She hummed, indicating her deep disagreement. “He looks shiny. And sweet. Like a labrador in human form.”
“Gran, he’s annoying.” I huffed.
“Mm-hm,” she replied, in a tone indicating I had just confirmed her theory.
Despite all my protests, Gran insisted on separating the eggs herself.
We were one egg in when she dropped half the shell and a dribble of yolk into the bowl and said, “Whoops. Never mind, dear, it adds texture. Nothing wrong with adding a bit of character.”
“We arenotserving Kai a textured eggshell abomination.” I fished them out. The cold guck coated my fingers and I cringed.Gross.
She gave me a dismissive flick of her wrist. “Young people need grit in their diet.”
I pulled a face and scooped out the cornstarch. “That’s disgusting.”
“Toughen up, dear.”
She moved to turn the mixer on before I could stop her. The starch puffed up and coated our faces in a white, powdery sheen.
I blinked slowly, turned my head to meet her gaze and we both burst into a fit of laughter.
“You know,” she said, throwing more sugar into the mixing bowl with way too much enthusiasm, “I sometimes think I was born in the wrong time.”
“Oh yeah, how come?”
“I always felt like I had to hide the best parts of me. Your grandfather and I met when I was just fifteen, and we got married a year later. It was all so different, all so … difficult. Especially for a young woman. I was never allowed to let my fire burn hot, and I’m just so glad no one’s dimming yours, darling. If you’d been born in my day, you’d have been wasted folding laundry and pretending to love your husband.”
She paused, her eyes softening, and I was rooted to the spot.
“You deserve more than what this life gave me. So you must make sure you live life to the fullest and seize every opportunity coming your way.”
I gave her a slow nod, although what she was asking me to do seemed impossible. How could I seize opportunities and live life to the full when I was tied to this town by duty?
I wish I could say the rest of the baking proceeded in a more orderly fashion, but that would be wishful thinking. By the time I slid the pavlova base into the oven, the kitchen looked like a goddamn battlefield.
Gran was scraping the mixing bowl for remnants of the meringue when I turned around.
“You’re like a raccoon,” I remarked, shaking my head at her.
Gran wasn’t the easiest person on earth, but she had always been there for me. She was the one who made sure I had dinner and rides and who screamed at the school principal when necessary.
She’d done everything for me, and now we traded places.
I owed her so much, probably more than I could ever repay. But every time I even mentioned something along those lines, she’d always say the same.
That one didn’t weigh up one’s actions against another’s within a family.
That everything she’d done for me, she’d done because she wanted to.
I knew she was right, yet I still felt like I had to make it up to her. I had to be there for her; if I didn’t, who else would?
For the fourth time, I caught her sneaking a finger of the sweet foam from the bowl. Threatening her with my spatula, I gave her a stern look. “Stop eating it.”
“Quality control.”
“You’re going to get diabetes.”
“Bah. Who cares? I'll die soon anyway.”
