Chapter 9 - MRS. HILL’S ROSEBUSH
Five years later, Dad sold the house.
Mom wanted something smaller.
Jason helped them find a place with a good porch.
I flew home for the move.
Mrs. Hill was outside watering roses.
Of course.
“Mia!”
“Mrs. Hill.”
She waved me over.
“You rich yet?”
I laughed.
“Depends who’s asking.”
“I knew you’d do something strange.”
“Strange?”
“You never looked like a lawyer.”
“What does a lawyer look like?”
“Your brother.”
Fair.
Then she pointed at the front lawn.
“That was a day.”
“Yes.”
“Your father apologized?”
“Eventually.”
“Good.”
She leaned closer.
“I always liked him, but he could be a jackass.”
I laughed so hard Mom came outside.
“What did she say?”
“Nothing.”
Mrs. Hill winked.
Before leaving, Dad stood on the exact patch of grass where he had thrown me out.
He looked toward me.
“I thought I was teaching you consequences.”
“You were.”
He frowned.
“Not the ones I intended.”
“No.”
He smiled.
Then handed me an old cardboard box.
Inside:
School papers.
Science projects.
A printed screenshot of Lexora’s first webpage.
I looked up.
“When did you print this?”
“After San Francisco.”
He looked embarrassed.
“I thought I should know what you built.”
I touched the paper.
It was ugly.
Beautifully ugly.
The original site had a blue button that barely aligned with anything.
I loved it.
“Thanks, Dad.”
He nodded.
Then, after a pause:
“I’m proud of you.”
For years, I thought I wanted those words more than anything.
When they finally came, they felt nice.
But not necessary.
May you like
That was better.
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