Chapter 18

“My grandmother taught me.” I traced the rim of my glass with my calloused index finger. I told him about her huge farm-style kitchen and how she’d been the happiest spending all her waking hours cooking and baking, and how she’d loved teaching me all her tricks. “She would’ve loved this.” I gestured to my plate. “She wasn’t impressed by fancy. She used to say she was a ‘meat and potatoes kind of gal.’” I smiled at the memory.

“She sounds like a great lady.”

“She was. She died right before I went to college.” I still missed her, especially after what had happened with my family during my freshman year of college. I missed her cackling laughter—her witch’s laughter, as she’d called it—her wrinkly but kind face, and the long white braid that reached all the way to her butt. But most of all, I missed her warm, strong hugs. For someone so frail-looking, she had the strongest arms. “Sorry,” I said with a shake of my head, trying to get rid of the melancholy.