Page 3 of Knot a Good Idea

Every conversation is stilted.

My own mother walks on eggshells around me, terrified she’ll say the wrong thing to me.

And every day, it reminds me of how much I’ve failed to cope.

I clench my fork and meet her gaze. “What?” I snap, immediately feeling horrible.

But my anger continues to pulse off me in waves, difficult to rein in.

“Nothing,” she says, giving me a patient smile.

I want to fling the fork at her.

“You have to stoplooking at me like that,” I hiss. “Like I’m incapable of functioning.”

“I never said you were?—”

“It doesn’t matter. You act like it, all the time. Juststop,please. I can’t take it anymore.”

Mom pulls her lips into a thin line. “Fine,” she says. “But Iamgoing to treat you differently, because youaredifferent. You’re not the same person you were a year ago, and that’s not a bad thing. You’ve had different life experiences?—”

I laugh bitterly, interrupting her. “I was fuckingkidnapped. You can just say it.”

“Yes, you were kidnapped andheld hostage,and it hasn’t even been a year. The therapist said the best way to communicate with you is?—”

“I don’t care what she said! Listen to whatI’msaying!” My voice increases as my emotions spill over. “I’m telling you—stop treating me like I’m made of glass. I can’t handle it anymore.”

Mom narrows her eyes and slams her fork down. “Fine. You want to talk like adults, then?”

“Yes. That’s what I’ve been telling you this entire time! For one moment, please, stop handling me with kid gloves.”

Traitorous tears prick at my eyes and my throat closes up. If I start crying now, I’ll look ridiculous.

“Okay. Then let’s start talking about the café and our budget,” Mom says.

I cringe internally, dreading where the conversation is going to lead.

“You’ve been reading the reports, correct?” she asks.

I swallow. “Yes.”

“And I’m assuming you’ve done the math already?”

“Yes.” I stare at my plate, wanting to disappear.

Of all the conversations we could have, I did not want it to be this one.

“Then you know we’re about two heads above what makes financial sense,” she continues. “And we need to figure out a way to let Devyn and someone else go.”

My eyes meet her calculated ones. “Wait. What?”

I didn’t know it was that bad. I didn’t know we would have to actuallyfireanyone.

Mom sighs. “Devyn’s payroll is the one that’s hurting us the most. She only stepped up as a manager once you left. And when you came back…we just really don’t need an assistant manager, April.”

But Devyn stepped up while I was gone. She’s become an incredible baker, and has flourished working under Skylar and me, all at nineteen years old.

“Then demote her,” I mutter. “And divide the hours between Jamie and Luke. We don’t need to fire anyone.”

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