and asking me how I’m doing. When I was little and Comfort Food was new, she would always say, “Hey, good looking! What you got cooking?” every time she came home from working here.
Back then, I loved when she said that to me. Now when she asks what I’m making, all I feel is anxious. I want these cookies to be as wonderful as they can be so my parents’ restaurant does better business, but so far, all they’ve attracted are over-the-top food bloggers who write long-winded posts that don’t get to the point until ten paragraphs in. I can’t imagine most people are that patient to wade through all that chatter to find out about my cookies, even if they do include pictures that make them appear even better than they do in person.
I look back at her and give a smile I know she needs to see. “Just a little lace cookie thing I wanted to try. Chocolate shortbread cookies with lace designs on top. Daddy already took them out to the case if you want to see them.”
Her blue eyes get big, lighting up at my description. “Oooooh, that sounds incredible! I’m going to go take a look right now. Do you need anything, honey?”
“No, I’m good, Mom. Thanks.”
Hearing I’m fine, she runs off to see my latest creations. I hope she doesn’t notice how empty the restaurant looks today and focuses only on the cookies.
No sooner does she leave to go out front, she returns with one of the cookies in her hand. “You could be working somewhere incredible, honey. That’s how good this is. I wish you’d consider it. Your talents are going to waste here at the diner.”
“I’m not interested, Mom. I do this because it makes me happy. I like working here with you and Daddy.”
She takes another bite and gives me a sigh like she’s in heaven with how good it tastes. “I know, but you’re young. You could be out working at somewhere great and meeting people instead of staying in this kitchen every day.”
I glance over at the cook at the grill and give him a smile. “I’m sure Hector loves to hear you say that.”
A hint of regret fills my mother’s eyes. “He knows what I mean.” Turning toward him, she yells across the kitchen, “You know I meant no harm, right, Hector?”
My mother couldn’t willingly hurt a soul, so he just nods and smiles. He has no interest in getting involved in this conversation. I don’t really want to have it either. It seems like lately, that’s all my mother wants to talk about with me.
Working somewhere great and meeting new people. I know what she means, even if she doesn’t say it.
She means meeting men.
My mother is nothing if not old-fashioned. The time period the diner is meant to simulate would have fit her perfectly. That she was born long after the fifties always amazes me, especially when she gets talking about how I should find a nice young man and settle down.
Settle down? I’m twenty-four, for God’s sake.
“Did you hear anything I said, Hailey?” she asks, pulling me from the thought of my life ending before it actually gets started.
I sheepishly shake my head. “No, sorry. I was off in my own head thinking about this macaroon I might want to make,” I lie.
“Oh, that sounds delightful. Now as to what I was saying.”
Damn. I hoped the macaroon idea would have changed the subject. No such luck.
“What do you think about the young men your father told me he introduced you to today?” she asks, hope filling her eyes like it always does when she mentions me meeting that elusive fine young man she wishes for me.
“You sure did get a lot of talking done in the few seconds you were out front, Mom,” I say as I begin to set up my area to make some more desserts, already so done with this conversation about those guys from earlier.
Should it be cookies or something else? I saw a lemon tartelette that could be great for a beautiful spring day. Do I have what I need? If not, I’ll happily run out so I don’t have to stay here in this kitchen and talk about this subject that seems so top of mind for my mother.
“He called me on the phone and told me. Now what did you think of them? He said they raved about today’s cookie. He also said they both seemed to be