She glances at the counter, where one of her employees is loadinga tray with half a dozen kinds of pastries. “I have a surprise for you. I was going to bring them over later.”
She hurries back to the kitchen while the employee drops off our breakfast. Dad gives me first pick. I take a pain au chocolat, even though, tragically, it doesn’t look very appetizing. Dad chooses a cherry Danish.
“Ta-da,” Caroline says with a flourish as she sets down a plate piled with pop tarts, iced in warm, bright colors. Orange. Yellow. Pink. “I’ve been meaning to add them to the menu for a while. In honor of you, of course.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “Wow. Thanks.”
“Because of the bakery in Carmel,” Caroline adds, frowning at my lack of enthusiasm. “You still like them, right?”
“I love them.” I look up, plastering a smile on my face. It’s not her fault; she doesn’t know that Jack made these for me first. I choose a yellow one, unsurprised by the lemon curd filling. “Oh, wow, this is delicious.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Totally.” I force myself to take another bite. “You should definitely put these on the menu.”
Dad tastes one too, complimenting Caroline effusively. The pop tart is technically perfect, after all. Flaky and warm, the right balance of buttery and sweet.
It just isn’t Jack’s.
He gave me his recipe, but I doubt I’ll ever make them. They won’t be the same, just like Caroline’s aren’t the same. Something is missing. A hint of magic.
Or maybe what’s missing is him.
Eventually, Caroline goes back to work, and it’s just me and Dad, sitting in silence. He clears his throat, sitting back in his chair. I brace myself under his intense gaze.
“Poppy, darling,” he says eventually. “I need to apologize.”
“Oh.”
Somehow, I wasn’t expecting him to just come out with it. I’m not sure I’ve ever gotten an apology from my father. Come to think of it, I’m not sure I’ve ever heard him apologize toanyone.
“Are you sick?” I blurt.
“Sick?”
“You don’t normally... act like this.”
Dad wipes his mouth with a paper napkin, huffing out a breath. “No, honey. I’m healthy. This isn’t about that. This is about the fact I’m proud of you, and I’m sorry for making it seem like I wasn’t.”
“Oh,” I say warily.
“I love you. I’m grateful that you complete our family.” He shakes his head. “Every time I’ve pushed you, it’s come from a place of love and concern. But I understand now that I’ve done more harm than good.”
“I know you wish I was more like Julia.”
“No,” he says, a note of urgency in his tone. “Your mother and I don’t want that.”
“But she’s always been so perfect.”
“She’s her. You’re you. And I’ll admit that I haven’t always understood you as well as I would have liked.”
“I am who I am, Dad. I can’t change.”
“And I don’t want you to change.” He takes a long sip of coffee, as if thinking through what to say next. “Jack gave me this push, you know. Informed me quite sternly that I owed you an apology.”
“He did?”
“I’m sorry I asked him to keep me updated about you.”
