“We can still make tea sandwiches,” I say.
“Jasmine, I—”
“Wait, hold on,” I insist, typing the ingredients into the search bar on TikTok. I choose the first video of a lady silently making strawberry shortcake sandwiches and show it to my mom. “Look, these are perfect.”
She squints at the screen. “That looks very sweet… and unhealthy,” she says, leaning on the counter.
“And delicious,” I say. Mom smiles and I continue. “Come on, it’s something. You used to love making stuff up.”
“We have more fruit too, so we can make a tray for the boring, healthy people,” I say, looking at her for a sign of laughter. She doesn’t laugh, but I see a hint of a smile growing a little bigger.
“This might be a really bad idea, Jasmine,” she says, picking up the box of waffles.
“Maybe,” I say with a shrug. “But we’re not the giving up type, right?”
My mom grabs my shoulder and pulls me in for a hug. “No, Jasmine Cooper, we sure are not. Thank you for the reminder.”
I linger in her arms for a bit, trying to remember the last time we had a moment like this. It doesn’t come to me right away and I imagine that’s because it’s been so long.
She sets a timer on her phone and asks Siri to play some jazz. I watch her mood shift as she places the waffles on a baking tray. “Now start that over and get to cutting up those strawberries. I’ve got a book club to host.”
The doorbell rings just as we’re putting the last waffle top on our strawberry shortcake–ish sandwiches. My mom shoots me a nervous look.
“Got it!” Kayla shouts from the top of the stairs. She got home a few minutes ago.
“I’ll get it, Kayla,” my mom calls back.
“I’ll finish setting the table, Mom,” I say, placing the last sandwich on the crystal platter.
“Thanks, honey. Just try not to be offended if no one eats any,” she says with genuine concern before leaving the kitchen.I hope she takes her own advice, since it sounds like that would bother her more than it would me.
Kayla bounces in as I set the platter on the sunroom table. “Ohh, this looks so cool,” she says, pointing to the centerpiece of Tiffany boxes.
My mom saved them from gifts Travis gave her and was happy they could come in handy. On either side, she’s placed vases of white roses she bought yesterday at the caterer’s request.
“She’s worried people are gonna hate the food,” I say. Everything is so serious here, like people with money are allergic to imagination. My mom would probably be the queen of Lorial if she made something like this for a girls’ night.
“They hate everything,” Kayla says, shrugging it off and straightening out a chair on the other side of the table.
I set the sandwiches to the side and pull the platter of cut fruit up to the front.
Just as Kayla heads back upstairs, my mom leads a line of people through the kitchen. I was so focused on helping out that I forgot this would be my first time meeting some of them. I recognize Alice’s mom from the family pictures hanging in their hallways. She is a lot taller than my mom and looks even more like her daughter in person.
“Ahh, there’s the sister that Alice keeps going on about. Hi there,” Alice’s mom says as soon as she walks in.
“Hi, nice to meet you,” I say politely.
“And so well-behaved.” She nods at my mom in approval. My mom smiles.
Kenny’s mom comes in next. “Hi again!”
Deanna’s mom walks in with two other women and hands a bag to my mom.
“What is this, Dianne?” my mom asks, surprised.
“A gift for the host,” Dianne says. “Open it later.”
My mom beams, and I’m happy she’s finally relaxing. “You’re free now,” she jokes, noticing my discomfort.
