The Pyramid of Lost Summers

The corporate pyramid rose outside my office window, gleaming glass and steel casting long shadows across the parking lot at 4 PM. I adjusted my fedora—gave me a certain dignity, I told myself, though my daughter called it my 'detective costume' and my ex-wife just rolled her eyes.

'You going to finish those Q3 projections, Marcus?' yelled Chen from the corner office. He was twenty-eight, drove a Tesla, and organized his life in color-coded spreadsheets. I was forty-seven, drove a 2008 Honda, and organized my life around avoiding my ex-wife's new husband at our son's baseball games.

'Working on it,' I muttered, staring at the empty chair beside me. Sarah's space. Three weeks vacant since the layoffs. We'd shared coffee, complaints about management, a moment at the Christmas party where she'd rested her hand on my arm and I'd done nothing, absolutely nothing, because I was still technically married and morally paralyzed.

Thunder rattled the window. Outside, lightning fractured the sky—electric veins pulsing through purple bruise-clouds. I thought about the baseball glove gathering dust in my garage, the one my father gave me the summer before his heart attack. He'd taught me to catch, to throw, to love the rhythm of the game. I hadn't picked it up in fifteen years.

'Sarah emailed,' Chen said, appearing in my doorway. 'She got the job at that startup in Austin. She wanted me to give you this.' He tossed a baseball cap onto my desk—the Mets logo faded, the brim slightly bent.

'She remembered,' I said, surprised.

'She said you talked about your dad. How he took you to games.' Chen softened, just for a second. 'My dad died last year. Pancreatic cancer. Never made it to my graduation.'

The lightning flashed again, illuminating everything—the empty chair, the pyramid, the baseball cap, Chen's raw expression. I stood up.

'You know what?' I said. 'Those Q3 projections can wait until morning. You ever catch a baseball game live?'

Chen smiled, really smiled. 'There's a minor league team twenty minutes out. Tonight's fireworks night.'

'Let's go then.' I grabbed my fedora and Sarah's Mets cap. 'Before the storm breaks.'