Page 11 of It's in the Contract
“No thank you, Suzy.” Mom practically chokes on the words. She sighs. “Callie, you know how I feel about this. This baking habit of yours needs to stop. When my clients come over for a personal training and smell brownies baking, what are they going to think? It’s torture, for them and for me.”
My heart sinks into the floor, and the stupid tears that have been popping up all day rise to my eyes again. I blink rapidly. Not in front of Mom. “But Mom—I . . . I had a horrible day. And baking helps me feel better. I—I love it, and?—”
I don’t get to finish, to say what I want to say.I want to keep doing this. Maybe even make it my career.
Suzy gets down off the barstool to rub Butter’s belly, giving me and Mom some space.
Mom crosses her arms. “Life is hard, Cal. You can’t bake your feelings away. You look great now, but that can change so fast. You think you had a bad day? Wait until bullies are hounding you about your looks, teasing you to the point where you come home every day crying. Do you want that?”
I look down and shake my head. “No.”
“You know what I went through as a teenager. Iwill nothave my daughter experience that. I won’t. So you can eat one cookie, and then throw the rest in the trash. Got it?”
I hesitate. I look into Mom’s hazel eyes, now leaning towards brown in the soft kitchen light. Her eyebrows are turned down in anger. “Okay, Mom.” My voice comes out small.
Mom doesn’t notice my expression. She crosses the kitchen to the pantry and yanks open the door.
“Mom?” I ask, my stomach tightening.
“These ingredients do not belong in our house.” Mom emerges from the pantry, her face angry, holding my preciousGhirardelli chocolate chips and bags of white flour and sugar. “I don’t know where you keep getting this stuff, but it’s got to stop.”
“Mom, don’t?—”
But it’s too late. The cupboard door that hides the garbage can closes with a thud.
My knees feel weak, my stomach one churning mess. I blink, horrified.It’s just flour, sugar, and chocolate. No big deal . . .
Mom’s expression softens, and she reaches out to brush my curtain bangs behind my ear. “I know this is harsh, but it’s because I love you, sweetheart.” She takes a deep breath. “Have you started planning how you’re going to campaign for Homecoming Queen?”
Suzy glances up.
I swallow and take a step back, clutching my arms to my middle like they can keep me from falling apart.I can’t believe she did that.“Mom, I spent my own money on those ingredients. How could you just . . . throw them away?” My anger bleeds into my voice, but I’m beyond caring. “I love this, and you don’t even care!”
Mom sighs and rubs her fingers against her temple. “Callie, one day you’ll thank me, I promise. Now, about your campaign?”
I grit my teeth together and try to shove down my irritation. “I’m not sure if I want to run this year. It’s so much work.”
Mom gives me a hard look. “Just because something is a lot of work doesn’t mean it’s not worth it.”
“I know.” I clamp my teeth together to keep a stronger retort from coming out. If I told her that I was hurting from the breakup, overwhelmed by the gossip about me that’s already going around school, not to mention stressed by my load of homework, she’d just say one of her favorite motivational phrases.
“I proved everyone wrong in my high school days.” Mom smiles, eyes shining. “Despite the bullying, I won that crown, and I earned their respect.”
“Who’s a good doggy?” Suzy says under her breath, patting Butter’s belly. Her stubby tail waggles back and forth.
Mom heads toward the fridge but looks over her shoulder. “And if you do run and win, I’ll be there to watch you get the crown. I’ve already signed up to be a chaperone for the dance this year.”
Oh bleh. I want to put a hand over my face, but I make myself be still. “Umm. Thanks, Mom.”
She beams and grabs a strawberry banana protein shake out of the fridge. Mom starts down the hallway back to her workout studio, but then she pauses and looks back. “Just don’t lose focus, okay? Last year your grades almost got you kicked off the cheer team. Think of how people would talk if that happened!” Mom heads to her workout studio, probably to do a four-minute plank.
“Gahhhhh!” I stare at my tray of cookies and let out a long sigh. The cookies are not too thin, not too thick, crispy around the edges and gooey in the middle. Perfection. “Why is she like this?” I whisper. My eyes burn.
Suzy stands, and her enormous black eyes appraise me. “Your mom is intense.”
Butter sniffs at my feet, hoping for a cookie crumb. I only nod, feeling miserable. What a rotten day.
Suzy heads toward the sink and opens the cupboard door that hides the trash can.
