Sunday was a quiet day around the house. No one had said anything specific about it, but it seemed like we were all doing the things we most loved to do around the house. I spent an hour on my scooter down on the tennis court, making big circles and doing tricks. My mother sat under the pear tree by the stream with her feet up on an upturned bucket, reading. My father blasted classic rock radio out into the yard and cooked a big dinner out on the grill. We sat out there and talked about hikes we’d gone on where I’d whined the whole time and my parents’ honeymoon, where they rode mopeds in Bermuda and my dad whined the whole time, and we didn’t talk about anything having to do with Big Red at all. It was warm enough to have a bonfire, so we decided we’d do that, too. My mom had to make a special trip to the supermarket to get everything we needed for s’mores but she seemed happy to go. My dad and I cleaned up dinner while she was gone and it was almost like things were normal again.
