It felt strange, Pumpkin thought, having another body in the kitchen with her. It reminded her of when her parents had still been around, when they had taught her how to hold a whisk right and how to invite the heat into a croissant. It reminded her of when it had been like this before, when she’d been able to turn around and see him standing there with that cheeky grin, up to his elbows in batter without a clue in the world of what to do with it next.

“She looks happy,” said the stallion on the other side of the room. He wasn’t covered in any batter now. He’d offered to help, but she’d told him was fine on her own.

Pumpkin let the spoon she was stirring with fall gently back into the bowl, and followed his gaze all the way over to her daughter. Vanilla was six now, ready to start school in the fall. She loved sitting on the counter while she was baking, hoping to catch a morsel from each batch out of the oven. How like him, she always thought.

“She in school yet?” he asked next. Of course he wouldn’t know. A few years ago, she might’ve excused him for that. He’d been away for a while. They’d parted on quite agreeable terms. He promised that next month he’d have time to reply to a letter or two.

“Next fall,” she replied. “How’s the job in Canterlot going?”

“Awesome. You wouldn’t believe how much of Equestria still hasn’t been properly surveyed. Even the settled areas need a few guys to fly around and figure out where they can afford to put a house down.”

Pumpkin lit her horn, and the spoon lifted up and began rotating again. “I suppose you travel a lot, then.”

“Too much,” he answered quickly. “You lose track of things out there. Of what’s really important.”

Like your family, Pumpkin thought. Like your own flesh and blood. Like anything that isn’t bright and free and beautiful enough for you to allow it into your perfect, free life.

“Oh?” she said, pulling the spoon out and tasting the mix. Too sweet. Needed more body to it.

“Yeah,” he said. A patch of warmth spread over Pumpkin’s shoulder; he’d placed his hoof there delicately, as if he were afraid he’d break her if he moved towards her too fast. “And I did. I got lost and I screwed up a lot of things, and I... I want to start making it up to you. Right now. This whole weekend, it’s just you and me and Vanilla. We’ll go to the park, we’ll goof off, we’ll remember how good things used to be, and I’ll be there for it. Okay? Can you... I mean, do you want me to do that? Are you okay with that?”

Oh, what a question to ask now. Am I okay with that? Well, he’d never apologized. He felt bad about everything, apparently, but he’d never said he was sorry about leaving them behind without so much as a postcard for six years. And yet, she couldn’t help but smile, couldn’t help but feel the weight in her chest lift up a little bit. How like him, she thought. Clumsy, clueless, but still trying. Still absolutely sure everything’s going to work out in the end.

His optimism was infectious. It always had been. And now, for some incomprehensible reason, she felt a little bit of it work its way back into her heart again. Maybe this time he would be there. Maybe this time he would stay.

“Sure,” she said, and his grin was all it took to convince her she’d been right. He hadn’t fixed anything by saying what he’d said, but he was trying. And for now, for this one weekend, maybe that could be enough.