Loretta jumped up, furious, saying it was disgusting and that she could get seriously sick. Evan didn’t raise his voice. He slid the tray an inch closer to her. “That’s exactly how my wife feels,” he said, “every time you lick a spoon and put it back in our son’s food.” I almost laughed. Loretta opened her mouth to argue, then stopped. For the first time since she arrived, she had nothing to say.

Then Evan admitted the truth. He didn’t have strep. He hadn’t been to urgent care. The utensils were clean, and the smears were just a little toothpaste he had dabbed on to make them look used. But Benji did have a fever. It had started the night before, after he ate the bowl of soup she had already served him with that spoon. Evan had stayed up with him all night. His pediatrician had already confirmed the same virus she had.

Loretta sat back down slowly and asked to see Benji. He was curled on the couch with his blanket, cheeks flushed. She knelt beside him, and her eyes filled with tears. She apologized to him, then to me, and finally admitted that she had grown up with a mother who mocked anyone who cared about germs. She had simply never questioned it. Evan hugged her, and so did I.

Benji recovered in four days. Loretta spent the rest of her stay using clean spoons, serving food onto her own plate, and even reminding Evan to wash his hands. When she moved into her condo, she gave me a gift bag. Inside was a set of brightly colored serving spoons, each with a label in her handwriting. For Grandma only. She calls me before every visit now to ask what she can bring. Benji still thinks those spoons are the funniest thing in our kitchen.