The Friends We Keep

“I’m working on a car with Russ now,” he continued. “When it’s done, I’m quitting.”


She wanted to tell him he couldn’t, but didn’t. When she had their Switzerland trip arranged, he would understand that he couldn’t give up the extra income. He would support her. But for now, all she said was, “Whatever you think is best.”

“I wish I could believe you mean that.”

She sipped her drink, then looked at him. “You can.”

“I’m not convinced.” He leaned against the counter. “Can we at least talk about adoption?”

“No.”

“A child—”

“I want a baby. Our baby.”

“Hayley, honey, your parents loved you. I saw them with you and they adored you. The problem wasn’t them, it was Morgan.”

“You don’t know what it was like, Rob. We’ve been over this and over this. My parents were great people. They couldn’t help loving their biological daughter more than their adopted one. I get that. I accept it, but I can’t forget it. I want a baby of my own. A baby that is truly us. Only us. Then everything will be fine.”

His expression turned pained. “Hayley,” he began.

“I know. You want me to accept it’s never going to happen.” She glanced at the clock. “I have to go. I’ll see you later.”

He didn’t try to stop her from leaving the room. Fifteen minutes later, she was driving to her sister’s business. Rob’s claims about her sister and her parents weren’t new. Sometimes, she could almost believe him. The problem was, her parents weren’t around to ask anymore. They’d been killed in a car accident nearly five years ago.

All she could go on now was how it had felt growing up—when everything was about Morgan and she was always thought of second. There were a thousand examples—like when she’d won the essay contest for the entire fourth grade. While her parents had said they were proud of her, the celebration dinner had consisted of Morgan’s favorite foods, not hers. Or if they were each given a doll and Morgan broke or damaged hers, Morgan was then given Hayley’s. Because Hayley would understand.

Sometimes she had but sometimes she’d held back tears until she could be alone and cry. Because it had never been fair.

She arrived at Supper’s in the Bag a little before eight. The first customers today were scheduled at ten. Most of the food was delivered relatively prepped. It was amazing what a food-based business could buy these days. Her job was to get everything ready. Put out the day’s menus and the instruction sheets. Chop up the fresh produce that was more delicate, like the tomatoes. Distribute the ingredients to each station and have it all done in two hours.

She unlocked the front door, then locked it behind her. After flipping on lights, she put on an apron and studied the menus for the day.

By nine-thirty, she had six of the eight stations set up. Everything was diced and in place. She heard keys unlocking the door and knew that Morgan had arrived.

“Oh my God, you simply won’t believe it,” Morgan said by way of greeting. “I swear, that husband of mine is a complete idiot. He knows I work every Saturday morning and week after week, he claims he forgets he’s responsible for the kids until I can get home. I just want him put to sleep.”

Hayley kept working. She checked the spice bottles she’d brought out of the industrial-sized pantry. The company bought in bulk, then she poured smaller amounts into restaurant-sized bottles for each station. The same with olive oil, soy sauce and other pantry staples.

“Did Brent think you’d use Cecelia to sit for them?” Hayley asked.

“I don’t know. I didn’t stay to listen. I just left. How’s it going?”

“Good.”

Morgan walked over to the unfinished station. “You’re going to get to this, right?”

“I am.”

Because Morgan didn’t believe in doing work herself.

When their parents died, she’d used her half of their small inheritance to buy the franchise. She’d said she wanted something of her own. But when it came to running the business, she hadn’t wanted to do anything with it. She’d hired a manager, but that had been a disaster. The company had lost money steadily until Brent had gone through the books and figured out the woman was stealing from them. He’d told Morgan to either run it herself or sell it. Morgan still complained about that ultimatum.

“The kids are making me crazy, too,” Morgan continued, snatching up a cherry tomato and biting into it. “Amy has reached the whiny stage. Everything is about her. It’s exhausting.”