Page 155 of Never Let You Go

forty-five

Christopher

Mother’s Day always wraps up early at the bakery, and today is no exception. The customers who aren’t taking their mothers out swing by early morning, and we sell out before noon. I give Willow the rest of the day off and turn our sign to Closed.

I linger in the darkened bakehouse, enjoying the quiet moment. The door to the kitchen is open, the rectangle of light enough to light my steps.

“Daddy would never let me make cake like that. Not a clocking chance,” I hear Skye pipe up, and I wonder what the hell she’s talking about, so I stop in my tracks and listen.

“And that’s why we have Kids’ Day,” Alexandra answers. “So you can do what you want.”

“How was your daddy?” Skye asks out of the blue. Count on her for that.

“I never knew him,” Alexandra says after a beat.

“So, you never had one.”

“I guess you can say that.”

“Daddy says a parent is the person who loves you more than themselves. Like, they could die for you.” Count on my kid to zero in right where it hurts. After all these years, Alexandra still feels guilty about her mother’s passing, and sure enough, she sniffles.

“I suppose that’s true,” Alexandra whispers, her voice broken.

I hear some shuffling, as if they’re hugging. I feel bad for eavesdropping, but this is stronger than me. And I don’t want to break their moment.

“Don’t cry,” Skye whispers back. “I love you. We all love you.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart.”

“When the red light is off, we can put the cake in the oven,” Alexandra says, her voice steadier. “Now, let’s measure all this.”

Utensils clank, and Skye asks, “Remember a loooong time ago, when I asked you if you were going to marry my daddy?”

My breathing halts as I tense.

Alexandra chuckles. “I do. It was my first night here.”

Skye lets out a big sigh. “Well. Now, I wish you could stay and marry my daddy.”

“Awww. Honey,” Alexandra answers after a beat, and is it my imagination? Her voice sounds a little broken.

I’m shaken, for sure.

“It’s okay,” Skye continues. “I know you have to go back to New York, and we’ll still be friends. But… he’ll be sad when you leave. And me too.”

There goes my grand plan for protecting Skye from heartbreak.

“Your daddy is strong. And so are you. We’ll all be fine,” Alexandra says, her voice catching again.

I swipe under my eyes, and Alexandra clears her throat. “Okay, ready?” she says. “Let’s make this cake.”

I leave the baking house as if I’d heard nothing, and a bundle of new emotions takes over while I’m still dealing with what I just heard.

Skye is wrapped up in a kid-size apron I’ve never seen, kneeling on a kitchen chair, sleeves rolled up. On the table, there’s a bottle of milk, some oil, an egg… and cake mix.

That’s right.

Cake mix. In my own home.

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