to drugs is a pretty long one, Mom. I wouldn’t get paranoid.”

“My job is to be paranoid. And I didn’t think that taking a job at the diner was the right thing for you. Not right now.”

“But that’s not your decision.”

“Yes,” Rachel said, her hands buried in a bowl of blackberries. “It is my decision to make. Right now it is. You still live here. You’re not eighteen yet. It’s not up to you.”

Emma growled and stalked out of the room. A few minutes later Anna heard the front door slam.

Rachel sighed and pulled her hands out of the bowl. “I made a mess of that.” Her hands were stained with juice. She stared at them, hopeless, and Anna had the feeling it had nothing to do with the berry juice at all.

She felt for Rachel, she did. But she recognized herself in Emma. Emma wanted something more, something different. Anna had wanted the same in that summer of sneaking out and smoking cigarettes. The one before she’d seen how she’d broken her mother’s heart and had decided that Thomas could be the right change.

If Rachel didn’t let Emma go, Emma might turn into Anna. And there was nothing Anna wanted less for her niece.

“It’s not that big of a deal if she wants to work somewhere else, is it?”

“That’s not the point,” Rachel said.

“It’s not,” Wendy said, backing Rachel up, of course. “When you have children, it’s your job to set the boundaries that you want them inside of. It doesn’t matter if it makes sense to them. If she wants Emma here, that’s her decision.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t,” Anna said. “But you can’t force Emma to be here. It’s not like that’s going to make it