Sunday at the Lake

The sun was already warm when Maya packed the last sandwich into the cooler. Her brother Eli hovered nearby, pretending to help while sneaking cookies from the container. Their dad honked from the car, and Maya rolled her eyes, shouting, “We’re coming, relax!”

It had been a tough few months—school pressure, their mom working late most nights, and too many dinners eaten separately. But today was different. Today was just for them.

They drove out to Lake Merrin, windows down, music loud. The wind whipped through Maya’s hair, and for once, she didn't think about her grades. Eli laughed, leaning into the breeze, and their dad looked back at them in the mirror, smiling wider than he had in weeks.

At the lake, they spread out a blanket, kicked off their shoes, and let time go soft. Eli and Maya raced down the dock and jumped into the water, yelling. It was cold and perfect. Their dad watched from a chair, sipping iced tea, letting his shoulders drop from their usual perch near his ears.

Later, as the sun slid toward the trees, they sat together in quiet. No screens, no stress. Just the sound of birds, water lapping, and family.

Maya looked over at her dad and whispered, “Can we do this every Sunday?”

He smiled. “Yeah, kiddo. I think we should.”