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I think it over. “Okay.”

“Can I trust you?”

“About this? Yes.”

“Hmm,” she says. “Look, it was my fault for buying what he was selling, and letting him take advantage. But he did make unrealistic demands on my time and energy. That said… he’s a great baker.”

I don’t agree that it’s totally her fault. She seems to take on responsibility for things that don’t always need to be on her.

But it’s admirable that she’s so self-sufficient and responsible. I suppose.

Admirable and irritating.

“Why did you put up with it?”

She blinks up at me. “Okay, maybe this isn’t a reality that you can comprehend, but some of us don’t have ten-digit bank account balances. We get these things called jobs and we rely on them.”

“Thank you,” I tell her, equally condescending. “I didn’t actually go to business school or learn math. My family just handed me the job of CFO straight out of high school.”

Her eyelids lower, unimpressed. “I’m sure you worked very hard to prove yourself.”

“I did, actually.”

“But you have to admit you had a giant head start.”

“I’m not denying that.”

“Anyway… I’m used to supporting myself. It’s not that big a deal. It’s just that…” She hesitates, then says quietly, “When I had to start supporting Mom, too, that’s when things got hard. I wasn’t ready for it. But my new job at Champagne has been a huge help. They already offered me six nights a week, if I want them.”

“But doesn’t that take time and energy away from making cakes?”

“Yes, but it puts money in the bank. The tips are worth it. Right now, I need money more than I need to make cakes.”

I don’t like that. “You’re not giving up on Quinn’s Cakes, are you?”

“No. But there’s only so much of me to go around. And only so much I can get done in our cramped kitchen anyway. Mom’s cupcake orders take up space, too.”

I consider this. And the fact that she was very adamant that she didn’t want me to arrange a job for her. I’m still calculating if I can work around that.

“What would your ideal job be?”

“One that pays enough to cover my bills, and that I don’t hate. And frees me up to make cakes. That’s all I want. To make Mom’s dream a reality.”

“You’re talking about the bakery thing?”

“Yeah.”

“You just said it’s your mom’s dream. I thought it was your dream.”

She sighs. “It’s both. She’s always wanted her own bakery. There’s no way that’s happening now, if I don’t make it happen.”

When she’s silent for a moment, I ask her, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“About what?”

“Her illness.”

She takes a deep breath. Then says, “I forgot that you knew about that.”