Never Getting Back Together

TWENTY-FOUR

"You've truly outdone yourself, woman." I stare slack-jawed at Liv's laptop, which is sitting on Betty's kitchen table. Not only did she splice together the clips of everyone raving about my class, but she included screenshots of comments from my Instagram posts.

@AutoimmuneWarriorQueen: These cookies are the best thing I've eaten since getting my diagnosis.

@SuckItLupus: If I didn't bake these brownies myself, I wouldn't believe there isn't any added sugar!

@TiffsWellnessJourney: This is the first treat my daughter's been able to eat in years without flaring up. Thank you!

My eyes well. This. This is the reason I want to be a nutrition counselor. Helping people find joy in food despite their dietary restrictions is the greatest feeling in the world. When I was at my sickest, I spent months eating nothing but beef and a handful of vegetables. If I ate anything else, I flared up within hours. Mealtimes became something I dreaded. But after a while, my flare-ups eased. My body stabilized. Slowly, I was able to add more foods back into my diet. I'll never forget the first batch of AIP brownies I made. It was the first time I had hope that I might get to live a somewhat normal life again. And that hope, it was everything.

Helping others find that same optimism drives me to go after my dreams. Lately, it seems like there's been one obstacle after the next, trying to keep me from reaching my goal. But watching this video makes me realize I'm already making a difference. I'm just crossing my fingers that once the judges for the Happy Spoons Grant see this, they'll agree.

"Thank you," I say to Liv as a tear rolls down my cheek. I laugh, scrubbing at my face and glancing at the stainless-steel ceiling fan whirring above us. "Jeez. I'm such a baby."

"Hey, there's no crying on craft day." Betty points her glue gun at me. A blob of glue squirts out the end and plops onto the white wooden table that Betty bought at a yard sale. She sanded and re-painted it to make it look new. She frowns at the gluey splotch. It's been years since she fired up that glue gun, and the smell of burning dust and chemicals is acrid, singeing my nostrils.

"It's your daughter's fault." I shut the laptop, setting it on the counter behind me. I snatch a paper towel, swiping at the glue. All I manage to do is smear it across the table.

"Remind me why we're doing crafts again." Liv wrinkles her nose at the uneven ribbon of fabric she cut out. "The words 'craft' and 'Thursday' don't even start with the same letters. I thought that's what we were going for."

"You try thinking of a new way to celebrate each day, missy. I'm running out of alliterative activities. Besides, just because we haven't historically excelled in arts and crafts doesn't mean we can't start now. We're Kelley women. We can conquer anything."

Betty tucks a hair elastic inside a strip of neon-green polyester. She draws a line of hot glue around the edge of the fabric before folding the edges together and pinching them firmly shut. "Ta-da!"

Betty holds up her finished scrunchie with a flourish. It's lopsided, most of the fabric bunching at one end. As she waves it around, glue oozes out the seam, sticking to her fingers. Betty glances down at it and flicks her hand, trying to free it from the gooey mess. "Okay, maybe we aren't quite ready to conquer the fine art of the scrunchie."

"No kidding." Liv tosses her fabric down and leans back in her chair, taking a sip of her latte. She and Betty picked up coffee from the cart next to the park this morning and were nice enough to bring me a green tea with coconut milk.

Betty drops her scrunchie and walks over to the sink. She flips on the tap, attempting to scrub the glue from her fingers. "We can chalk this one up as a learning experience, but this isn't over. I won't surrender until I'm a certified domestic goddess."