Kayla raised her head.
“You came back.”
“I keep thinking that you stayed awake all night for me.”
“You were eighteen,” Gloria said kindly. “Sometimes people follow the crowd.”
“That doesn’t excuse what I did.”
“No.”
Gloria squeezed her hands.
“But what matters now is what kind of woman you’ll choose to become.”
Kayla nodded through her tears.
“Can I help here?”
“At the restaurant?”
“Yes.”
“You start Saturday at six.”
Saturday morning, Kayla arrived two minutes early wearing brand-new nonslip shoes.
Gloria didn’t treat her like a guest.
She handed her an apron.
“Tables first.”
For hours Kayla wiped tables, rolled silverware, cleaned counters, and greeted customers.
She never complained.
She barely touched her phone.
When the lunch rush ended, Gloria placed peaches, flour, butter, and brown sugar on the counter.
“You’re making peach cobbler.”
“I’ve never made one.”
“I know.”
“That’s why we’re starting today.”
Kayla laughed.
“Was Dad any better?”
Gloria smiled.
“Not even close.”
“My father burned three before getting one right.”
The first cobbler Kayla baked came out with burned edges.
She looked disappointed.
Gloria examined it for a moment before giving the same advice she had once given Kevin.
“Try again.”
Kayla smiled.
She did.
Kevin’s change came more slowly.
One evening he found an old photograph of himself wearing a restaurant apron.
He called me.
“I forgot I used to spend every afternoon there.”
“You did.”
“Did Mom make me help?”
“No.”
