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He clears his throat and side-eyes her too. “I have some papers to sign for the new bungalows. We can talk after your shift tomorrow.” He squeezes my shoulder lightly, then heads into Mrs. Tristan’s office.
I’m already pulling my cell from my purse when the glass door to Clua Town Hall slides closed behind me.
Time to go see my mom.
SEVEN
Kenzi
“Mom?” Changed into my denim cutoffs and a slouchy tank, I kick my flip-flops off at the front door of my childhood home and pad down the hallway. Eyes closed, I suck in a deep breath and just listen. Baking and ‘80’s soft rock. Home. My tummy untwists itself from the knots it’s been in since I decided that tonight’s the night. I’m being stupid. It’s mom. And it’s my money. It’s just a minor detail that she has to co-sign for it until I’m thirty.
“Through here, Kenz.” Mom’s voice sounds from somewhere behind the glass-paneled kitchen door. “I’m making cupcakes.”
The moment I push through the door what’s left of the tension in the base of my skull eases.
Mom glances up from her tattered recipe book. Bank manager by day, super mom by night. “Hey, pretty girl.” She smiles wide and pushes bangs the exact color of my own from her eyes leaving a smudge of flour on her forehead.
“Hey, Mom.” I pull out one of the tall wooden stools from beneath the island in the middle of mom’s chaotic kitchen. It’s always been like this—worktops piled high with cookbooks, the fridge door covered in family photos and post-its.
“What a lovely surprise.” She finishes stirring my favorite pink frosting, then offers me the spoon. “Everything okay?”
“Everything’s great.” I run my finger up the wooden spoon, then lick it clean avoiding her gaze.
She watches me quietly until I pop the spoon into one of the bowls littering the gray marble worktop, her mom radar clearly peaked. “But…?”
“Have you been to see baby Seren yet?” I blink up at her, my confidence shaking.
“We’re popping over in the morning—hence the cupcakes.”
“How’s work? Did you agree to be on that grant-board-what’s-it you were telling me about?”
“The Keep It Local Startup board? Yes, I did.” Her eyes narrow. “But that’s not what you’re here to talk about, Kenzi. Spill it.”
I narrow my eyes back. “What makes you think I have anything to spill?”
“You’re my daughter.” Her gaze drops to my hands. “And you’re fidgeting.”
“Okay, fine I have news.” I grin and reach over to wipe a blob of pink from the collar of her shirt. Even wearing an apron, she’s never quite mastered the art of staying clean when she bakes. My knee bounces, the metal footrest digging into my bare foot, but I hold her stare. “I’m going to open my own restaurant.” I flatten my lips together and wait.
Her face sobers, the smile lines around her eyes and mouth smoothing instantly. Professionally.
My insides tie themselves in a double bow. I know this look. This isn’t awell done, I’ll sign anything you wantlook. It’s the look she gave me when I told her I wasn’t going to college, and there was nothing she or Dad could say to change my mind. It’s the look she gave me when I told her I wanted to buy my condo when I was only eighteen. It’s the look she gave me last year when I asked for the money to start up my own salon.
“What about your job at the hotel?” Her blue eyes narrow, laser focused on my face as if she can will me to see reason without a mom-lecture. “It’s the first time you’ve stayed anywhere other than The Beach Hut for longer than a year.”
“I’ll quit.” I pick at the frayed edge of my shorts, that look—worry mixed with concern mixed with where-did-we-go-wrong-with-you too hard to meet head on. “I need you to sign to release the money Gran left me—all of it.”
“Mackenzie.” Mom reaches up to switch off the radio that’s lived on top of the extractor hood above the stove for as long as I can remember. “What happens if you decide you do want to go to college in the future? Restaurants are notoriously hard to turn a profit from.”
“We’ve been through this, mom, I’m not going to change my mind about college. This is what I want.”And I need you to believe I can do this. To believe in me.The words should come easily. She’s my mom. She loves me. I chew on my bottom lip. But she doesn’t believe in me.
“Kenzi, how do we know this isn’t just another of your flights of fancy?”
I shake my head. “You know it’s not. I’ve wanted my own restaurant since the first summer I helped out Gran in Santa Barbara.”
“Baby, please don’t look at me like that. The last thing I want to do is make you sad, but last year it was money to open your own beauty salon, which you changed your mind about last minute. The year before that you needed money for dog grooming equipment, which, again you backed out of last minute. Does this one at least have a name?”
I shake my head. “I haven’t decided on one yet, but that doesn’t mean… those other plans were never really what I wanted…thisis. It’s just never been viable in Clua until now, mom. The council is finally pushing Clua as a tourist destination. This is the time to get in. I’ve researched. I have plans.” I hold my hands out feeling more like fifteen-year-old me trying to get my own way than when I was actually fifteen and trying to get my own way. “I can do this. I promise.”
