“I was in the flow, and time got away from me,” she said as she slid into the booth across the table from me.
I just nodded.
“Okay, what’s wrong?” Seraphina tucked a lock of her red hair behind one ear and peered at me.
“I think you know.”
“I do?”
“Where were you Thursday evening? Around seven, let’s say.”
She let out a long sigh, glancing down at the table. “Oh, that.”
“How did you think it was okay to take her there without telling me? Or asking me?”
She put her hands up, clearly on the defensive. “I didn’t want to. But she begged me to take her. I can’t resist her. You know that.”
“You’re too soft. On all of the kids.”
“Maybe.”
“You are,” I said. “And this time it wasn’t saying yes to ice cream. I’m mad.”
“I can see that.”
“And?” I waited for the apology. Apparently, she wasn’t as quick to mea culpa as Dorian Flynn.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you …”
“But?” I waited.
“But I’m not sorry. She really opened up to me on the way home, telling me all about the way it was run and how she’d felt like everyone there understood her. You cannot tell me that’s a bad thing.”
Heat rose to my cheeks. Why had Annie shared that with Seraphina and not her own mother?
You know why.
That wicked voice that lived in my gut, poking holes in the lining of my stomach, whispered in my ear.
You only see what you want to see.
“She’s not going back,” I said.
“There’s a teen group. She really wants to go, and I think you should let her.”
“Since when did you start telling me how to parent?” I asked.
“I’m simply giving you my opinion,” Seraphina said, looking hurt.
A young server with a name tag that read Melanie came by to take our drink and lunch orders.
“How’s Hunter?” Melanie asked Seraphina.
“He’s very well,” Seraphina said. “In fact, he’s in Nashville this week, working on some songs with some friends of his.”
“We miss him around here,” Melanie said. “But it’s great to hear he’s living his best life. He deserves it.”
“That’s kind of you, thank you,” Seraphina said. “I’ll tell him you said that.”
