As I fidgeted with the worn wooden handle of the shovel, the smell of damp earth wafted through the air, carrying with it a familiar yet unwelcome nervousness. Today was the day I'd finally dig my grandparents' garden for the summer, but more pressing on my mind was the looming family reunion later that evening. I'd spent hours prepping our backyard with my mom, planting tomatoes and basil, attempting to create a seamless illusion of competence in her eyes, but nothing could have truly prepared us for the actual process. The soil beneath was harder than I'd anticipated, forcing me to push and heave with an intensity I hoped I wouldn't later regret.
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