Mama squeezes my hand gently before returning to kneading the dough. I watch her strong, nimble fingers work the pale mound. Baking has been her passion since girlhood. Even in our darkest days after Papa died, Mama always managed to conjure up sweet breads to fill our bellies and spirits.
Looking at her now, I feel a pang of guilt. I want her blessings for this new chapter of my life, but I would forge ahead regardless if she put up a fuss.
I have to, for Yara.
Still, having her support makes things much easier.
"You've given me so much, Mama," I say softly. "I don't want to seem ungrateful, or like I'm running away and abandoning you."
She pauses, dusting flour off her hands before facing me again. "Oh Alina, you have nothing to feel guilty for. A mother's greatest joy is seeing her child spread her wings and fly. I always knew you'd do amazing things."
I blink back sudden tears. "I'll send for you, as soon as I'm settled. Yara will need her grandmother's guidance."
Mama chuckles. "And her cooking! American food is so bland, or so I've heard."
We both laugh, the sound lifting the mood.
No matter what comes next, our bond will remain as strong as ever.
I smile through my tears as Mama comes out from behind the counter and wraps her arms around me the way she has since I was a little girl. Her arms are frailer now, but the meaning behind this simple act is as powerful as ever.
Inhaling the scent of yeast and cinnamon that always clings to her, I'm instantly transported back to childhood. To long days spent watching her bake in her cramped kitchen, learning at her side.
She's taught me so much over the years—how to roll out dough, shape intricate braided loaves, and test when cakes were done with a toothpick.
But more than recipes or techniques, she's imparted wisdom. Patience while waiting for dough to rise. Care in choosing ingredients even when you have hardly any food in your pantry. The value of putting love into everything you create.
I cling to her tightly, knowing I'll carry those lessons with me wherever I go. They're woven into the fabric of who I am.
She pulls back, cradling my face in her flour-dusted hands. "You'll write?"
I nod, not trusting my voice. "Of course, and we can do video calls as well. I'll help you get it all set up before we leave."
"And I know you'll take wonderful care of my granddaughter. Gosh, I'm going to miss her."
"Of course, Mama." I managed a watery smile, instantly feeling guilty for taking Yara away. "And I know she'll miss you too. I'll make sure you can video chat all the time."
She kisses my forehead. "Good. Then I have nothing to worry about. I'm so proud of you, Alina, for never settling or accepting what life gave you."
I hope she's right. That the roots she's given me will be enough to flourish in new soil.
Drawing a shaky breath, I stand, my heart brimming with equal parts excitement and fear.
But bravery isn't the absence of fear, it's moving forward despite it.
And for Yara, I will find that courage.
Chapter 11
Alina
"Yara," I say, gesturing for her to come over. "I need to talk to you."
I'm equal parts excited and apprehensive about having this conversation with her. Revealing that we're about to make a life-changing move is no small deal.
The opportunities available to her in America, compared to here, make my heart swell with anticipation and pride.
But at the same time, I know I'll be ripping her away from the life she knows—her friends, the school she's settled into, and her beloved grandmother. This brings immense guilt.