Sunday Comfort

I stirred the pot of marinara sauce, letting the rich aroma of garlic and herbs fill our small kitchen. The steady bubbling matched the rhythm of Madison's pencil scratching against paper from her spot at the counter. She hunched over her new sketchbook, her hair falling in her face as she worked.

"The texture on these pencils is amazing." She held up one of her new art supplies, examining it in the afternoon light streaming through our window. "The shading comes out so smooth."

"Let me see what you're working on." I wiped my hands on my apron and peered over her shoulder. The sketch showed a detailed street scene – probably inspired by our trip to Horizon Bay.

"It's not done yet." She covered part of it with her arm, but I caught glimpses of intricate architectural details and flowing movement in the figures she'd drawn.

I returned to the stove, adding a pinch more oregano to the sauce. The meatballs were already formed and waiting on a plate, ready to be cooked. Sunday dinner had always been special for us, even if we usually kept it simple. Today felt different though – celebratory almost.

"Mom, can you hold still for a second?" Madison's pencil moved quickly across the page. "The light's hitting your face just right."

"As long as you don't make me look too tired." I smiled but tried to keep my position, stirring the sauce with one hand.

"You look beautiful. Especially when you're cooking." She erased something, then continued sketching. "Like you're in your element."

The sauce bubbled, and I adjusted the heat. The kitchen counter was cluttered with her new supplies – pristine colored pencils, markers that promised rich pigments, and that fancy sketchbook with paper thick enough to handle watercolors. She'd arranged them all carefully, like precious treasures.

"I think I'll start the meatballs now." I reached for the frying pan. "Want to help or are you too absorbed in your art?"

"Just five more minutes." Her tongue stuck out slightly as she concentrated. "I need to get this shadow right."

I smiled, watching her work. The afternoon sun caught the brown highlights in her hair, making them glow golden. Her new art supplies scattered around her like fallen autumn leaves – pencils of every shade, markers promising rich pigments, and that fancy sketchbook with paper thick enough to handle watercolors.

The oil in the pan heated while I hummed an old tune, one my mother used to sing while cooking. The familiar scent of browning meat soon joined the garlic and tomato aromatics filling our small space. Outside, a car horn honked, but in here, we existed in our own little bubble of creativity and comfort.

"There." Madison held up her sketch. "What do you think?"

I wiped my hands again and took the sketchbook. She'd captured me in profile, focused on cooking. Something about the way she'd drawn the light made me look... peaceful. Happy. Like someone who'd finally found their footing after a long time stumbling.

"It's beautiful, sweetheart." I handed it back, throat tight with emotion. "You've really captured the moment."

She beamed, adding a few final touches while I turned the meatballs in the pan. The sizzling created a pleasant background noise to her continued sketching. I dropped the first batch of meatballs into the sauce, watching them sink into the rich red liquid.

"The new supplies make such a difference." Madison sorted through her colored pencils, selecting a warm brown. "Everything flows better, you know? Like the tools aren't fighting against what I want to create."

I nodded, understanding completely. It was like having a proper knife in the kitchen versus trying to chop vegetables with a butter knife. The right tools made all the difference.

"Maybe we could set up a proper art corner for you." I gestured to the cramped counter space. "Rearrange things a bit to give you more room to work."

Her eyes lit up. "Really? Like, with an actual desk and everything?"

"Why not?" I started on the second batch of meatballs. "We could look at some options next weekend. Nothing too fancy, but something sturdy enough for your work."

Madison jumped up and hugged me from behind, careful to avoid the hot stove. "You're the best, Mom."

I patted her arm, soaking in her warmth. "Just don't forget your old mom when you're a famous artist."

She returned to her spot, pulling out a fresh sheet of paper. "Never. You'll be right there with me, selling your paintings in fancy galleries too."

The afternoon light softened, casting long shadows across our kitchen. I stirred the sauce, watching the meatballs dance in the bubbling surface. Madison's pencils scratched against paper, creating new worlds on pristine white pages. For once, the weight of tomorrow felt lighter, more manageable. Like we could finally breathe and dream a little bigger than survival.

The rich aroma of marinara sauce and meatballs filled our small apartment as I set the table. Madison cleared her art supplies, carefully stacking them in a neat pile.

"This smells amazing." Madison inhaled deeply as she helped me bring the food to the table.

I ladled the sauce and meatballs over steaming pasta, watching the red liquid coat the noodles. "I think this might be my best batch yet."

We settled into our chairs, the familiar creak of wood accompanying our movements. Madison twirled pasta around her fork with practiced precision.

"Oh my god, Mom. These meatballs..." She closed her eyes in appreciation. "They're so tender."

I took a bite myself, savoring the blend of herbs and spices. "The fresh basil makes a difference."

We ate in comfortable silence for a while, both hungry after our busy day. The setting sun cast orange light through our window, painting everything in warm hues.

"We should probably get everything ready for tomorrow after dinner," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Make sure your dress is pressed and accessories are laid out."

Madison's fork paused halfway to her mouth. "Yeah, I guess we should." She set it down and looked at me. "Are you okay, Mom?"

"I'm fine, sweetie." I reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "Just want to make sure we're prepared."

After dinner, I washed the dishes while Madison wiped down the counter. The routine helped ground me, gave my hands something to do besides fidget.

"Let's check our outfits," I suggested, drying my hands on a dish towel.

Madison nodded and headed to where we'd hung our dresses. Her fingers traced the fabric of her new dress – a deep purple number that made her look older than her fifteen years.

I pulled out my blue dress, the one that had felt like destiny in the store. Now it carried the weight of tomorrow's ceremony, of facing Drake and Sarah together.

"Your shoes are by the door, right?" I asked, checking the closet.

"Yeah, and I've got my bracelet on the dresser." Madison arranged her accessories on her bedside table. "What time do we need to leave?"

"The ceremony's at two, so we should leave by noon to give us plenty of time." I smoothed invisible wrinkles from my dress. "We'll need to do our hair and makeup."

Madison came over and hugged me from behind. "We're going to look amazing."

I leaned into her embrace, grateful for her strength. "Yes, we will."

"I laid out your jewelry too," she said, pointing to the small collection on my dresser. "The silver earrings will look perfect with your dress."

We moved through our evening routine, setting out everything we'd need for tomorrow. Each item felt heavy with meaning – shoes that would carry us into a new chapter, jewelry that would catch the light as we witnessed Drake's new beginning.

"Time for bed," I announced, noting the clock's late hour. "Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

Madison gathered her pajamas and headed to the bathroom. "Don't forget to set your alarm."

I changed into my own nightclothes, the soft fabric a comfort against my skin. When Madison emerged from the bathroom, her face freshly washed, she looked younger, more vulnerable.

"Mom?" She paused by her pull-out couch. "We've got each other's backs tomorrow, right?"

"Always." I pulled her into a tight hug. "No matter what happens."

She squeezed back just as tight. "Love you, Mom."

"Love you too, sweetheart." I kissed her forehead. "Get some sleep."

I watched as she settled into bed, pulling her blanket up to her chin. The familiar sight helped ease some of the tension in my chest.

In my own bed, I stared at the ceiling, listening to Madison's breathing even out. Tomorrow loomed ahead, full of uncertainty and emotions I wasn't sure I was ready to face. But with Madison by my side, I knew we'd get through it together.