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He paused. “I suppose we didn’t like each other that much.”
“Not a good basis for a long, happy relationship.” She slid out of his arms and wandered naked to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. She drank it looking at the reflection of the moon on the water. “Do you know how weird this is?”
“What exactly?”
“Me, being naked with you, telling you everything. Being one hundred percent inner Samantha. I don’t do that.” But apparently she did do that.
So maybe he was right. Maybe change was possible.
Brave New You.
She filled another glass and took it back to him. “Unbelievable.”
“Are we still talking about you being naked?”
“No. We’re talking about the fact that I think I may actually have to read my mother’s book.”
Ella
“This is the first time I’ve seen you baking.” Ella sat at the kitchen table as her mother and Tab sifted flour into a large bowl, their movements uncoordinated and uneven.
“And it may be the last,” Gayle said, “because although the idea of baking is comforting, the truth is I don’t have Mary’s skills.”
“But you baked those delicious gingerbread men when we visited you in Manhattan, and Tab iced them.”
“Mmm. Truth?” Gayle glanced at her. “I made two batches that I threw away before I finally managed to produce something edible. Baking was something I did with my mother, and that was a long time ago. I never flew solo. I’m not pretending to be good at it.”
And no one watching her would have had reason to argue with her. She was floundering in the unfamiliar, every maternal muscle straining as she tried to be the best grandmother possible. There was something endearing about the way she gripped the sieve, as if unsure whether it should be held like a weapon or a utensil.
This was a new version of her mother. Not just being in the kitchen, but being unsure of herself. Her mother was always sure.
“It’s just a question of following a recipe.” Mary tactfully wiped up some of the flour that had landed everywhere other than the bowl. “And if you’re cooking with children, it’s about keeping it fun and simple. The end result isn’t important.”
Knowing what a perfectionist her daughter was, Ella could have pointed out that the end result probably would turn out to be important, but she didn’t. It turned out Tab had definitely inherited some of her grandmother’s characteristics.
All that mattered was that they were all doing this together. Laughing. Exchanging anecdotes, creating memories. Remember that Christmas in Scotland when we baked with Nanna?
Outside the temperature had dropped and it was snowing. The mountains were no longer visible through the window, obscured by swirling flakes of white.
But there was no chance of her active, inquisitive daughter being bored.
Here in the warm, cinnamon-scented fug of the kitchen, there was plenty to entertain and distract.
It was a scene straight out of one of Ella’s “family fantasies,” as Samantha called them. Still it felt strange. Her world felt bigger than it had a few weeks ago. It had been the three of them, and Samantha. Now the walls had expanded to include her mother. The long and frank discussion they’d ha
d the night before had resulted in a sense of connection she’d never felt before. She no longer felt watchful and tense. She was no longer braced for her mother to say the wrong thing, but she knew that if that moment came, then they’d handle it. They’d talked until the early hours, holding nothing back. Not parent and child, but two women. Adults. And Ella had discovered that understanding a person, knowing them and the path they’d walked, changed everything.
Mary was whisking egg whites for a more complex recipe, while supervising the others. “You’re doing fine there. Might want to add a spoonful more flour to compensate for what’s on the table.” Like a conductor bringing together a large orchestra, she coordinated tasks. She was the king of the kitchen, and Gayle obviously thought so, too.
“Don’t devalue your own skills, Mary. You have a special gift. And we’re going to use that. As soon as Samantha is here, we’re going to talk to her about it. Where is she?” Gayle sliced butter into the mixture. “It’s unlike her to sleep this late. Do you think we should check? I’m a little concerned about her.” She glanced at Ella, the only other person in the room who knew there might be a reason to be concerned.
“No.” Ella knew for a fact that her sister wasn’t in her room, and she knew that because she’d looked in on her in the night. The bed had been undisturbed, and Ella had paused for a moment and then rumpled it, just in case their mother happened to decide on a heart-to-heart in the middle of the night.
“She’s been working hard.” She covered up and deflected, the way her sister always had for her, and she realized that her relationship with her mother wasn’t the only thing that had changed. Samantha had always protected her and fought her battles, but now she was the one protecting Samantha. And she was going to be fighting her own battles from now on.
She had a feeling that her new sense of strength would have pleased her mother.
When Samantha had stumbled from the room the night before, Ella had been worried about her. She’d been torn between her mother and her sister. She’d chosen her mother, but doing so had made her feel as if she was letting her sister down, and she’d felt nothing but relief when the text had arrived from Samantha, telling her that she was working.
