After bribing the kids with gumballs from one of the many dispensers scattered throughout the mall, the trio dragged them into Sur La Table with firm reminders to not touch anything. All sorts of fancy kitchen gadgets beckoned to them alongside shelves full of cookbooks. The scent of miso and the sizzle of frying eggs filled the store as the cooking class prepared steaming bowls of ramen. "We really need to sign up for one of those sometime," Vicky said as she licked her lips.

"Only if there's a fire extinguisher nearby," Patricia said. "Last time I saw you anywhere near a kitchen, it took us an hour to scrape all the burned cheese off the pans."

"How was I supposed to know grilled cheese sandwiches cook so fast?"

"By having more cooking experience than our kids. Noticing when it starts smelling like an episode of Kitchen Nightmares would be a good place to start."

While her friends bickered over Vicky's worse than nonexistent cooking skills and the kids clustered around racks full of Christmas decorations, Harriet made a beeline for the baking equipment. This was her chance to finally take her baking to the next level, and she'd be damned if she let a couple high price tags stop her. If Frank happened to ask why she'd spent so much, she could always treat whatever she bought as early Christmas presents.

Harriet scanned rows of the latest kitchen gadgets and novelties. Carol would have loved it here. They had everything from little baking sheets for cornbread with indents shaped like ears of corn to heating knives that toasted bread as they sliced it. No idea was too strange to find its niche on these shelves.

As fun as it was to look at the more out-there equipment, Harriet had far more practical purchases in mind. The stand mixers, wonderfully sleek, shiny machines, beckoned to her from among the countless other appliances and kitchen gadgets. Anyone could use a whisk or hand mixer of course, but these mixers separated the pastry chefs from the mere weekend bakers.

It couldn't hurt to get a new set of knives while she was at it, too. If she was going to get serious about baking, she couldn't use just any old chocolate, and the good stuff needed to be chopped with the right blade.

Harriet felt a gentle tug on her arm as she contemplated whether or not she should add a loaf pan to her increasingly crowded shopping cart. "Mom, check this out."

She nearly told him to leave her alone, but she couldn't do that. Not after how she'd ruined his visit to Wonder World. What could a six-year-old have possibly found interesting in this kind of store, anyway? Probably cookie cutters or something weird like the shark-shaped tea infusers staring at her from the clearance section with beady little eyes.

What Sam led her to was more bizarre than she could have imagined. A smorgasbord of food-themed Christmas ornaments dangled in a mouthwatering display. Hotdogs hung alongside sushi and bags of popcorn as Sam chuckled at the bizarre ornaments. They weren't the weirdest Harriet had ever seen (that honor belonged to a gift from Aunt June, the bedazzled elephant wearing a tutu that 'accidentally' ended up on the side of the tree facing the wall every year), but they were still goofy enough to coax an amused snort out of her.

Sam reached for an ornament shaped like a cupcake, only to resort to pointing at it thanks to the unspoken threat of what would happen to his allowance if he accidentally broke it. "Do you think Grandpa would like that one?"

"I bet he would, honey," she said, her voice crackling like fallen leaves as she fought against a lump in her throat. She cradled the ornament in her hands, admiring the delicate swirl of icing on top as her fingers stroked the roughness of the wrapper.

The arrival of two more pairs of ornament-obsessed eyes announced that the rest of the children had gotten sick of following their moms through the store. "Sorry," Vicky said as she corralled Ollie away from a particularly delicate-looking fortune cookie. "He started getting antsy once he realized we didn't just come to buy cookie cutters."

"You okay?" Patricia asked.

"Just thinking about Dad," Harriet said. "We always have Thanksgiving together, so it couldn't hurt to get him a little something before Christmas."

"Can't argue with that," Patricia said. She lightly thumped the casserole dish in her cart with a pair of bright orange oven mitts. "You can never start too early with all this."

Harriet could only nod as her cheeks flushed and tears burned in the corners of her eyes. She couldn't cry. Not with Sam watching.

"Did you find anything good?" Patricia asked, leaning over Harriet's cart so she could dab the tears from her eyes unwatched.

"That looks like a really nice mixer," Vicky said, mercifully picking up on the need to distract Harriet before things got too emotional.

"Yeah, it should be a huge help in the kitchen," Harriet said. Her throat still felt tight, but she could at least speak without sounding like her voice was about to go on an early vacation. "I wish Carol was here to tell me what she thinks, though. She knows a heck of a lot more about this stuff than I do."

Harriet felt her absence like the loss of a warm winter scarf. She hadn't noticed it too much at first, but now that she'd drawn attention to what was missing she felt a chill where the warmth of her companionship used to be. "Where is she, anyway?" Harriet asked. "It feels like she's never around anymore."

"Business must be really picking up for her," Patricia said drily. "She screamed my ear off the other day. Said to never call her while she's baking ever again, as if I know when she's in the middle of one of her sessions."

Harriet bit her lip. She'd gotten snappy with her too when she'd visited. It was the holiday season, so maybe she had an extra big load of demanding clients. "Please tell me you at least invited her."

Vicky grimaced. "You try talking to someone who just lost custody of their kid, and we'll see if you can get her to come next time. I'd rather not waltz into that minefield again, thank you very much."

"She lost Peter?" Harriet's gaze snapped to Sam. Seeing him flailing his hands in a futile attempt to shake off incriminating glitter while Logan laughingly waved a churro ornament covered in fake sugar in his direction sent a pang through her heart. What would she do if her favorite little troublemaker was ripped out of her life like that? What would he do? Just thinking about his parents splitting up had been enough to make the poor sweetheart sick.

Vicky hummed an affirmation. "Ollie's been sharing his lunch with him 'cause all he's been bringing to eat at school is sweets. I love a good cookie as much as the next gal, but you can't toss nothing but sugar at your kid and call it a day."

"It's probably for the best," Patricia said quietly. "Maybe they'll be able to work something out later, but that kid needs to be away from his mom until she fixes whatever's been bothering her. It's not healthy for her to be treating him like that."

Peter did seem like he enjoyed being with his dad much more than his mom. No child should have to resort to eating nothing but microwave meals, especially not ones he had to make by himself. Harriet's stomach tightened at the memory of how he'd wolfed down the stir-fry she'd made for him.

But that didn't make the situation hurt less. There their kids were, goofing off with Christmas ornaments without a care in the world while Peter was left with nobody but his father. Had he already left his mother to continue her baking frenzy alone, or was he still packing his little suitcase for the one-way trip?

Harriet reached out to pull Sam to her side. He squirmed in her grip, no doubt desperate to work his way free and have one last bit of fun before being grounded. "I think we'd better go," Harriet said. The words came out as a strangled whisper as the tears she'd been holding back leaked out of her eyes.

"Hold up," Vicky said. "We were supposed to help you relax, not make you upset! Isn't there something we can do to cheer you up?"

"I'm fine," Harriet lied. "Don't stop on my account."

With that, she abandoned her shopping cart and made a beeline for the exit. "Call us if you need anything," Patricia hollered after her.

How could they possibly help? It wasn't as if they could force Frank to stop ditching them to go on business trips, find a cure for COPD, or prevent Peter from losing his mom. All they could do was distract her with outings and empty words. Why were they even bothering to offer her support when they'd left Carol with nothing to comfort her but the oven's warmth?

Alarms blared as Harriet passed through the store's exit. She glanced at the ornament in her hand with a start. She'd forgotten she was still holding it, yet there it was, the wrapper's wrinkles digging into her fingers.

She sidled into the checkout line sheepishly with Sam right behind her. "Happens to the best of us," the cashier said with an understanding smile.

She paid for the plastic cupcake as quickly as she could, fingers trembling as she fumbled with her wallet. Why was she getting so worked up about this? Peter wasn't her kid, and she'd known Carol had been struggling to take care of him.

Harriet clutched the ornament so tightly she was afraid it would shatter as she fled to the parking lot.