Frank was only halfway through his syrup-soaked pancakes when Harriet finished off her stack. "Dang, babe, you were hungry."

She licked the last of the maple syrup off her lips. "What can I say? I have quite a sweet tooth these days."

The pancakes hadn't been nearly as good as anything she could make of course, but they were a nice change of pace. It was a shame her stomach didn't feel the same way about them her taste buds did. It let out a low grumble, just as irritated as she was that she wasn't in the middle of making a recipe.

Patience, she thought. All she had to do was go through the motions. Then, Frank would realize what a colossal waste it was to keep her from baking and give her free reign of the kitchen again.

"You've gotten your fill," Frank said around a forkful of chocolate chip pancake. "So now's as good a time as any to make those calls like you promised."

Harriet eyed her contacts as if she was trying to analyze an ancient manuscript. She swallowed a lump in her throat at the sight of her father's name. She couldn't bring herself to delete his number from her phone. Not now, maybe not ever. Her mother's wasn't much easier to look at. Aside from a couple quick calls where she'd asked for baking tips, Nia had gone almost completely quiet. Not as silent as Carol though, with weeks of texts from Harriet still unread. Did she even have access to her phone, wherever she was?

That left Patricia and Vicky. How could she even begin to explain what she was going through to them?

"You've got this, babe," Frank said as he reached over the table to take her hand in his. "Worst off, they'll be missing out on a heck of a fun day. I'll make sure of it."

Might as well get this over with so she could see how serious he was about that. Harriet took a deep breath and called Patricia.

The phone barely got through the first ring before a quiet, cautious voice came through. "Harriet?"

"Hey, Patricia. How've you been?"

"Oh thank God," Patricia whispered before saying, "Been worried sick about you. It's not like you not to pick up."

"I've had my hands full lately, but I was hoping we could get together sometime."

"Full of flour?" Patricia barked out a sharp, bitter laugh. "You'd better not call Carol. Ryan and I have had a bad enough time keeping her from falling off the wagon as it is."

Harriet rolled her eyes. She was talking about baking as if it was some sort of drug, something that would lure you in with the promise of pleasure only to ensnare you in an addiction. But baking wasn't like that, not at all. Patricia would never understand.

"She's out of the hospital?"

"Just. They've got her meeting with a support group twice a week, and Ryan and I have been making sure she's taking care of herself." Her voice still had its usual firmness, but there was a tired undertone to it. "I wish I could hang out with you, Harriet, but I don't have the energy. Not right now."

It certainly sounded like she needed someone to take care of her for a while, not the other way around. "That's okay."

"But you can call me, okay? No more of this disappearing shit. I almost lost one friend to whatever it is you're dealing with. I don't think I could stand it if I had to go through that again."

"Okay. Talk to you soon."

Frank gave her a sympathetic look. "Sorry about that, babe. I had no idea she'd bring up Carol."

"It's fine," Harriet said.

And it was. She'd much rather be baking with her than watching Frank drown his pancakes in maple syrup, but it was good to know Carol had recovered from her fall, or had at least made good progress. It wouldn't be long before they were together again.

With her call to Patricia out of the way, it was time to reach out to Vicky.

"Oh my gosh, Harriet, long time no talk!" Harriet could practically hear the wine dripping from Vicky's every word. With how her speech slurred and sloshed together, it was a miracle she could understand anything she was saying.

"Hey, Vicks. You up for hangin' out some time?"

"I'm down for hangin' in too if you want!" She hiccupped. "Just not today."

That was definitely for the best. "Tomorrow?"

"Can't. Eleanor's got the thing at the place. The, um, charity dinner! That's what it is, that stupid dinner." Vicky groaned. "Carol can't cater the desserts anymore, obviously, and it's been hell trying to find someone who can... Shit, I wasn't supposed to tell you about that, was I?"

"Not really," Frank said with a groan.

"Well then, there is definitely not a huge dinner at our place tomorrow, I'm definitely not going to have to schmooze a bunch of rich assholes, and no way in hell are we serving dessert. Nope, just another boooring day. But I'll still be busy. Is Friday okay?"

"Sure thing. And give it a rest, Vicks. You're going to feel like shit if you have to deal with those people and a hangover tomorrow."

"Whatever you say, Moooom. Talk to you later!" With that, Vicky hung up.

"Remind me why you used to date her," Frank said drily.

"Hey, it was your idea to call her."

"You've got me there," he said with a sigh. "Ah, who the hell cares? For the rest of the day, it's just you, me, and nonstop movies 'til it's time to pick Sam up."

###

By the time Friday rolled around, Harriet still had popcorn kernels wedged between her teeth. She and Frank had spent Wednesday curled up together with blankets, all the popcorn they could stomach, and a Disney movie marathon. It had been an absolute delight to riff on the movies that had practically been engraved into their brains while Sam wasn't around. Not the same as a nice, long baking session, but cathartic nonetheless.

"So glad you could make it!" Vicky said as she wrapped Harriet in a too-tight hug. She was wearing the most beautiful sundress Harriet had ever seen with the gossamer-thin teal fabric flowing around her like the sun-kissed tide.

Harriet suddenly felt very uncomfortable in her hibiscus-print dress. Once her absolute favorite outfit that was sure to catch the eye of everyone in the vicinity, the fabric now clung to her hips in a way that only drew attention to exactly how much of what she baked ended up in her stomach. "Jeez, Vicks, if you keep dressing like that around me Frank is going to get the wrong idea."

"What, this old thing?" Vicky dismissed it with a wave. "It's so last year. Now that dress you're wearing, that is perfection!"

They strolled along the beach together with the sun warming their backs and sand crunching beneath their toes until they found the perfect spot to lay their picnic blanket. Vicky thrust the umbrella she'd brought into the sand like an explorer triumphantly planting a flag into newly discovered land. "I hereby claim this beach in the name of Queen Vicky!"

"And the very hungry Lady Harriet. Are you finally going to tell me what you brought?"

"I will indeed. Have a look!"

Vicky laid out a loaded charcuterie board, a loaf of artisanal bread studded with olives and walnuts, and, much to Harriet's dismay, a bottle of wine. "Jeez, Vicks, if I'd known you were going to go all out, I'd have at least brought some jam to go with all that. How long did it take you to make that bread?"

"Just a quick trip to Trader Joe's. You would not believe how hard it was not to eat the whole loaf myself."

Harriet mentally kicked herself. Of course Vicky didn't know the joy of pulling a fresh loaf out of the oven, barely waiting for it to cool before digging into the warm, pillowy goodness inside. A slice covered in admittedly creamy Brie quickly confirmed that neither did whoever baked the loaf. There was no hint of someone's mood rising along with the dough, and the dense bread landed in her stomach like a rock.

"That's nice," she said. She would have been ashamed to serve something like that.

"If you think that's good, you should come meet Chef Finlay one of these days. He's not as skilled as you-know-who, but I'll be damned if he doesn't know his way around the kitchen. It's such a pity Eleanor only has him cater her big events. Or maybe not, because otherwise I'd be fatter than a turducken!"

Harriet was not inclined to trust her friend's taste in baked goods thanks to the dry mouthful she was struggling to swallow. At least the seagulls liked the bread, swooping at the loaf and filling the air with their screeches.

"Back off, you rats with wings!" Vicky yelled as she futilely swatted at them. "Dang it, I knew I should have invited you over to the garden."

"Don't worry about it," Harriet said. "I can always make us more bread if you want."

Vicky shifted uncomfortably on the picnic blanket. "But you're really not supposed to."

"Come on, just one loaf. I bet you already have everything I need in that big ol' kitchen of yours."

"Well..."

"Please? I won't tell a soul."

Vicky bit her lip. After a long silence, she said, "No."

Heat rushed to Harriet's face as her words burned with anger as sharp as mint. "No? What do you mean 'no'? All I'm asking is to bake one loaf of bread. That's it!"

"You and I both know it won't be," Vicky said softly.

"Right, just like we both knew we wouldn't work out because you didn't want kids."

"That was different." Her voice's velvety softness had gone out with the tide, leaving it as hard as sea glass as her lips set into a thin line. "You wouldn't understand."

"What's not to understand? You didn't want kids with me." Harriet narrowed her eyes, digging her fingers into her arm to keep her hand from falling into that familiar, comforting whisking motion. "Eleanor sure got you to change your tune real quick."

"It wasn't like that."

"Oh, please. You were barely married a year before you got that kid."

"I never wanted Ollie!"

Vicky's mouth snapped shut. Not even the seagulls' screeching could drown out her breath coming in ragged gasps as her hands tightened into fists. Her dress's fabric rumpled beneath her fingers, the delicate blueness rippling into waves.

She was joking. She had to be. "The kid just had the most insane birthday party I've ever heard of, Vicks," Harriet said slowly. "Look me in the eye and tell me you know even one other six-year-old that's half as spoiled as he is."

Vicky took a deep breath before finishing the rest of her wine and pouring herself another glass. "Just because I didn't want him doesn't mean I don't want him to be happy. It's not his fault Eleanor stopped paying attention to both of us so quickly."

"But you go to all those ballet recitals and charity dinners and—"

"It wouldn't look good for the CEO to suddenly stop bringing her perfect little family to all her events, would it?" Vicky smiled sadly at her wineglass, twirling the stem before taking a long sip. "I'm just another accessory to her, and so is Ollie."

So Frank wasn't the only one who had stopped caring about other people's happiness. Maybe Vicky might understand what she was going through after all! "I know how that feels," Harriet began. "Frank treats Sam and I the same way."

Vicky snorted. "Oh, please. Did you not see how he acted outside The Magic Touch? The man adores you, Harriet."

"You did, too, but we both know how that ended."

"You still mean a lot to me," Vicky said. "You always have."

"Then why are you letting me suffer like this? I hate you!"

Silence hung between them like a soufflé. A single word could make them both collapse. Slowly, Vicky began to pack up their picnic.

Harriet's phone broke through the lapping of the waves. Sam had gotten into a fight at school.

"At least let me drive you there," Vicky said quietly.

Harriet longed to take that offer. Perhaps she would have, if she still considered Vicky a friend.