Page 94 of The Marriage Mistake

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Caroline grumbled. “They’re like mold.”

I laughed and nodded at the cashier. “We’ll have one pot of black tea, one hot chocolate, and half a dozen assorted donuts. Oh, and one of those cinnamon rolls too. And maybe a loaf of that sourdough.” I glanced at Darby. “I think we’re out of bread.”

Was I eating my feelings? Sure. But Caroline’s donuts were really good, and I was an adult with a good job who could afford to buy too many pastries when I needed to eat my feelings.

“Sure,” the cashier chirped. “What size for the hot chocolate?”

I looked at Darby. Darby looked at me. “Large?” she said hopefully.

Shrugging, I said, “Whatever you want.”

Darby gave me a tiny, pleased smile, and we stood to the side while they prepared our order. I was pretty sure I was modeling unhealthy coping mechanisms, but I didn’t care. I really wanted a donut. I tucked the bread into my bag and nodded my thanks at the box of pastries, and then we claimed a table in the front corner of the space to enjoy our treats.

The first sip of my tea was divine. I wiggled my fingers over the box of donuts and chose a Boston cream. Darby went for classic chocolate glazed. We each took a bite and looked at each other with bright eyes. Yum. Darby’s shoulders eased, and I waited until she leaned back in her chair with a satisfied groan before I spoke. Half the donuts were gone, and our drinks were down to the dregs.

“Tell me about the piano thing,” I said. I couldn’t solve the mystery of who had hired Spider, but maybe I could solve this.

Darby scowled. “It’s boring.”

“But your dad wants you to play?”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s so annoying about it. But he makes me do it, and it just makes me hate it more.”

“Did you try speaking to him?”

“He wouldn’t listen!”

I nodded.

She looked at me, blue-eyed and wounded. She reminded me so much of myself. “I don’t want to play piano anymore, Ember.”

“Why not?”

“I never wanted to! I’m not that good at it, and I have to spend so much time practicing when I could be doing other things. He makes me do all these theory tests, and they’re so boring and hard.”

I wanted to give Jack the benefit of the doubt, so I said, “Sometimes doing hard things is worth it.”

“Not this,” she answered, vehement. “I like basketball and that’s hard. I run cross-country and that’s really hard. I even like math now that it makes a little more sense, and you know how hard that was for me.”

She was right. I did know. I’d spent hours sitting at that kitchen table beside her while she struggled through algebra.

“Well,” I said slowly, pursing my lips, “you don’t have to play piano if you don’t want to.” She squinted at me, and I shrugged. “You’re old enough to make some decisions for yourself.” When I was thirteen, I would’ve killed for a little agency over my own life. I’d buried myself in schoolwork and chased the perfect report card just to feel like I could control something—and to avoid the barrage of criticism that would come my way if I slipped. It had been a crushing, thankless amount of pressure. It had made me retreat into myself and push people away when I should have been making friends and learning how to interact with people. Sure, a perfect GPA had gotten me into college with a partial scholarship. Now I had a good job. But what else did I have? A clean apartment and a decent emergency fund?

Until I’d come to Marswood Harbor, I hadn’t even had a single friend. My grand plan had been to give a middle finger to my dead father by taking his money. How pathetic was that? What kind of motivation was that for a life?

It hadn’t been happiness, or fulfillment, or family, or community, or good of any kind. I’d just wanted to have one single win over the old man who’d made my childhood a lonely, isolated hell.

He was gone now. Why did he still have so much control over my life?

Darby had her face mashed up against her hand as she slumped over the table. She sighed. “My dad will lose it if I refuse to play.”

“Maybe it’s time he learns that you’re growing up and you have a mind of your own,” I told her.

The door to the bakery opened, and in shuffled Ivan Popov, the antiques dealer. His eyes cut to me and Darby, and he scowled. “Left you alone to take care of his kid, did he?” He scoffed. “I’m not surprised. That man will do anything to avoid doing what’s right.”

I straightened. I’d had just about enough of this old man. I’d never done a thing to him, and he’d been nothing but rude to me. Narrowing my eyes, I asked, “Who peed in your cereal this morning?”

Darby snorted.