Mind the Gap | ✔️

September 20 @ 9:33 A.M.: Evan

"The city, Yoda loves." Janice held her Baby Yoda figure to the train's window, showing it the buildings as we rolled past them.

My daughter sat next to me, on my favorite seat. I had yielded it to her for its better view of the city.

"The city, I love, too," I said.

"Then why did you move away, to Alewife?"

I tenderly ruffled her disobedient curls—they had now returned to their usual shade of mouse-brown. Helen had scrubbed the last green dye molecules from them weeks ago.

"You know why I moved away, Peanut. Mom and I didn't get along with each other anymore."

She shrugged without taking her gaze away from the scenery outside. Ever since my birthday party, she hadn't stopped reminding me that Helen and I should get back together.

Our divorce counselor Bellona had predicted Janice might react in this way. And at her hourly fees, that woman had better be right.

Bellona had also predicted another thing‚ that Helen and I would grow apart. And she had been wrong about that. I was seeing more of Helen these days than when we were married. It was somehow easier now that we each had our own space to retreat to.

"But now Mom and you do get along with each other. She doesn't scold you anymore as she used to." Janice and Baby Yoda looked at me, both curious about my reply.

It was time to change the topic.

"Baby Yoda will love the insurance company," I said.

It was Take Our Daughters and Sons to Work Day. And that was precisely what I was doing. Janice would soon get a lungful of sterile, conditioned office air.

"So what does an insurance company do, Dad?"

It takes your money while things run smoothly and find reasons not to pay you when shit hits the fan.

I opted for a simpler explanation instead. "The insurance helps people when they're in bad luck. And in return, people pay it money while they're in good luck."

She frowned at Baby Yoda. Baby Yoda eyed her back, his expression a frozen half-smile.

"It's as if Baby Yoda paid you a dime each month," I explained. "And in return, if he gets sick, you'll pay his doctor."

"But couldn't he just save the dimes in his piggy bank and pay the doctor himself?" She reasoned.

The nonlinearity between economic burden and monetary cost would make the piggy bank approach an unwise one. Fortunately, though, Janice changed the topic before I had to come up with a reply.

"So why don't you like working at the insurance, Dad?" she asked.

Her statement took me by surprise. "Where did that come from? But I do like it."

"Just yesterday, you told me you'd rather finish that numbers game you have been working on, than go to work."

"True." I chuckled. "But that numbers game, sadly, won't give me any money to keep you fed and clothed."

Apart from that, though, Janice had read me correctly. Warriors of Math was almost complete, and I was yearning to finish it. Plus, having seen my daughter play the prototype and laugh at Ada's costume with glee—I had given her a broadsword and a red-and-gold heroine dress—had been much more fun than any risk calculus the insurance company could offer.

Janice ignored the topic, though, and pressed her face against the window as we were pulling into Charles/MGH.

I hadn't seen Braces all summer. Her life had probably changed, taking her elsewhere. Still, my heart was thumping whenever I found a train standing on the other track at the station.