Geoffrey and Leila had joined the conversation about whether it made sense to make Brian pay more just to get here a few hours earlier and how all the other flights were probably booked already; Aunt Jude listened in attentively, probably waiting for a moment to declare the statistics for plane accidents during the holidays. It'd be just her and Eric, for a couple of minutes.
Amber tipped her forehead towards Eric, a tired, wry smile tugging at her lips. Nothing seemed very funny right now, but what else could she do but find humor where she could? Though, poor Eric. At least she knew what to expect and where the bombs lay; his steps in good faith were blowing up in his face. She covered his hand with hers. What she really wanted to do was smooth away the strained lines from his face; kiss him, too, if that helped.
“That sucks,” Amber noted sympathetically. “At least I get the credit.” She hadn't known that about him, or his father. Maybe he wasn't just dealing with the challenges of her family, but remembering his own. Amber squeezed his hand tighter, resolving to be more supportive. She'd been wrapped up in her conflicts here-- like all the other times she’d come back-- and had left him hanging, shutting him out with her anger. Amber gazed deep into Eric's eyes; sometimes, in the right light, she could catch gold flecks in them. She asked quietly, "Is all this bringing back bad memories?"
She heard the kitchen door open again; her mom must be going to set dinner on the table. "Need help--" Amber called out, already knowing what the answer would be; in previous years she'd been expected to give a hand, but with Eric here, she'd been shifted to pseudo-guest status.
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Amber tipped her forehead towards Eric, a tired, wry smile tugging at her lips. Nothing seemed very funny right now, but what else could she do but find humor where she could? Though, poor Eric. At least she knew what to expect and where the bombs lay; his steps in good faith were blowing up in his face. She covered his hand with hers. What she really wanted to do was smooth away the strained lines from his face; kiss him, too, if that helped.
“That sucks,” Amber noted sympathetically. “At least I get the credit.” She hadn't known that about him, or his father. Maybe he wasn't just dealing with the challenges of her family, but remembering his own. Amber squeezed his hand tighter, resolving to be more supportive. She'd been wrapped up in her conflicts here-- like all the other times she’d come back-- and had left him hanging, shutting him out with her anger. Amber gazed deep into Eric's eyes; sometimes, in the right light, she could catch gold flecks in them. She asked quietly, "Is all this bringing back bad memories?"
She heard the kitchen door open again; her mom must be going to set dinner on the table. "Need help--" Amber called out, already knowing what the answer would be; in previous years she'd been expected to give a hand, but with Eric here, she'd been shifted to pseudo-guest status.
"You all stay seated," her mom said.