Page 82 of The Best I Never Had

My mom rushes over, tears rolling down her face. “We’ve been so worried.”

I give her a tight squeeze to reassure her, then look over her head at Harrison. “We got caught in the storm and had to pull over.”

Addy has her arms wrapped around Thea, her tears wetting Thea’s shirt. “You’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Thea says, running a hand over her hair. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

Addy’s lip trembles, and Thea wraps an arm around her shoulder, whispering something into her ear that has her laughing even as she starts crying again. The sisters stay tangled up like that through the walk to the bus and the drive back to the inn.

“Can someone bring us breakfast in the kitchen?” I ask Harrison once we’re back at the inn. “Thea and I have some work to do on the cake.”

Thea steals another glance at Addy. “Is there someone else who can help? I just…”

I can see it now. Addy’s shaking—subtly, but enough for Thea to feel it—and there’s a blank expression in her eyes. When Thea pulls away to walk over to me, Addy’s shoulders cave forward, like Thea’s strength was the only thing keeping her upright.

The scent of cinnamon and fresh hay swirl around me when Thea comes close, triggering memories of the night before, the two of us wrapped around each other in our makeshift bed. “She needs me,” she whispers.

I nod, running my hand down her arm. “I’ll sort something out.”

“Thank you,” she says, smiling softly.

When I face my family, everyone’s homed in on the small touch. I yank my hand away like I’ve been burned, and they all unfortunately clock that, too.

I turn to my mother, who’s looking at Thea with a pinched expression, like she blames her for us getting caught in the storm.

“Can you help me with the cakes?” I ask.

Her face contorts into a pout. “I wish I could—you know I’d do it in a heartbeat—but I’m going to town with Aunt Dawn today.”

I cross my arms. “What for?”

She blinks at me, like she never expected me to call her out. And I guess there’s legitimacy to her surprise. I’ve never done it before. It’s been a defining part of our relationship that if she can’t do something, I’ll take care of it instead. But I can’t do this on my own, and I’m tired of acting like it’s fine.

“Well…” she starts, her eyes flashing around the group. “We were going to a new restaurant she wanted to try.”

“I think she’d agree this is more important.”

“You want me to just cancel on my sister? I taught you boys better manners than that.”

There’s a knee-jerk reaction to apologize and take full responsibility for the cakes, but I think about the conversations I’ve had with Thea over the past few days. Her questioning why I don’t speak up for myself and challenging the perception that I have to take care of everything.

“Mom, I need you to do this.”

She sputters, looking for any excuse and coming up short, then nods.

Addy gives Thea’s arm a little tug, towing her away from me and into the inn. My mom follows them in, dragging her feet while I make a quick call to Jourdan about the car.

Working on this cake suddenly sounds a lot less fun.

We split the work of torting the cakes before filling each layer with the blueberry reduction–infused buttercream I made yesterday. It’s soothing, even without Thea here to keep me entertained.

“You know,” Mom says, breaking me out of my trance and making me almost fumble the cake I’m stacking, “your dad went through a baking stage, too.”

I glance up at my mother, then back at the cake. “I don’t remember him baking.”

I remember his woodworking stage, his photography stage, his Italian stage, and, during one particularly strong remission period, his rock-climbing stage. He was constantly picking up new hobbies, like he knew his time was limited and had to squeeze in as many experiences as possible. I can’t help but compare our lives, how much more living he did.

“It was while I was pregnant with you,” Mom says. “I spent so much money on these cupcakes I was craving, so he decided to take it up. Within a few weeks, those cupcakes had nothing on his.”