Gemotions

The cardboard boxes seemed to wink at Clara as she hauled them into her childhood bedroom. Dust motes danced in the late afternoon sunbeams, and she swatted at one, laughing softly. “Hello, old friend,” she murmured, addressing the room. She dropped a box with a theatrical thud, then did a little jig, humming a made-up tune. Her hands itched to unpack, to arrange her things just so, as if she were a child again, setting up a miniature kingdom.

Later, she found her mother in the kitchen, stirring something in a pot. “Smells divine, Mom!” Clara chirped, leaning against the counter. She snuck a finger into the pot, tasting the simmering sauce. Her mother swatted her hand with a wooden spoon, but her lips curved into a smile. "You haven't changed a bit, have you?"