I hummed to myself and tightened the drawstrings of my sweats on the way downstairs after my shower, and as I spotted my phone on the counter, the screen flashed with a message.

The food went into the microwave, and I grabbed a beer before I sat down on a stool and opened my phone.

Nicky was letting me know that Gideon, for once, liked a place. I should hope so since they’d returned for a second viewing.

There was a message from Pop too. He was once more asking when we were heading to Nashville. Nicky and I had never traveled much, so us leaving the city was a big deal to our father. I did my best to be patient, and I responded to him.

I’m leaving next Thursday, a week before Nicky and the others.

I’d received my ticket to the food festival I was looking forward to attending, and more importantly, the confirmation that I was one of the six participants in a cooking class. I knew where to be and when. The festival started next Friday, and the cooking class was on Saturday. It was a promotional event for a famous chef I followed on Insta. I’d started out thinking maybe I could learn how to cook something worth eating. In the end, I ate my leftovers and just watched him cook. His hands and the way he used them were nothing short of pornographic.

August King. Even his name exuded power and assertiveness, and it was how he cooked. Combined with a warmth that felt entirely Southern. Unfortunately, he only released videos once a month.

It was through him that I’d found Camden Adair, King’s husband.

Unlike King, who was a renowned chef and had four restaurants across the country, Camden was an amateur. He’d given me some hope that you didn’t need a fancy education from a culinary school in order to make a nice dinner. But then I’d watched more of his videos, and safe to say, I’d never be that creative or skilled in the kitchen.

In short, my midlife crisis, which had prompted me to reinvent myself and learn new things, was going swell.

Similar results in my attempt to learn leather crafting. I was already a decent woodworker, so I’d thought working with leather would be simple. And maybe it was. I wouldn’t know. I’d just ended up watching the guys work with their hands. I’d picked up jack-shit in actual knowledge.

I had a thing about hands.

While I tucked into Nonna’s turkey casserole, I went on to my Instagram app and scrolled through my notifications first. I had students who enjoyed tagging me in their practice videos, and I had to admit it was the highlight of my day. My kids were all special to me.