I slipped through my mother’s front door and eased it closed behind me, but before I could take another step toward the stairs, she called to me from the kitchen. I cringed and swore under my breath. The woman still had bat-like senses. I’d wanted to sneak upstairs, have a quick shower and change my clothes, but instead I went to find her.

“Good morning,” she said over her shoulder while kneading a thick ball of dough on the kitchen counter.

“Buongiorno, Mom. Are you making my favourite rolls?”

“Of course. I make them every Thanksgiving.” Her gaze wandered over my mussed clothes and hastily combed hair. “Do you feel like telling me where you spent the night or is it a secret?”

“Mom—”

“Forget I asked. You’re an adult so I won’t pry.” She kneaded the dough twice more and then remarked, “You didn’t even try the cannoli.”

“Sorry. I will try them later. I’ll probably inhale them. They looked fantastic.”

“Have you had breakfast?”

“I’ll eat something in a bit,” I said. “I’m not all that hungry.”

She eyed me with a wrinkle of concern creasing her forehead. “Feeling all right?”

“I’m fine,” I said, knowing it was excitement and not ill health causing the stomach flutters suppressing my appetite. “How can I help with dinner?”

“Want to start on the turkey dressing?”

“I can do that. Fry up some onions first, right?”

“Yes. And grab the celery, too.”

I pulled an old gingham apron from one of the drawers, gathered the vegetables from the fridge, and then grabbed a knife and cutting board, setting up a workstation next to Mom. The soft clunk of the blade against the wood filled the kitchen as I chopped, while Mom shaped the dough into smaller balls and fit them one by one into her baking pan.

Misting up from the onion fumes, I paused to rub my wrist across my stinging eyes. I considered putting Mom out of her misery and telling her who I’d been with last night, but as far as I knew she still wasn’t particularly fond of Mitch after what happened between us eighteen years ago. And part of me hated to shatter her illusion that I’d been saving myself for marriage—although the jig had really been up ten years ago when she showed up unexpectedly at my apartment and found a half-naked man, whose name I couldn’t quite remember now, in my bed.

I’d also thought about calling Faith or Brooke to spill the news, although it would be more fun to see their faces when I told them. But for the moment I decided to keep my sweet secret to myself—at least until I knew where things were headed between Mitch and me.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” I said to break the silence, while I reached into the cupboard under the sink for a frying pan. “Smells so fresh out there. The trees by the river are breathtaking.”

My mother glanced up from buttering the tops of her rolls. The corners of her mouth lifted. “You’re in a good mood. It makes me more curious, but mostly I’m happy to see a smile on your face after you’ve been so depressed lately.”

“I might be coming out of it.” Grabbing the butter dish, I grinned, feeling more energized and hopeful than I had in months.

“Wonderful to hear. It’s often in the darkest moments that you can find your greatest strength.” She placed her basting brush in the sink and reached into a drawer for a roll of plastic wrap. “I know how it is. When I came to Canada, my English was poor and I didn’t know a single person other than your dad. I was lonely and homesick at first, but I studied hard to learn the language, and I worked just as hard involving myself in the community and getting to know people. And, of course, my greatest accomplishment was opening my salon.”

“Your greatest accomplishment wasn’t me?” I teased.

“Of course you were. You were always my heart and joy.” She looked at me with such sincerity in her dark eyes that I withered with guilt for questioning her devotion.

“Yeah, I guess. But you were always very busy with other things,” I said, remembering the church committees, the PTA, the library board, the garden club, among a dozen organizations she’d thrown her energy into during my childhood.

Mom paused for a moment to smooth a sheet of plastic wrap over the rolls. When she spoke again, her tone was muted. “For a long time I was afraid if I slowed down and took a good look at my home life, I’d have to face the reality that my marriage just wasn’t working. I probably knew the first year that we weren’t a good match, but I wanted your dad and me to stay together until you were grown. It just got too hard for both of us to pretend anymore. Anyhow, I was only trying to make the point that you can always bounce back again. You find a new path when you need to.”

I stared at the slice of butter melting in the pan in front of me and thought of my conversation with Mitch last night. I knew I’d unfairly heaped all the blame for my parents’ divorce on my mom—and maybe I’d never given up the habit of resenting her. I’d been too wrapped up in my own struggles to try imagining her perspective.

“I’ve been thinking,” I said, “that I might go back to school. Upgrade my business skills.”

“You want to start a new business?”

“Why not? I’m still young and unattached. I can do whatever I want.” I lifted the cutting board and slid the onions into the melted butter.

After setting her baking pan aside to let the rolls rise, Mom turned on the faucet and rinsed her hands. “You should ask Ed for advice. He’s done well in two very different lines of business—first the butcher shop, and now pest control.”

I couldn’t decide which career repulsed me more so I refrained from comment.

“I hope you don’t mind that I invited him and his sister to join us for dinner,” she went on. “Ed doesn’t have any children, and Vicky won’t be able to see either of her daughters, so they had no one to spend the holiday with.”

“Vicky’s not sick anymore?” I asked, sliding the onions around the pan with a wooden spoon.

“She had a bad migraine yesterday, but when we spoke this morning she told me she’s feeling better.”

“I don’t mind if they come. The more the merrier,” I said, the scent of the sizzling onions stirring my appetite. Before last night, I would’ve balked at having to make the effort to socialize. But my mood had lifted so considerably that if she’d suggested we eat on the roof, I’d have willingly gone to fetch a ladder. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you got back yesterday. I went down to Brooke’s bakery and we decided to go out together.”

“So you spent the night at her place?” Mom quirked an eyebrow, watching my expression. As though something in my face gave away my secret, she shook her head and busied herself wiping spilled flour off the counter. “I won’t pry. Forget I asked.”