Page 75 of The Husband Hour
Beth beat together creamy peanut butter, heavy cream, and confectioners’ sugar with perhaps more aggression than the task warranted.
Of all the things Howard had said that infuriated her lately, the crack about her baking with Ethan was the worst. What was this, 1950?
“When does the jelly part happen?” Ethan asked.
She had, to his delight, come up with a recipe for peanut butter and jelly doughnuts.
“We’re going to use raspberry jam, and that part comes later. We’ll fill one of these pastry bags with the peanut butter mixture, one with the jelly, and then we use these plastic tips to squeeze them into the doughnut.”
His eyes widened. “Cool.”
“The best part of these doughnuts is that we should eat them right away or else the dough will get soggy. You okay with that?”
“You mean before lunch?”
“Before lunch.”
“What’s before lunch?” Stephanie asked, her voice hoarse. Dressed in leggings and a tank top, her hair loose and knotted, she headed straight for the coffeepot.
She reeked of alcohol.
“The doughnuts we’re making! Peanut butter and jelly,” Ethan said.
“Sounds awesome.” Stephanie tousled his hair. “E., do me a favor and scoot outside onto the deck for a few minutes. I need to talk to Gran.”
“But no pool,” Beth said.
Ethan crossed his arms. “I know, Gran, no grown-up, no water,” he said, repeating the number-one rule she’d set at the beginning of the summer. He trotted off, and as soon as he was out the door, Stephanie wilted into a chair at the breakfast table. It was as if it had taken every ounce of her strength just to stand upright and speak to him.
“I’m so hung over.” She groaned. Before Beth could respond, Stephanie held up her hand as if warding off a physical blow. Then, to Beth’s surprise, she started to cry.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Beth pulled out the chair next to her and hugged her.
“You were right,” Stephanie said, sobbing in her arms. “Everything you said yesterday.”
Beth glanced outside, hoping Ethan was occupied, not witnessing his mother’s breakdown. He was on the far side of the deck.
“It’s going to be okay,” Beth said.
“I’m drinking too much. My life is a mess…”
“I’m here,” Beth said. “Let me help you.”
Stephanie cried harder, pulling away from her and burying her face in her hands. Beth could barely hear the muffled words through her sobs: “You can’t help. It’s too late.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Nora’s annual Fourth of July party was in full swing by the time Lauren corralled her mother, sister, and Ethan and got them into the car to drive over. The delay had been due to the problem of how to transport the absolutely insane amount of doughnuts her mother had baked.
“Mom, there’s enough for two parties here,” she said, surveying the trays of red, white, and blue–frosted doughnuts, the apple-pie doughnuts, and the pale glazed ones that her mother had identified as margarita doughnuts.
“What makes a margarita doughnut?” Lauren had asked.
“My little secret. But I’ll give you a hint: lime zest and tequila.”
“Okay, Mom, we don’t need to bring all of these.”
“Earlier in the week, you said two parties, so that’s what I prepared for.”
