“I liked that someone thought I could still make beautiful things.”

I dried my hands.

“You don’t need anybody’s permission to make beautiful things.”

“It isn’t permission,” she said.

“It’s being needed.

At my age, the days can get quiet.”

I had been so busy calculating ingredients, labor, and medication that I hadn’t properly seen that part.

Making a wedding cake had given her a project, a deadline, and a chance to show a grandchild what her hands could still do.