By morning the sky was blowing in small blue flakes of rain across the town. The lights burnt out as dawn came.
From the house at the edge of town came the rich golden smell of baked croissants. Her father stood over the table, setting down the hot pans of fresh pastries as Iris entered.
“A nice way to start the day, don’t you think?” he laughed. “Remember the times! You and your mother battling the tiny oven. I learned the best from the two of you.”
From the fridge he fetched a carton of milk and a bottle of honey butter syrup. He took a brush, set it in the glaze, and began to spread generous, dripping strokes over the croissants.
Iris smiled. The air was full of warm oven scents.
“It smells wonderful, Papa.”
“Let’s have a taste, then!”
They stood chewing thoughtfully. The large portions of sweet flaked bread went down easy and her father nodded.
“Ah, you’re teasing!” He nudged her in the shoulder and she laughed. The glazed croissants were quite good, even better than she had remembered, in fact. They reminded her of her mother.
“Papa, do you miss Mom?”
“Every day.” He scratched his beard with the back of his hand. “Yes, I miss her, and I imagine you must feel the same. But remember, she has an important job. Living in the space station, watching this tiny world from a tiny window, all up in that great emptiness. Picture it! Her streaked hair floating in zero gravity. A breezy smile on her lips. You remember the story?”
Writing month, day nine, word count: 9390