Gemotions

The stale air in the elevator prickled her skin. Across from Mark, she could see the worry lines etched on his usually jovial face. The three hours loomed. She found herself fiddling with the silver charm bracelet her mother gave her, each tiny charm a memory. The tiny Eiffel Tower, a gift from her father. The ballerina, from her first recital. She closed her eyes for a moment, picturing her parents, their faces blurred by the passage of time.

"So," Mark began, his voice tight. "How's, uh, the family?"

It wasn't a question he'd usually ask. She gave a small shrug. "They're good. Mom's still gardening, Dad's still telling bad jokes." The corners of her mouth twitched. She pictured their faces, their laughter, their love.

She let the silence hang for a moment, the weight of it settling over her like a comforting blanket. Then she blurted out, "I miss them, sometimes. Especially now."