hat I’m getting at. “Even when you were little, we had to bribe you with ice cream to get you to leave the museum without tears. Never saw a kid stand and stare at pictures the way you did.”
I nod, swallowing past the anxious lump in my throat. “Yes. Exactly. Art has always just . . . called to me. It feels right. And my card business too. It’s a small thing, but it’s growing fast. And it lights me up so much, and I . . . well . . .” I trail off, floundering now that I’m at the jumping-off point. How can I say this? How can I crush my mother’s dreams?
But how can I deny my own dreams another day?
I can’t, and deep down I know Mom doesn’t want me to, a fact she confirms when she rests a hand on my knee, giving it a squeeze. “You can tell me anything, honey. Truly.”
I blink, fighting tears.
She’s so wonderful, and I know she means it, but still, I feel like I’m letting her down, and I have to own that. “I know you’ve always wanted me to take over at the shop eventually . . . but every Monday when I have to go to work and manage the books and all the purchase orders and receipts, I feel so gray, Mom. And I’m so . . .” I pause.
I’m about to say I’m sorry.
But I’m not sorry for wanting to be an artist.
So I’m not going to say it.
I’m going to own who I am as I cross number two off the list and go a whole day without saying, I’m sorry.
I roll my shoulders back and meet my mother’s gaze. “Forcing myself to be a competent business manager is the most grueling work I’ve ever done. Even harder than physical therapy because my heart just isn’t in it. And you deserve better, Mom—you really do.” My pulse skitters in my throat as she remains still, watching me intently. “You deserve someone who is as passionate about Sweetie Pies as you are. And I think that perfect, number-savvy, pie-loving person has been right under our noses all along.”
Mom takes a deep breath, and her eyes begin to shine.
I’m bracing myself for an emotional storm when she exhales a shaky laugh and presses a hand to her chest. “Oh, thank goodness. Ruby, you have no idea . . .” She sniffs, swiping the tears from her eyes with the backs of her hands. “Sweetie, you have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that.”
I blink, too shocked to be relieved yet. “But you always talked about me taking over the shop, Mom. Like it was what you wanted most in the world.”
“Yes, I did want that,” she confesses, “but in the past year or so, it’s become obvious that probably wasn’t going to work out long-term. You’ve always done such a good job, honey, but I could tell you weren’t on fire for Sweetie Pies. And yes, admittedly, I tried to plant the seed I wanted to grow. I’m a glass-half-full person—that’s who I am. And I love talking pie with you. Like when we went to Cocoa Is Love; it’s so fun brainstorming with a taste tester I trust.”
“I love that too,” I rush to assure her. “We can still do that, Mom. I’ll always be honored to be one of your taste testers.”
“That’s good to hear,” she says. “And truth be told, I’m not surprised that you came to this conclusion. But I thought it was important to let you get there on your own. Was that right? I didn’t want you to feel like I didn’t want you here with us. You’ve lost so much already.”
I nod. “You handled it perfectly. And I’m so grateful for your understanding, but . . .” I worry my bottom lip between my teeth. “You promise you’re being honest with me? You’re not sad or disappointed? You love Sweetie Pies so much. It’s almost like it’s your other daughter, and—”
“Hush,” she says, shaking her head. “I do love Sweetie Pies. But you are my daughter, and there is nothing in the world I love more. You are a bright, kind, delightful person I’m so proud of.”
And I’m pretty much sobbing right now.
But I’m okay with that as I sniff and confess, “I know what Sweetie Pies means to you, and our family, and I want it to be taken care of by someone who is completely devoted to carrying on your legacy. Gigi loves the shop that way, Mom, I know she does. And she’s better at accounting than I’ll ever be. She always should have been your business manager.”
Mom’s smile is so bright I swear it warms my face. “I think so too. And I think we should put her on the special edition pie boxes for Galentine’s Day next year. A cartoon version of her,” she says, excitement in her voice. “You can draw her in one of her cute little skirts and those cat-eye glasses. It will be so darling. The perfect way to launch the face of the next generation of Sweetie Pies.”
I’m still tearing up, but this time from joy and gratitude. “That sounds amazing, Mom. I can’t wait. Thank you so much for understanding. And for being you.”
I dive into the lettuce patch for a hug, making Mom laugh even as she cradles me close and gives me a tight squeeze.
“And thank you for being you,” she whispers. “I couldn’t ask for a better daughter, Ruby Roo. You are my greatest treasure and highest accomplishment. And you always will be. I can’t wait to see where your fire takes you.”
I stay for dinner, and a slice of pie.
Cherry.
My favorite.
It’s delicious, especially since it’s just pie.
It’s not my future.