Chapter 151 Chapter 151

Chapter 151 Chapter 151
The next morning Mark announced they were going fishing before anyone had finished breakfast.
“The lake’s quiet on weekdays,” he said, already standing by the door with two rods and a small cooler. “The is no sense wasting good weather sitting inside.”
Laura shook her head but smiled. “At least take sandwiches this time. And don’t keep them out there until they burn.”
Sophia was already on her feet. “I’ve never been fishing in my life. This is happening.”
Mia laughed and went to change into old jeans and a worn hoodie that still lived in her childhood closet. Within twenty minutes the four of them were in Mark’s truck, windows down, the cooler rattling softly in the back. The drive to the lake took less than half an hour. The water was calm and silver under the late morning light, bordered by tall trees and a stretch of worn wooden dock that Mark had been coming to for years.

They set up near the end of the dock. Mark showed Sophia how to bait the hook while Mia sat on an overturned crate and threaded her own line with the easy memory of someone who had done it a hundred times as a teenager. Laura had packed the sandwiches and a thermos of coffee, and for a while the only sounds were the soft splash of lines hitting water and the occasional call of a bird overhead.
Sophia held her rod like it might explode.
“So I just… wait?”
“You wait,” Mark said. “And you don’t talk too loud if you actually want to catch something.”
“That’s impossible for me,” Sophia whispered, already failing at the volume rule.
Mia smiled and cast her line out with a smooth flick. The conversation started slowly, the way it always did out here. Mark asked Sophia about her job and listened properly when she answered. Sophia asked him about the worst thing he had ever pulled out of the lake, and he told a long story about a turtle that had stolen his bait three times in one afternoon. Laura sat a little apart in a folding chair with her coffee, occasionally adding a dry comment that made the rest of them laugh. After a while the talk drifted toward Mia without anyone forcing it.
“You look better already,” Laura said quietly, watching her daughter’s profile. “Less tight around the eyes.”
Mia kept her gaze on the water. “It feels good to be here. I didn’t realize how loud everything had gotten until it stopped.”
Mark adjusted his cap. “You don’t have to explain it. We’re just glad you came. Both of you.”
Sophia’s line twitched. She yelped and nearly dropped the rod. Mark reached over to steady it, laughing, and the moment of seriousness passed into another round of instruction and teasing. They didn’t catch much one small fish that Mark immediately released, and a lot of near misses but no one seemed to mind. The point had never been the fish. By early afternoon the sun had grown warmer. They packed up the rods and the cooler and headed back to the truck, Sophia still talking about how close she had come to catching “something huge,” and Mark patiently explaining that the something huge had been a stick. The house smelled incredible the moment they opened the front door. Laura had clearly been planning ahead. While they were at the lake she had prepared a full spread that covered most of the kitchen table roasted chicken with crisp golden skin, a bowl of herbed potatoes, fresh green salad with a bright dressing, warm bread rolls, and a peach cobbler cooling on the counter that made Sophia stop mid-sentence.
“Oh my god,” Sophia said, staring. “Mrs. Laura. This is not a normal lunch.”
Laura wiped her hands on a towel, clearly pleased. “It’s a ‘my daughter is home’ lunch. Sit down before it gets cold.”
They washed up quickly and gathered around the table. Mark poured drinks. Mia tore a piece of bread and felt the simple pleasure of being fed something made with care and no ulterior motive. The first bite of chicken was perfect juicy, well-seasoned, the skin crackling slightly between her teeth.
“This is so good,” she said, already reaching for the potatoes. “Mom seriously.”
Laura waved the compliment off, but her smile gave her away. “Eat you look like you’ve been surviving on coffee and stress.”
Sophia loaded her plate without shame. “I’m moving in and I’m not even kidding. I’ll sleep on the couch. I’ll take out the trash. Just let me stay where this food lives.”
Mark chuckled. “You’re welcome as long as you want. But you’re helping with dishes.”
“Deal.”
The conversation around the table stayed easy and full. They talked about the lake and Sophia’s failed fishing career. Mark told a story about the first time he had taken Mia fishing when she was seven and she had fallen in up to her knees. Laura added the detail that Mia had refused to get out of the water because she was “waiting for the big one.” Mia covered her face with one hand while Sophia laughed hard enough to need a drink of water.

They spoke about small neighborhood updates, about a tree that had come down in the last storm, about Laura’s garden and the tomatoes that were finally behaving this year. No one brought up racing or contracts or public fights. The closest they came was when Mark asked, almost carefully, if Mia was sleeping better lately, and she answered that she was starting to.
Sophia told them about a ridiculous dating app story that had them all laughing again. Laura kept pushing more food onto everyone’s plates. Mark leaned back in his chair with the content expression of a man who had his people under his roof and nowhere else he needed to be.
After the cobbler warm, sweet, with a scoop of vanilla ice cream Laura had somehow produced from the freezer they stayed at the table longer than the food required. The afternoon light shifted through the kitchen windows. Mia listened to her father’s low laugh and her mother’s running commentary and Sophia’s animated voice, and felt the remaining tight places inside her loosen further.
Eventually Laura stood and started gathering plates.
“You’re all banned from helping. Guests don’t do dishes on the first full day.”
Sophia stood anyway. “I’m not a guest. I’m temporary family. Give me a towel.”

Mia rose too, carrying glasses to the sink. Mark stayed seated a moment longer, watching the three of them with quiet satisfaction, then got up to put the leftovers away. The kitchen filled with the ordinary sounds of water running and plates being stacked and easy talk continuing without effort. Outside, the day moved toward evening. Inside, the house held them in a simple, steady warmth that required nothing but their presence. Mia caught her mother’s eye over the sink and smiled. Laura smiled back, didn't ask any question and handed her another plate to dry.