“With sourdough buns,” her mother added. The starter had been handed down from her father’s grandfather, who’d once lived in Alaska. He claimed it came from an old Klondike miner and had been kept alive since the 1890s. Lindy knew her parents had shared it with various family and friends. For as long as she could remember, Lindy’s father had made sourdough pancakes every Sunday morning for breakfast. On special occasions, her mother baked the buns, using a recipe that had been passed down from her grandmother.
“Mom,” Lindy said and groaned, “you’re going to spoil me.”
“That’s exactly what I intend to do. It’s been far too long since you’ve been home.”
“I was here for the Fourth of July,” she reminded her. She’d come home shortly after getting her own apartment, and just before she’d learned the terrible truth about…She stopped her thoughts, refusing to let them drift toward even more unpleasantness.
“Yes, and that was months ago. It isn’t like we’re a thousand miles apart. Seattle is barely three hours away in traffic.”
“I know, I know, but I moved, remember, and then there was this project for work that demanded nearly every weekend. But it was worth it, because I earned two weeks off to spend the holidays with you, Dad, Chad, Ashley, and Peter.” Her younger brother had married his high school sweetheart and worked at the apple warehouse in supply-chain management. Within a year, Ashley and Chad had presented her parents with an amazing grandson. Lindy was crazy about four-year-old Peter. They connected every week through FaceTime, and she mailed him gifts so often, Chad had to ask her to resist. Ashley was currently pregnant with a little girl they had decided to name Grace. She was due to arrive the first week of March.
When Lindy finished her coffee and cookies, she unloaded her car and brought her suitcase into her bedroom. Standing in the doorway to the familiar room, she found it exactly as it’d been when she’d left for college. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked around, remembering how carefree life had been when she was a teenager.
A poster of the Jonas Brothers was tacked to one wall. Her pom-poms from dance team were tucked against the corner of the bulletin board, and the corsage she’d worn to her senior prom was pinned to the board.
Home.
Peace washed over her, as she wrapped all that was familiar around her like a heated blanket.
“Lunch will be ready soon,” her mother called from the kitchen, soon after Lindy had unpacked. She tucked the few wrapped gifts she’d brought with her under the Christmas tree that adorned the living room, in front of the picture window that looked out over Apple Orchard Lane.
“I’ll be right there.” After admiring the tree, Lindy joined her mother, who had already dished up two steaming bowls of soup. The breadbasket sat in the middle of the table, along with a butter dish.
After a simple grace, Lindy lifted her spoon. “I dreamed about this soup. It never tastes the same when I make it, and I follow the recipe to the letter. Somehow it always tastes better when you cook it.”
“That’s because it’s made with love.”
Lindy wanted to discount this extra ingredient that her mother insisted made the difference. How could she, though, when there didn’t seem to be any other explanation?
Her mother waited until Lindy had finished her lunch before she paused, her eyes serious. Looking directly at Lindy, she said, “I’m waiting.”
“Waiting for what?” Lindy asked.
“Waiting for you to tell me what’s going on with you, and please don’t try to brush this off. You’d best tell me before—”
“Mom…there’s nothing.”
With narrowed eyes, her mother waved her index finger like a clock’s pendulum. “Lindy Rose, I’m your mother. No one knows you better than me. I’ve suspected for quite some time you’re unhappy. Now spill.”
Lindy was afraid that once she started, she might not be able to stop.
“It’s more than work, isn’t it?”
Her mother did know her. “Yes,” Lindy confirmed. “There’s more to the story of my split with Brian.” Lindy had told her parents they’d broken up, but she hadn’t gone into the details. She couldn’t. It was too painful then, and only a little less so now.
“You were rather vague about the reasons.”
With cause. A majority of what happened were things she’d prefer to keep to herself.
“Did it have to do with you getting that apartment?”