“I cannot bake another cookie,” I moaned, wiping my hands on my jeans and sinking into the single hard chair Mom kept in the kitchen at The Muffin Tin. “I don’t know how you do this all day every day.”
Mom smiled at me and turned back to the batter she was beating in the standing mixer. “It’s my calling,” she said, and I knew she was right. Baking and running The Tin made my mother happy, and I was glad. She deserved to be happy.
The atmosphere in the back had improved slightly—we’d learned that morning that Filene Easter had died in her sleep a few days ago, and for the first part of the day, it was hard to believe. I’d just seen her—she’d sat in Mom’s shop and drank tea!
“She was very old,” Mom had said, consoling us both as we tried not to cry over the loss of one of the town’s most entertaining matriarchs. Mom took it harder than I did—Mrs. Easter came into the Tin often. But I’d just seen her, had just talked with her. Her and Michael Tucker. For some reason, that day had lodged in my mind in a strange way, as if it held some kind of meaning I didn’t understand.
But most of my life lately seemed to be just a collection of unfortunate events, none of them meant anything, I guessed. And Mom was right, Mrs. Easter was very old. We’d been told that she died peacefully in her sleep, and that her housekeeper had found her in bed the following morning—that she was even smiling.
It made me glad to hear that she’d died happy. Maybe she’d been in the midst of a wonderful dream. I hoped so.
My little sister Amberlynn turned from a bowl of cookie dough. She was a high school teacher, but Fridays were often early release days, and today she’d had time to come to the cafe after her meetings. “You should have seen Mom the week they had to close the place to get all the furniture off the ceiling. Mom not baking is like having a rabid Tasmanian Devil around.”
“Oh, you,” Mom said, swatting at my sister’s shoulder.
“Well, I wish I had your energy,” I said. “Maybe I could figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do with my life.”
Mom stopped bustling around and looked at me, undoubtedly wondering if I was finally going to tell her what had brought me home, broken and crying at thirty-five, when she’d believed I had it all.
I did have it all. Or at least I thought I did.
The kick-ass career in finance.
The swanky co-op apartment overlooking the Hudson.
The hot musician boyfriend. (Not the rock star kind, if you’re wondering. Luke was a violinist.)
An eight-year relationship that seemed destined for permanence.
It’s crazy how one person in a relationship can believe it’s one thing while the other can see something completely different.
Because clearly, one person was an idiot. And the other person was busy planning a whole separate life.
Mom sighed after waiting a few minutes for me to spill, and said, “It will all work out, Addie. You’re a strong, smart girl.” And then she bustled right back out to the front counter, leaving the silver kitchen door swinging in her wake.
“Are you ever going to tell us what happened?” Amberlynn asked.
“Maybe not,” I said. “I just don’t want to even hear myself saying it all—I know it’s real. I know it’s over. But I just feel like such a fool about it.”
“Still in the denial phase, then,” my little sister quipped, sliding a tray of cookies into the oven. “Let me guess.” She leaned against one of the work tables, bracing her hands behind her as she looked at me. “So it’s over with you and Luke. And based on your weepy eyes and general ‘poor me’ attitude, I’m guessing he ended it.”
Ouch.
“And . . .” She drew this word out, pulling her lip between her teeth in thought. “I’m guessing you quit your job or something, since you don’t seem in a hurry to get back. Considering you haven’t even visited in three years because of that job, that much is pretty clear.”
Another direct hit.
“So . . .” Whatever she was going to say next was interrupted by the ringing of the shop phone, which she swung around and answered, her voice bright and cheery. “Muffin Tin.”
“Oh,” she said then, her eyes falling on me and then narrowing. “Yes,