I stifled a laugh. “You thought I was joking when I said she’s never made a waffle in her life?”

“I did, actually,” he replied.

I led Karter down the hall and as we rounded the corner into the kitchen, we saw Mo wearing a full-on chef’s uniform: the white coat, the hat—everything.

“Yikes,” I said.

Mo’s head whipped around.

“Watch and learn, baby girl,” she said. “Watch and learn.”

“Where’d you even get that outfit?” I asked.

Mo waved me away. “Don’t worry about it.”

She laid out all the ingredients she was going to use on the counter. Karter and I sat at the narrow table at the rear of the kitchen as Mom walked in and immediately took out her phone. Mo mixed the ingredients together and poured the batter onto the waffle iron. It made a loud hissing sound.

“Is that smoke?” I asked.

“It’s steam,” Mo said.

A half hour later, our blackened waffles were in the trash and the windows were open so the wispy clouds of gray smoke could escape. Mo drove into town to pick up breakfast under the condition that we would never speak about her waffle-making skills ever again.

After breakfast, Karter and I went outside. It was barely midmorning but the warm summer air was already heavy. The combination of a full stomach and the heat made me feel lazy as we circled around to the back of the house. I eyed the entrance to the hidden path.

“You gotta give Mo an A for confidence,” said Karter. “She was convinced she could make that breakfast. You really don’t know where she got the outfit?”

“No idea,” I said, laughing. “I feel bad, but she’s really good at lunch and dinner. I don’t know why she can’t get the hang of breakfast. We usually get bagels.”

“Probably a good idea.” He put his hands in his pockets. “So, what now? Are you guys staying long-term or . . .”

I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose. “I didn’t think we would. I didn’t want to come up here at first.”

“Why?” Karter asked.

“I was worried. This is a big change and the city is . . . ​familiar. Being out here is all new.”

“I get that,” said Karter.

“But I kind of fell out with my friends,” I said. “Maybe ‘fell out’ isn’t the right way to say it. It’s more like we were one thing when we met and now we’re something different. We just grew apart and I got comfortable making myself small.” I stopped. “Sorry. Now I’m the one telling you all my business.”

“I told you about my mom, so it’s only fair you tell me about your problems.” He smiled. “That’s what friends are for, right?”