Mom: What’s more relaxing than playing with new recipes? Come join me. You know you want chocolate for breakfast!
* * *
I can deny neither that truth nor my mother, so an hour later, I enter the cool, air-conditioned chocolate shop in Park Slope.
My mom, looking adorable with her salt and pepper hair in a bouncy ponytail and the sparkly eyeshadow Gigi bought her for Christmas last year dusted around her eyes, leans in to peck my cheek. “Hey, baby. Glad I could twist your arm.”
“Of course. Wow. It smells amazing in here.” I lift my nose to inhale the scent of chocolate—luscious, decadent, expensive chocolate. The kind that’s priced by the ounce, like gold.
She beams. “Like I always say—there’s no better job in the world than pie-ing.”
She does say that. A lot. She loves her work so much it’s not really a “job” to her at all. It’s more like a calling. A passion.
We sit at a cute café table in the back, and a soft-spoken clerk in a faded pink linen dress brings us a tray of samples surrounded by fresh, edible flowers. I place the circular morsels of chocolate on my tongue, the initial bitterness of the dark cocoa giving way to subtler hints of raspberry or cherry (my fave, of course) or even chili spice with the third one (a little weird, but still delicious).
Mom asks my opinion on each, which I happily give. My palate isn’t as sophisticated as hers, but I know my way around a chocolate tasting—unlike the mushroom fest last night.
Though, mushroom meals that end with kissing Jesse could absolutely get me back at one of Abe’s tables.
Any day of the week.
God, that kiss . . .
“So you like that one, huh?” Mom asks with a little laugh as she points at my face. “Your eyes melted in the center.”
“Um, yeah, it’s really good,” I say, nodding as I reach for another sample and push thoughts of Jesse from my head.
Must concentrate on yummy chocolate, not yummy men.
“I’m so glad you love sweets as much as I do,” Mom says, her hazel eyes twinkling as bright as her eyeshadow. “Sweetie Pies is going to be in good hands when you take over.”
My chest twinges, a strange sensation. It’s not the first time she’s said something like that. She issues variations on the theme all the time.
But something about it feels off . . . like a pair of pants that don’t quite fit.
And I’m not sure why.
Maybe the pants just need a belt. Or to be let out a little, if I keep eating chocolate for breakfast.
That has to be it.
“Sweets are the best,” I say with a smile, then I pop another square of chocolate in my mouth and let the flavor smooth over the moment of discomfort.
Mom finally settles on a dark chocolate with hints of caramel and coconut that’s going to be insanely delicious in her German chocolate cream pie. We thank the clerk and head out into the morning air.
On the way back to my parents’ place, we pass Sweetie Pies; Mom waves to the empty shop and coos, “See you soon, darling.”
“You’re an oddball. You know that, right?”
She elbows me in the side and whispers, “Wave at her, so she knows you miss her too.”
Laughing, I wave at the store. It will always have a soft spot in my heart. Like home.
When we reach my parents’ brownstone, Mom thanks me for joining her and gives me a big hug. “So good to see you, my sweetie pie.”
Her embrace warms my heart. Always has.
I’m so lucky to have her. I know enough mothers and daughters to realize what we have is special. My mother has always made me feel so loved and supported, ever since I was a little girl.