I’m an ungraceful foodie, what can I say, but at least I always enjoy every bite as it should be savored. Like Grandma taught me. But it wasn’t long until she gave me a pointed look, and I knew she wouldn’t let our conversation go.

“When I think about going to college to study economics, becoming an accountant, staying all day in a firm like that,” I said, thinking about the stark contrast between that thought and the flavorful bite of misto quente in my mouth. “The idea tastes like...nothing. It’s so bland.”

I took another bite, the gooey cheese warming me up.

“I know you want to make your mother happy, but you need to be happy, too. And if accounting isn’t for you, your mother will understand. I don’t think she knows you’re unhappy.”

“I don’t know. I don’t get Mom sometimes. She says she wants me to have choices. Because she didn’t go to college herself. But then she tells me to go to college to be an accountant just like Dad wanted to be. She wants me to be the first Ramires to go to college.” I sighed. “That’s...a lot of pressure. And she’s not leaving me with any choices at all. She just wants me to be this perfect person.”

“You don’t want to be perfect?”

I looked at Grandma, and we both laughed.

She squeezed my hand, and I felt her wrinkly skin against mine. She was so cold, even though it was a warm night. So fragile.

“Just talk to her like you talk to me,” she repeated. “It will be fine. Your mother loves you. She just wants what’s best for you.”

I groaned, already dreading that conversation.

“As long as you’re with me, I’ll be fine,” I said, and I meant it with all my heart. It’s the only thing I knew for sure. “I’ll apply to study econ like Mom wants. And becoming an accountant isn’t so bad, is it? I’ll do Salt’s taxes! How does that sound? I’ll take care of you!”

Grandma gave me a look she’d been giving me since she got her cancer diagnosis. Staring at me like she was trying to memorize my features, savoring the moment. It was the same way she was starting to look at everything around her. At Salt. At the market. At our neighborhood.

Like she was going to go away and didn’t know whether she’d be able to come back.

“There’s something I need to explain to you,” she said. The ominous tone in her voice was like a storm approaching in the horizon.

I knew she had been seeing more doctors. The specialist kind. I didn’t like the look in her eyes when she got home from those appointments.