"You aren't behind, Elias. You’re just seasoned. And seasoning takes time."

He closed the tablet. For the first time in weeks, the finish line didn't matter. He was exactly where he needed to be.

Elias looked at the bills, then back at his mother. The frantic rhythm in his chest began to slow, matching the steady, rhythmic thump-thump of her wooden spoon against the pot.

"Stay for dinner," she commanded, though it sounded like a gift. "The world will still be spinning when you’re done, but the stew will be cold."