Hummingbird Cake

Grandma Birdy’s favorite thing to eat in the world was hummingbird cake. Homemade, not from a box, and the pecans had to be toasted. That was the most important part. If you put raw pecans on top, she wouldn’t eat even a bite. 

Cassady got the ingredients out, one by one - eggs, cake flour, crushed pineapple, vanilla, and everything else - and lined everything up on her kitchen island. Almost immediately her heart took her back to a place in time when Grandma Birdy was teaching a 12-year-old Cassady to make her very first hummingbird cake. The ingredients were all lined up on her speckled pink formica countertop, not white granite, and the bubblegum pink Kitchenaid mixer was ready to be put to use. Cassady’s mixer was sleek and chrome. 

“Alright now, Cassady, now what’s the first step? Remember what I said?” Grandma Birdy asked. 

“Yes, Grandma. First, we gotta toast the pecans in a little canola oil in the cast iron.” Cassady chirped as Grandma Birdy nodded her approval. 

“Alright now, go on and get that started then. Now, that’s enough oil. You only need a tiny bit. That’s right, now what did I say about toastin’ them pecans?” Birdy instructed. 

“Well, you said they’re sneaky little bastards and you gotta watch ‘em real close. Because they’ll burn up quicker than dry fall leaves in a bonfire.” Cassady recited as Grandma Birdy chortled her deep throaty laugh. 

“Yes ma’am, that’s right. Now, watch ‘em, and I’m gonna get a bowl for you to sift the flour into.”

And it went on like that. Grandma Birdy let Cassady take the reins, only intervening if she was about to make a crucial error. The end result was one of the best, sweetest, tastes-like-heaven-cakes Cassady had ever tasted in all her 12 years. 

In the present-time, Cassady was sifting the dry ingredients together, the flour billowing up into a cloud around her. The clinical style of her apartment kitchen was nothing like Grandma’s, and she wasn’t partial to it. The apartment was a placeholder - convenient to her job, convenient on price, and conveniently close to where Birdy now lived. Her plan was to eventually buy her grandmother’s house. But, not yet. It wasn’t time yet. 

With the cake in the oven, Cassady went to get herself ready for a visit with Grandma Birdy. As soon as she stepped out of the shower, the anticipation and nerves set into the veins of her body. Her insides felt like they were wringing themselves out, over and over, in waves. 

Why was she so nervous? This was just her grandmother. The woman who had let Cassady come live with her when she was going to college, because it was much closer than her parents’ house. The woman who taught her everything she knew about cooking, and inspired Cassady to write her own cookbook. They collaborated together on the section titled “Grandma Birdy’s Specialties.” Hummingbird cake was the first recipe in that chapter. It was the funnest part of her life so far. They’d laugh over wine and scones or cookies or cakes while they worked on it. 

So why was Cassady scared right now? 

The building where Grandma Birdy lived now was warm. In both temperature and ambiance. There was a big glass tank in the waiting room, where little finches flitted about from one end to the other, their melodic warbles a comfort to Cassady. She’d named them all in her head. Her favorite little guy was Skye. The lighting was warm; there were no clinical fluorescents here. The big squishy arm chairs in the waiting room all had throw pillows and comfortable blankets draped over them. It was more like your best friend’s living room than a waiting room for a continuing care retirement community. 

Sarah, the receptionist, smiled big at Cassady when she signed in. 

“You know where to go, honey. She’s in her room now.” 

Cassady took a deep breath and made her way down the hall, which was adorned with beautiful art by local artists. She stopped in front of room 246, hummingbird cake in hand, and took another few deep breaths, trying to steady the shaking in her chest. She steeled herself and pushed the door open. 

Grandma Birdy was in bed, watching something on Food Network, wearing her purple floral robe. He white hair looked like it had just been done, tightly coiled and sprayed. 

Cassady said, “Hey Ol’ Bird,” trying not to let uncertainty taint her voice, searching Birdy’s face as she turned to look at her granddaughter. The next few seconds would determine if this would be a good visit or an extremely painful one. Birdy looked at her granddaughter, then her eyes shifted to the covered cake plate she was gripping tightly. 

“Well now… what confection have you brought me today, Cassady?” Fireworks set off in Cassady’s head. Grandma Birdy remembered her today. Grandma Birdy saying her name was sweeter than the sound of angels singing in heaven, she was sure of it. Cassady cracked a smile and her whole body relaxed. 

“I brought your favorite, Grandma Birdy.” 

Her whole face lit up. Birdy and Cassady sat together, eating bite after delicious bite, drinking coffee out of Birdy’s Keurig, and watching TV together. Cassady sent up a prayer, thanking God that today could be a good day. 

On the bad days, Birdy didn’t get violent or upset or disoriented. The doctors told Cassady that was a possibility as the disease progressed. But that didn’t happen. Instead, Birdy’s eyes just glassed over as she was perfectly polite to Cassady, treating her like she was the pharmacist at CVS - not her granddaughter. Just a random person. Cassady kept it together during those visits, but as soon as she got to her car, she wept. And it took her about a week to emotionally recover. She wouldn’t even feel like cooking, let alone eating. Those visits were getting more frequent.

But not today. Today, Cassady and Grandma Birdy were having hummingbird cake together.