The Cooper kitchen smelled of burned coffee and desperate prayer. Mary stood at the counter, phone pressed to her ear, her other hand gripping a wooden spoon like a rosary. George Sr. was on the couch, staring at a static-filled football game. Missy was hiding in the bathroom. And Sheldon? Sheldon was calculating the optimal keyframe interval for his latest project.
Missy, now sitting cross-legged on the floor, whispered to Meemaw: “He’s trying to fix Mom and Dad with math.”
Mary froze. The spoon clattered.
Sheldon swiveled on his stool. “Father, you’re both using a constant bitrate approach to marital conflict. High fidelity on anger, low resolution on meaning. What you need is a .”
