“My whole family is renting an Airbnb,” Jacob said. “Even my cousins from Texas.”
“Em, what about you?” Madison turned, smiling kindly. “Is your grandma coming?”
“She’s gonna try,” I said. “Her knees, you know.”
“That’s so sweet she’s even trying.”
I smiled the smile I’d practiced in the bathroom mirror. The one that said, “I’m fine, please stop looking.”
At home that night, Nana set down a plate of mashed potatoes and watched me push them around.
“You haven’t tried on your gown yet, baby.”
“I will.”
“The ceremony’s in 11 days.”
“I know, Nana.”
She reached across the table, her hand papery and warm over mine.
“Your mama would’ve been unbearable right now, you know that?” she laughed. “Crying for months. Buying out the whole flower shop.”
“Don’t, Nana. Please.”
“Sweetheart—”
“I just don’t want to talk about it.”
She nodded slowly. Then she got up, slower than she used to, and shuffled to the counter where an old blue cookie tin sat next to the bread box.
I watched her lift the lid, slide something inside, and press it closed like she was tucking a child into bed.
“What’s in there?” I asked.
“Recipes,” she said, too quickly. “Old ones from your great-grandmother. I keep meaning to write them out for you.”
“Since when do you hide recipes?”
