I’m at a loss for words. This isn’t good. I know we need the money, but this could escalate the feud even more. Now isn’t the time for fights, not when Deals Deals is sending cars to photograph our bakeries.

“When Dona Fernanda came to inspect Salt, Eulalia ambushed her,” Mom explains, like she’s also trying to understand how the heck we got to this point. “She barged into Salt and saw the pastry samples I baked for the client. Someone must have told her.” I get a wound-up feeling in my chest, because I wonder if Pedro told his mother how I said Salt should start considering baking cakes, too. “It was a nightmare, filha. Eulalia threw a fit in front of the client, telling her we were baking their recipes to steal their job, like the hypocrite that she is. I brought up the empadinhas they baked when they stole the wedding gig from us, but of course Eulalia put the blame on the client, acting like she wouldn’t have done that had the client not requested empadinhas from Sugar...” Mom shakes her head. “I was so embarrassed. Dona Fernanda was mortified, so she thought it would be best to have both of us catering together to avoid any more issues between our bakeries. She’ll pay more if we work as party planners and coordinate at the venue, instead of delivering things separately...”

“Party planning?”

Now I’m really worried. I know Sugar has dipped their feet in party planning in the past—I saw their flyers a few years ago, promoting their services—but this will be a new experience for Mom.

“I’ll learn. Dona Selma used to host many parties and she already promised she will give me pointers,” she says, but I must look unconvinced, because her chin trembles a little, her own anxiety starting to show. “Dona Fernanda could have fired both of us on the spot, but she didn’t. Instead, she offered me a new opportunity. I’ll do everything I can to make it work.”

“Mom...” My chest feels so tight.

I should be apologizing—maybe Dona Eulalia wouldn’t have totally believed the rumors about the doce samples Mom baked had I not told Pedro we had the right to bake them—but I can’t do that without letting her know I clashed with him about the client.

Mom doesn’t like the idea of the two of us going to the same school and I hide how bad our arguing gets. I don’t want to worry her even more, so she thinks the feud only exists right here. On our street. And that Pedro and I ignore each other at school.

“I have to take the job,” she repeats. “We need this. I just hope your grandmother and Gabriel can forgive me.”