Chapter 9 - The Reset Button
By late August, the air began to carry that crisp, unmistakable edge of approaching autumn.
The maple leaves on our street were just starting to turn the edges of their green canopy into bright flashes of copper and gold.
On a Saturday afternoon, Piper and I drove out to a local community park to celebrate the completion of her book’s first major manuscript draft. We sat on a wooden picnic bench near the edge of a quiet pond, sharing a container of sliced strawberries and peanut butter sandwiches.
Across the park, children were running through the grass, laughing and chasing soccer balls.
Piper had her MacBook open on the wooden table, the screen protected from the glare by her small hand as she reviewed the final chapter index.
"Do you ever miss it, Mom?" she asked quietly, watching a dragonfly skim across the surface of the pond.
"Miss what, honey?"
"Grandma’s house. The big Sunday dinners."
I took a bite of my sandwich, chewing slowly while I looked out across the sunlit water.
I thought about the yellow pendant light in the kitchen, the stale roast beef, Brett’s arrogant smirk, and my mother’s rehearsed script of favoritism. I thought about the decades of silent obligations and forged ledgers.
"No, sweetheart," I said, reaching across the table to brush a strand of dark hair away from Piper's forehead. "I don't miss the noise at all."
"Me neither," Piper said, her fingers dancing lightly over the mechanical keys of her keyboard. "It was too crowded anyway."
May you like
"Too many corrupted files," I agreed with a smile.
"Yeah." She looked up, her dark eyes bright and clear. "Good thing we know how to reformat."
