Nana

Mary looked down at the recipe card in front of her. Millimeters away was a broken glass, and a pool of water she didn’t have enough energy to clean up. The red ink was smudged. The writing was illegible. 

A tear rolled down her cheek when she remembered just one Christmas ago, her mother asking for a pen. It had taken her a while to find one. She shuffled through her mothers desk, in her purse, even asked one of the caretakers if they had one to spare. Alas there was no pen to be found. 

Not until Mary's daughter Julia, who could not even walk yet, held out something in her squishy little hand. A sparkly red gel pen. 

Then Nana, her mom, wrote down every last step of her favourite cookie recipe. One that had been passed down generation by generation. Nana took her frail and wrinkly hand that had in days past baked thousands of cookies, and wrapped it around Mary’s. She tucked the card into her palm. 

“Bake cookies for my grandaughter, Mary, because I’m afraid I won’t be around long enough to make them for her myself,” 

It had been a year since she lost her mother, but it still brought a wave of grief. After all, the only stable person in her life had been her mother. Her entire life they had not gone more than a month without seeing each other. No more than a day without calling. It felt as if a great big hole had been scooped out of her life. One she couldn’t lay her eyes on but was always there in the back of her head. Peering over her shoulder. 

Last season, her daughter, Julia had been too young to eat the cookies. Seeing the recipe card brought too many emotions for Mary to make them for herself. Now looking at the ruined card in front of her, she wished she had baked the cookies so many times she could whirl up a batch in a matter of minutes, just like Nana could. 

It had been so long she could not even remember the taste. 

Mary slid down onto the ground. She did not see how she could fix this. She wished, not for the first time that she had a time machine, so she could stop herself from pouring the glass. Far back in her memory she remembered making the cookies with her mom. There were a lot of kids in their house. But Mary was the only one that helped with the cookies. It was her special job.

One time Nana leaned down in their farmhouse kitchen and whispered in her ear.

“Mary, you're the one who has the touch, to make cookies that warm the heart like melted gold through the veins.” 

So she stood up and grabbed a bowl. After the first few steps it started to come back. She remembered to add this and stir that and stop when it was mixed in, and not to mix anymore because then they would be too tough. Still, she was missing something. She tasted the batter and knew there was a hole. 

For a while she stared at the card on the counter. It was maddening how just hours ago she could have checked on the card.

Gold sunlight beamed through the windows. Mary had an idea and held the card up to the light. Perhaps it was Nana, or god himself, but in the light she could make out one word.

Nutmeg

And that was it. That was what she was missing. 

She stirred it in and put them in the oven for exactly eleven minutes. They would be a little soft but if she left a crack in the door and turned off the heat for another four minutes they would cook to perfection. 

She had a smile on her face. Not one that was forced, or that someone put there. For the first time in a year, she was truly content. 

The doorbell rang, hours later and Mary invited her siblings into her house. One year to the date she lost the most important person in her life. She knew she wasn’t the only one that had been thinking about it. Everyone was abit somber as they entered in from the snow outside.

Julia ran up and grabbed her legs. Mary hefted her up onto her hip and showed everyone inside. 

It was a long night of talking. The girls sipped politely on wine and the boys, rather less politely on their gin. After they ate Mary brought out a tray. 

She set it down nervously and they all took one. It wasn’t until Danny looked at her over his glass that she knew she’d done a good job. Everyone talked around them, but did not hear as he said directly to her.

“Exactly like I remember,” and nodded his head before going back to observing. 

Danny did not like to talk a lot. But when he did, it was always at a good time and needed to be heard. It was him who got the family through last december as a whole. 

Mary reached over and picked a cookie off the top and handed it to Julia. She lifted the cookie to her mouth and took a big chomp. 

It was hard to know what to expect from a three year old, so Mary held her breath as she chewed. Then Julia puffed up her chest and announced to the whole room, 

“These are the best damn cookies I’ve ever had,” 

It was one of those moments as a mother you both want to scold and laugh. Mary chose to do the latter. 

“She must have been around the boy’s too much today!” 

And the room erupted into laughter. For the first time in a year, Mary felt the hole fill and her shoulders ease. It was a different kind of happiness. Content that her world would never be the same, but knowing it could still be good. And when she saw her daughter, who had so rudely sworn in front of their company, her heart swelled.

Somehow, Nana helped her remember the recipe. She made sure her granddaughter tasted what she was most proud of. Looking around the room at all of the people gathered, Mary also knew that she brought them together. Because, perhaps more than anything Nana valued Family.

She valued those that catch us when we fall.