A Catered Mother's Day Read Free

sister’s hard work had paid off.
    It had turned out that making the biscotti was trickier than Bernie and Libby had anticipated. They needed to be crisp enough to hold their shape when you dunked them in coffee, but not so hard that they hurt your teeth. Plus, there was the fact that they had to be baked twice. Then there were the flavors. She and Libby had been fiddling around with the biscotti for over a month, but in the end, aside from the ones they’d made with chocolate and a dash of chili, they’d settled on anise and almond, the old tried and true. Sometimes you couldn’t beat the classics.
    â€œSo when are you going to move?” Bernie asked Ellen.
    â€œWe’re in. We signed the lease two weeks ago. We just have to bring in our supplies.” Ellen lapsed into silence as she watched a sailboat out on the Hudson. “Bruce and I used to have one of those, a twenty-four footer. Then the kids came along and we sold it. You’re lucky you’re not married,” she said suddenly.
    Bernie dusted the crumbs off her pink silk blouse, which caused the pigeons to surge forward. “You just need to find a way to make everyone pay attention.”
    â€œI’ve tried,” Ellen wailed. “You know I have, but nothing I say seems to penetrate.”
    Bernie stamped her feet and the pigeons retreated for the third time. “That’s the problem. You have to stop talking and start acting.”
    â€œAnd do what?” Ellen put both of her hands out palms up in a gesture of defeat. “Tell me. I’ve tried not doing the dishes or doing the laundry, but it didn’t faze them in the least. Clearly my family has a higher capacity for dirt and disorder than I do.”
    Bernie finished off her biscotti. “I might have a solution for you.”
    Ellen leaned forward. “Tell me.”
    â€œYou could always fake your own kidnapping. That would certainly get everyone’s attention.”
    Ellen’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”
    Bernie snorted. “Of course not seriously. I was kidding. But you could go off to a spa for a couple of days.”
    Ellen leaned back. “I like it,” she said.
    â€œThen you should do it,” Bernie replied, thinking that Ellen was referring to her second idea instead of her first.

Chapter 2
    U p until Ellen’s call on Saturday evening, Bernie and Libby had had a pretty uneventful day. Business at the shop had been slow but steady. They had sold out of their chocolate salted caramel cupcakes and lavender and honey crème brûlées as well as their basil chicken salad, pasta primavera, and Moroccan lamb stew. At a little after seven Bernie and Libby ushered their last customer out, locked the front door, cashed out, wiped down the counters, and swept up.
    Afterward, they retired to the kitchen, where they began boxing up the French macaroons they were featuring for Mother’s Day. After that was done they planned on meeting Marvin and Brandon at RJ’s for a drink, then getting a good night’s sleep because Mother’s Day morning was always a busy one, what with frantic dads and unruly kids hurrying in to buy last minute treats.
    â€œI wonder what Mom would have thought of the macaroons,” Libby said as she carefully slid six of them into a clear plastic box and put the top on.
    Bernie looked up from cutting lengths of deep blue velvet ribbon. “I’m sure she would have approved. She always liked new things.”
    â€œMrs. Salazar was asking about the little cupcakes with the candied violets on top that Mom always did for Mother’s Day.”
    Libby reached for a ribbon. “We can do those next year.”
    â€œDad would like that.”
    â€œHe liked anything Mom made.”
    â€œThis is true.”
    The sisters worked in silence for the next twenty minutes. At seven forty-five Bernie’s cell rang. She wiped her hands on her apron, picked it up, and looked