When the first sob escapes me, I can hardly believe it’s mine. I make a horrible guttural noise in her arms. And suddenly the stone encasing me breaks. My chest feels like it’s about to explode as I try to hold the tears back, but they’re stronger than me. I bury my face in Mom’s shoulder, shaking.

She hugs me tighter.

It’s the hug I’ve been waiting for for so long. The hug that didn’t happen months ago at the hospital, when they said Grandma wasn’t recovering. The hug that didn’t happen while we watched Grandma’s disease spread. The hug that didn’t happen at the cemetery, when they filled Grandma’s coffin with sunflowers. The hug that didn’t happen when we were back at Salt, just the two of us, the daunting challenge to go on with life without Grandma.

“I love you, too,” I say. “I missed you.”

“I don’t expect you to understand my reasons, but I kept you away from the kitchen all this time because I didn’t want you to get hurt like I did. Like your father did. I just wasn’t counting on you being, well—you’re too much your grandmother’s granddaughter. And I guess... I am not getting in the way of that anymore. I’m not going to keep a northeastern girl from learning how to at least make couscous.”

“What?” My heart races. “You’re going to teach me?”

“If you’re serious about culinary school, do you think they’ll let you in if you can’t even make couscous?”

A grin overtakes my face. “I’m my mother’s daughter,” I correct her.

Mom gives me a teary smile. This feels like the beginning of finally bridging the way to each other. She picks up the bag of couscous flakes, flocão type, and hands it to me. “Now, the trick for getting couscous fluffy is—”

Everything suddenly goes dark.

“What happened?” I say, panic rising in my chest.

“The disconnection notice.”

In the darkness that befalls Salt, it’s like there’s no room for hopes and dreams.

I sense Mom’s anxiety for my future in the way she grabs a matchbox and shakily lights a few candles. She looks so scared and embarrassed when she turns to guide me out of the kitchen. “I can’t let you inherit a bankrupt bakery. Make a future for yourself elsewhere, filha. Forget this place.” Her voice is strangled with tears. “And I’ll try to forget it, too. I’m going to that meeting at Deals Deals on Friday.”

I could never forget Salt, even if I tried. I’ve come too far to give up now, so I dig my heels in.

“Can you show me how to make couscous?” I ask.