爷爷去世后的第二年，我和新婚丈夫搬进了乡野的一所小房子里。我们家的后院有一棵可爱的野生小李子树。我迫不及待地等着那些纤小、坚硬而青涩的果子成熟，那样我就可以一显身手，自己做果酱了。我花了将近一个星期的时间，每天摘李子，才刚刚够做一批果酱。我仔细地挑选、清洗并再次检查了这些果子。
Following what I could remember from watching Grandpa all those years ago, I succeeded in making a passable plum jelly at my first attempt. Proud of my accomplishment, I showed the shelf full of jelly jars to my dad.
我凭着那些年看爷爷做果酱的印象，第一次做果酱就做得相当成功。我为自己的手艺感到自豪，向来访的父亲展示了摆满一层搁板的果酱。
He held one up and admired the sunlight, shining red through the glass. I imagined his taste buds, waiting for his first bite. Then, I casually mentioned that I had used Grandpa’s recipe.The look of delight faded from Dad’s face as he turned slowly to look at me. Then he asked, “Worms and all?”
他拎起一罐果酱，迎着阳光细看，光线穿过玻璃瓶闪着红光。我想象果酱如何牵动他的味觉，期待他赶紧咬上一口。然后，我随口提起，我用了爷爷的秘方。爸爸慢慢地转过身来看着我，喜悦的神情从他脸上消失了。接着，他问了一句：“长满虫子的李子，对吧？”
I nodded.
我点点头。
At the end of his visit, he only took one jar home with him. His lack of interest in my culinary skills didn’t bother me, though.
离去的时候，爸爸只带走了一罐果酱。他对我的厨艺缺乏兴趣，但我并不介意。
As I spread a sweet spoonful onto a bite of toast, I thought with a smile, “It just leaves more jelly for me.”
我把一匙甜甜的果酱涂在一片烤面包上，暗自窃笑，想道：“这样正好我就可以多吃一点了。
