Memory Soup

“Ivy, dearie….” A voice called from down the hall, hoarse and cracked. Ivy lifted her head, dropping her hairbrush in the sink. 

“Grandma? I’m coming!” Ivy rushed out of the bathroom and to her grandmother’s room. “What is it?” She hesitated in the doorway. Ivy’s grandmother had been sick for a while, and her parents had instructed her to not get too close, right before they left for the doctor’s office. 

“Ivy,” Grandma rasped, “Can you make me some soup?” Ivy nodded, worried at her grandma’s condition, but not wanting to show it. 

“Yes, yes, of course. Are you feeling alright?” Grandma turned her head and took a deep breath. 

“Thank you, Ivy, dear.” She whispered. Ivy trudged out of her grandma’s room and down the stairs to the kitchen. 

“Soup...soup....” She whispered, looking through the cupboards for some soup to cook. “Nothing.” Ivy grumbled, slamming the cupboard door shut in anger. She crossed the kitchen to the pantry and looked for anything that could be used. 

“Hmmm...crushed tomatoes.” Ivy mused, “I suppose I could make some soup from scratch.” Taking out the can of tomatoes, Ivy tried to remember the ingredients to tomato soup. She gave in and looked it up, quickly finding a recipe that would work. 

“Okay,” She whispered to herself while gathering ingredients, “Tomatoes, tomato paste, salt, an onion, garlic...flour?” 

Ivy didn’t question the recipe, and pulled out a bag of flour, nearly dropping it on her toes. “Oof, that’s heavy!” Once the ingredients were gathered, the cooking began. Ivy put a pot on the oven and put butter into it. 

While the pot heated up, and the butter began to melt, Ivy chopped the onion. Her eyes watered, and she remembered cooking alongside her grandma. 

“Wipe your eyes with this towel,” Her grandma would insist, tossing a towel at Ivy, “No time for crying in the kitchen.” Ivy couldn’t remember her grandma’s eyes ever watering while chopping onions. 

She wiped her own eyes and put the diced onion pieces in the pot. Salt was sprinkled in, and Ivy added the garlic after chopping it. She opened a drawer and pulled out a wooden spoon to stir with. As she stirred, Ivy reminisced in memories. 

“Time to stir!” Her grandma would announce, passing Ivy the spoon. 

“Awww, I hate stirring!” Ivy would protest, “Aren’t there other things to cut up?” Grandma would shake her head, and Ivy would take the spoon, happy to have something to do, but determined to be stubborn. 

“Whatever you do, don’t stop.” Grandma would instruct, “The best meals are made of hard work.” 

Soon the onions were soft. Ivy snapped out of her mind and stopped stirring. She opened the bag of flour and hoisted it on her forearm, just like how Grandma used to hold it. Ivy poured the flour into the pot and let it cook.

The next part of the recipe called for the blender, which she lugged out of the cabinet. Ivy plugged it in and turned it on to see if it worked. Once she was certain it did, she began to add the crushed tomatoes. 

Ivy reached for an oven mitt and picked up the pot with the onions and garlic. She dumped it into the blender along with the tomatoes, trying not to burn herself with the pot. Ivy put the blender lid back on and started the blender. The sound of the blender whirring calmed her, and Ivy allowed herself to slip back into her memories. 

One of Ivy’s personal favorite uses for the blender was making smoothies. Ivy and her grandma would buy fresh fruit from the grocer and make smoothies all the time, especially in the summer. Ivy’s dad would come home to the blender on and ask what flavor it was this time. He liked banana best, and Ivy’s mom liked strawberry, so strawberry banana was the most common flavor. 

Ivy glanced at the blender and saw the purée was ready. She stopped the blender and dumped the contents back into the pot, which had been left on the stove. Ivy added the tomato paste and put the lid of the pot on. 

She took it back off, however, before it could cook much. “Can’t believe I almost forgot.” She whispered, “The most important part.” Ivy leaned over the soup and blew it a kiss. Her grandma had always done that before she let something cook.

“It’s made with love.” She had told Ivy, “Everything I make is.” Grandma had let Ivy blow a kiss to the food, too, from then on. 

“It’s made with both of our love, now, Grandma!” Ivy had exclaimed cheerfully after putting a pie in the oven. Her grandma had just smiled and patted Ivy’s head. 

Ivy put the lid back on the soup pot and let it cook. She leaned back against the counter, breathing in the smell of fresh soup. “You’ll be proud, Grandma.” She whispered, “Once you just taste it. I did you well.” 

After stirring every few minutes, the soup was finally ready. Ivy excitedly ladled it into a bowl and placed a spoon in. “Grandma, I’m on my way with your soup!” She announced. 

Ivy reached the foot of the stairs and gripped the bowl tight, determined not to spill any soup. She took the stairs cautiously and carefully, with the spoon sliding around in the bowl. 

“Grandma?” Ivy peered into her grandmother’s room. Grandma was laying on the bed, her stomach rising and falling heavily with her breathing. “How are you?” Ivy asked. 

“Ivy, dearest.” Grandma breathed. “Did you make me soup?” Ivy rushed to the bedside, holding out the soup. 

“Yes, here it is.” She held out the soup. “Careful, it’s hot.” Grandma sat up and took the bowl in her hands graciously.

“Oh, Ivy, this smells wonderful.” She smiled at Ivy, “Thank you.” Grandma lifted the spoon to her lips and sipped the tomato soup. “Oh, it’s delicious!” She declared. “Ivy, did you make this by yourself?” 

“Sort of.” Ivy admitted. “I was alone in the kitchen, sure. But you were there in spirit, helping me. So thank you.” Grandma set down her spoon and looked at Ivy in awe. 

“Oh, honey, you don’t need my help. You’re a fantastic cook. Take your credit!” She insisted. Ivy watched her grandma eat another spoonful of soup. 

“I love you, Grandma.” 

“I love you more, Ivy, dearie.”