eleven LeniPain shoots through my fingers, and I cringe. “How do you do this without your hands aching?” I ask Mimi as I knead the ball of bread dough.
Mimi has decided to teach me how to make her famous bread, reminding me that she won’t be here forever—a thought that I refuse to think about.
“You get used to it.” She chuckles.
I feel like a major wimp because my hands seriously hurt. “How is it that my grandmother is more badass than I am?” I shake my head with a laugh.
“You got soft up there in the Big Apple, sweetie. You’ll toughen up after you’ve been here for a while,” she says as she works on the opposite counter, pounding some chicken breasts flat.
“Mimi, what should I do with my life? I can’t just stay here forever.”
“Of course you can. You’re always welcome here.”
“I know
