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Sundays are usually easier days.

I go to work early because Bob’s closes earlier on Sundays.

But before that, I always make sure Gramps and I have lunch together.

Sometimes we go to mass.

Not today. Today, I have chores to do.

Besides, I like our long lunches.

Every day I am reminded of how precious time really is and how little we have of it with the ones we love. I don’t plan to squander my time.

Not one single minute of it.

I set our plates on the table and the air smells of herbs and butter, sugar and sweetness.

It smells a lot like home.

We sit together, sipping on steaming cups of tea, munching on cucumber and tomato sandwiches slathered with my homemade herbed cream cheese.

Gramps takes a bite, closes his eyes, groans like he just tasted heaven.

“Oh, that was divine, Arliss. Truly. Thank you, my dear.”

I smile, relieved. “I’m glad you like it.”

I know it’s not much.

I know I wish it could be more.

But this—this little moment of comfort, of normalcy—it’s something I can give.

I grab the extra sandwiches and wrap them up, tucking them into the fridge.

“Leaving some for you later, and I’m putting the rest of the tea in the Thermos, okay?”

He watches me for a second, something hesitant in his gaze.

Then, softly, he says, “Do you have to go to that job today?”

I see the regret on his face before he even finishes the question.

I sigh but keep it light.

“You know I do.”

He hates it.

Hates that I have to work so damn much.

Hates that I’ve been trying so hard for something better.

“I just wish there was something else,” he says.

“There isn’t, Gramps. You know I’ve applied.”

We’ve had this conversation a hundred times.