“Becca said she gave you a note from her class,” Margaret said. “Did you lose it?”

He resented his mother’s implication, but knew it came from a place of truth. John did have a habit of losing papers. “I don’t know. I don’t remember the conversation.”

“Really, kiddo. Parenthood is full of permission slips and last minute demands.”

“I’m not a parent,” he reminded them.

“Of course,” Sandra said. “But you’re one for two months. Get with the program.”

“I fail to see where the carved pumpkins fit into this afternoon,” John said, changing the subject. “You said you needed cookies.”

“Because it’s a nice touch, Johnny,” his mother said with an exasperated sigh. “I didn’t show up to your school with the bare minimum, did I?”

John rolled his eyes as he remembered how Margaret had showed up to his own school with Christmas cookies and Santa hats for all of his classmates. It was just as embarrassing then as it was now. She may have been a hit with his friends, but at the tender age of nine, John had his reputation to consider. “Christ,” he said.

“But this isn’t about cookies or pumpkins,” Sandra said. “Something else is bothering you.”

“It’s the good doctor Reese, isn’t it?”

John could always count on the two of them to pounce on his weaknesses and pry them out of him. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Bingo, Maggie,” Sandra said, sprinkling chocolate chips into the batter. “He’s having woman trouble.”

“I thought so,” his mother said with a knowing smile.

“He’s got John’s glare when he’s stewing,” Sandra with a laugh. “Do you remember counting the wrinkles in his forehead?”

Margaret chortled into her fist. “God rest his soul, but that man knew how to pout!”

As old as John was, he could never get used to the two women talking about his late father. Long ago, they’d reconciled easily with the idea of being married to the same man. After all, the divorce had been his mother’s idea. When he went on with his life, Margaret had been relieved. With no animosity on her end, she had welcomed Sandra and Jessi into the fold with an ease that John never understood. He still thought of his father as a rigid unyielding man who barely spoke to him as a child. Hearing his mothers describe his actions as reminiscent of John Sr., irritated him. John sighed and decided now was probably a good time to relent. “Alright, it’s Victoria.”

“We know, kiddo. Catch up,” Sandra said, spooning mounds of batter onto a baking sheet. “Now just tell us the problem so we can dig you out of your hole.”

“What makes you think it’s my fault?”

“I just said you were in a hole, I didn’t say you dug it.”