14. Cheer Up! It’s Pancake Time
Cheer Up! It’s Pancake Time
T he sizzle of batter fills the kitchen, the scent of butter thick in the air, but it does nothing to settle the anger rolling through me. My grip tightens on the spatula as I flip a pancake, jaw clenched so hard it aches.
Josie was supposed to see Sadie today. We agreed we’d go visit, that we’d spend time together—because that’s what our kid needs. Stability. A mother who shows up.
After she kept her promise to call every day, I let myself believe I could trust her.
And then, two hours before we were supposed to leave, a nurse called.
“ Josie isn’t up for visitors today ,” he’d said.
That was it. That was the explanation. When I pressed for more, all I got was “She’s having a bad day.”
A bad day.
Does she know how many bad days I’ve had over the last six months? How many times I wanted to shut down, crawl into bed, pretend the world didn’t exist? But I didn’t. Because you don’t get to tap out when you’re a parent. You don’t get to decide you’re not up for it.
I meant to bring up the Mother’s Day recital with her today. I figured I might have a better shot if I didn’t try on the phone, and now that’s gone to hell too.
Sadie was inconsolable, of course. Tears, shoulders shaking, endless questions I didn’t have the answers to. Eventually, she settled when I promised to make pancakes, but this is temporary. It’s a distraction, not a fix.
“No, not like that. You said to split it into three, right?” A pause. “Ugh, mine looks dumb.”
I frown, lowering the spatula. That doesn’t sound like Sadie talking to the cat. That sounds like she’s...answering someone.
I turn off the burner and step toward the living room, wiping my hands on a dish towel. “Sadie, who are you?—”
I stop dead in my tracks.
She’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, Mollie draped across her lap, and in her small hands is—my phone, pressed right up to her ear.
“Sadie? What are you doing?”
She barely glances up, as if this is something she does every day. “Talking to Charlotte.”
“You— what ?”
“I called her.” She tugs at a section of her hair, frowning. “I wanted to learn how to braid.”
A heavy breath pushes through my nose. “Sadie,” I say, my voice much sharper this time. “You took my phone without asking?”
She hesitates now, sensing that she might be in trouble. “...Yeah.”
“And made a phone call?”
She shrinks into the couch, her grip tightening on Mollie. “I just wanted help.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, a mix of frustration and mortification creeping up my spine. I pluck the phone from her hands before she can protest, bringing it to my ear. “Charlotte, hi. I’m so sorry about this. Trust me, I had no idea?—”
“Relax, Chef. I like talking to your daughter.”
Damn it. We spent a couple of hours texting-slash-talking last night, and hearing her voice now feels like finding the missing piece of a song stuck in your head.
“Apparently you’re a poor braider, huh?”
“That’s what Sadie said?”
“I’m paraphrasing. What she said wasn’t nearly as nice.”
Chuckling, I look back at my smiling daughter. Little troublemaker.
“Might not be my greatest talent.”
“Yeah? What is your greatest talent?”
I hold my breath, trying not to let my thoughts wander. “How was your show?”
There’s a pause before she answers. “It...went well, actually. Better than I expected.”
“And you’re okay home alone?”
Again, she hesitates for a moment. “Yeah? Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”
Because I care. Because I can’t help but feel protective of her, even though I’m not supposed to. “Just making sure you’re good.”
“Thanks, but I’m pretty used to no one checking in on me. I know how to be on my own.”
“I know you do,” I say. “But it doesn’t mean you have to be.”
“Dad, can I still learn?” Sadie asks, tugging at my shirt.
Charlotte must hear, because she says, “Put me on speaker.”
I hesitate, then press the button. “You’re on.”
“All right, Sadie,” Charlotte says, her voice coming through warm and patient. “Let’s start from the beginning. Take three even sections of hair—doesn’t have to be perfect, just close enough.”
Sadie scrambles up, gathering her hair into clumsy little bunches.
“Make sure they’re separate, then take the right section and cross it over the middle.”
I tap the correct section, then watch as Sadie follows the instructions, her fingers fumbling as she crosses one chunk over the other. Her eyes quint in deep concentration, the tip of her tongue poking out from the corner of her mouth, like she wants so badly to get this right.
And for a second, I just . . . pause.
Charlotte is teaching my daughter how to braid over the phone.
My kid called her for help, and instead of brushing her off, instead of saying she was busy or telling her to ask me, Charlotte is here, guiding Sadie along like this is the most normal thing in the world.
Like it’s not complicated or messy or blurred at the edges.
Like we’re not supposed to be keeping our distance.
Something tightens in my chest.
Sadie loops the last section over the first and beams up at me, her dark curls woven into something that barely resembles a braid.
A few loose wisps stick out at odd angles, and it’s a little uneven, but the pride shining on her face as she ties a scrunchie to the end is enough to make it all irrelevant.
“How does it look?” she asks, tilting her head so I can admire her work.
“Perfect, sweetheart.” I brush a stray curl from her face. “You look beautiful.”
She hums and presses her lips together, like she’s contemplating whether or not to believe me. “I think I need a second opinion. Can we send a picture to Charlotte?”
Charlotte giggles, and before I can answer, Sadie reaches for the phone.
I hand it over, and she immediately scrambles up on the couch, flipping the camera to selfie mode and angling her head just right. She sticks her tongue out, then tries a pout, then finally settles on a wide, toothy grin before snapping the picture.
As she’s tapping away, the shrill ring of the landline phone cuts through the air.
“I’ll be right back. Don’t make her regret answering your call,” I warn, ruffling Sadie’s hair before heading into the kitchen.
I pick up the phone, still half listening to Sadie telling Charlotte about her upcoming performance for “Mommy Day” in the other room.
“Hello?”
“Aaron—” My mother’s voice is tight, pained. “I need you to come over.”
A cold chill runs through me. “What happened?”
“I fell in the bathroom,” she says, and I hear her hiss through her teeth. “I can’t stand up. I think I might have twisted my ankle.”
Shit.
I grip the phone tighter, already moving toward the living room. “Is Darren not home?”
“He’s out of town.”
Shit, shit, shit.
“Can you put weight on it?” I ask as I join Sadie’s side.
“I haven’t tried,” she says, voice strained. “But it hurts like hell.”
“Okay, stay put. I’m coming.” I hang up, then turn to Sadie. “Baby, Grandma had a little accident. I have to go help her.”
Her face scrunches in worry. “Is she okay?”
“She will be.” I press a quick kiss to her forehead. “But I need you to be a big girl for me, okay?”
Her bottom lip juts out, her small hands gripping my shirt. “I’ll come with you.”
I lead her toward the front entrance. “No, I’m gonna drop you off at the Millers’ next door and you’ll wait for Daddy to be back.” I hold out my hand, waiting for her to give me my phone. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“But I don’t like the Millers! Their ugly dog always barks at Mollie!” She stomps a foot against the hardwood.
I don’t have time for this. My mother is alone, hurt, and Darren isn’t there to help. Every second I waste is another second she’s sitting there in pain.
“Sadie—” I reach for the phone, but she yanks it close to her chest, her eyes pleading now.
“Please, Daddy! I want to stay with Charlotte.”
There’s a rustle on the other end before I can get a word in, then Charlotte’s voice comes through the speaker. “Is everything okay?”
“My mom fell.” I try to push down the panic pressing against my ribs. “She must have twisted her ankle or something. I need to?—”
“I’ll be right there.”
I blink. Is she...“I’m leaving Sadie with the neighbors. You don’t have to?—”
“No, no! I want to stay with Charlotte.” Sadie tugs at my shirt again. “Please, Daddy! Can I? Please ?”
“Leave Sadie with the neighbors,” Charlotte says. “I’ll pick her up in ten minutes.”
I swallow hard, torn between wanting to argue and knowing I don’t have time. “I...Charlotte, you don’t have to do this. I can manage.”
“I know you can.” There’s a quiet beat. “But you don’t have to.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. I should tell her this isn’t her problem. That she doesn’t need to get tangled up in our mess. That Sadie is already attached, and I can’t risk this getting any more complicated.
That I’m experiencing the same issue.
But I don’t.
“The yellow house across from ours,” I say instead. “I’ll leave the keys with them so you can come back home with her. There’s pancakes in the kitchen and?—”
“Go, Chef.” Her voice is firm, no room for argument. “I’ve already booked an Uber.”
I hesitate, grip tightening around the phone. “Thank you,” I murmur before hanging up.
I crouch in front of Sadie, smoothing a hand over her messy braid. “All right, kiddo. Let’s go.”
She sniffles but nods, slipping her small hand into mine as we step out the door.
I could lie to myself and say I was too rushed to argue with Charlotte. That Sadie looked so happy at the thought of seeing her that I didn’t want to take that away.
But the truth is simpler than that.
There’s only one reason I went along with it.
I need to see Charlotte today.