"I don't know how to do anything else," Lucy said quietly.
Rei's expression softened. She reached across the counter and grabbed Lucy's flour-dusted hand.
"Yes, you do," Rei said. "You're brilliant and creative and you have so many dreams you're sitting on. Remember when we were in college and you wanted to travel? You had that whole list of bakeries you wanted to visit. Paris, Tokyo, Seoul, New York. You were going to spend a year just learning and experiencing and living."
"That was before—"
"Before Grandmother got sick. I know." Rei squeezed her hand. "But Luce, it's been five years. At some point, you have to stop putting your life on hold."
"I'm not—"
"You are." Rei's voice was gentle but unyielding. "You're stuck. And I'm worried that if you don't unstick yourself soon, you're going to wake up at forty and realize you spent your entire twenties and thirties in this kitchen."
Lucy pulled her hand back and went back to kneading. "I like this kitchen."
"I know you do. But liking something and disappearing into it are two different things."
They sat in silence for a moment. Mae's humming drifted back from the front room, punctuated by the occasional clink of dishes.
"I don't know how to want things anymore," Lucy admitted. "I used to want so much—the travel, the culinary school, the adventure. But now when I try to imagine leaving, all I can think about is Grandmother and how disappointed she'd be, and the recipes being lost, and the community not having this place anymore. It's like wanting things for myself feels selfish."
"It's not selfish," Rei said. "It's human. And your grandmother would understand that."
"You don't know that."
"Actually, I do. Because I talked to her about it."
Lucy's head snapped up. "What?"
Rei had the grace to look slightly guilty. "Right before she died. When you'd decided to stay and give up the culinary school. I went to see her in the hospital and I told her I thought you were making a mistake. That you were too young to give up your dreams."
"What did she say?"
"She said you weren't giving up your dreams—you were postponing them. She said that sometimes we have to do what's needed in the moment, but that doesn't mean we stop dreaming. She said she trusted you to figure out the balance eventually." Rei paused. "And then she asked me to promise I'd remind you of that if you ever forgot."
Lucy felt tears slip down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of her hand, leaving streaks of flour.
"I miss her," Lucy whispered.
"I know." Rei came around the counter and hugged her, and Lucy let herself lean into it. "But she wouldn't want you to miss your own life because you're too busy preserving hers."
They stood like that for a long moment—Lucy crying quietly into Rei's shoulder, Rei rubbing her back the way she'd been doing since they were freshmen at UVM sharing a dorm room.
Finally, Lucy pulled back and wiped her face again.
"Okay," she said.
"Okay?"
"Okay, I'll... try. I'll try to take more time off. I'll try to want things again. I don't know what that looks like yet, but I'll try."
Rei smiled. "That's all I'm asking. Baby steps, Luce. You don't have to revolutionize your whole life overnight. Just... maybe start by taking one full day off. Sleep in. Read a book. Do something that's just for you."
"I take Mondays off."
"You take Mondays off to do admin work and deep clean the kitchen. That's not a day off, that's unpaid labor." Rei grabbed her PT bag. "I have to go. But seriously—think about what I said. And maybe consider hiring some help. Sara's cousin is looking for work. She's got bakery experience."
"I'll think about it," Lucy promised.
