Amber turned into Eric, accepting the small but important gesture of affection; and just like that they created their own world right where she'd never have imagined it possible. It brought back the entire reason why she'd dragged him here in the first place: because she loved him. Amber felt that reminder viscerally, a sudden flare to see his smile, sincere if worn.
Eric's happiness was short-lived, replaced by surprise at her question. Amber had thought it was a logical step in their conversation, but apparently not, if it took him that long to think up an answer. Her thumb absent-mindedly stroked the smooth, soft fabric of his suit pants.
Trenton was different how? Poorer? Amber had the impression Eric had grown up in "the hood," with brick city walls covered in graffiti and the wail of a police siren never too far off. …Maybe she'd watched too much TV. Whether or not visiting her home had revived any memories of his own, though, he side-stepped by asking her a question. And, unlike Eric, Amber's answer was automatic: "Yeah, it's better." Having Eric as an ally here, Amber wasn't alone. He'd pissed her off in the kitchen and said a couple of wrong things to her parents, but he had her back in a way no one else in the room did.
Her high school friends once told Amber that her mom was worse than a drill sergeant; she'd defended her, but there were times that the description fit like a glove. "You don't want to cross her," Amber whispered softly to Eric; her mom had already turned and walked away, so there wasn't as much danger being overheard.
Geoffrey offered Aunt Jude his arm to get up-- though Amber knew she didn't need it-- and Madeleine darted to the table like a bullet. Amber did feel a twinge of sympathy for her-- she was pretty hungry, so she could only imagine the four year old. Amber led Eric to the dinning room, taking her usual seat next to her mom, who traditionally sat at the head of the table. There was a space next to her—not to mention the two empty seats where Brian and his girlfriend would’ve sat.
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Eric's happiness was short-lived, replaced by surprise at her question. Amber had thought it was a logical step in their conversation, but apparently not, if it took him that long to think up an answer. Her thumb absent-mindedly stroked the smooth, soft fabric of his suit pants.
Trenton was different how? Poorer? Amber had the impression Eric had grown up in "the hood," with brick city walls covered in graffiti and the wail of a police siren never too far off. …Maybe she'd watched too much TV. Whether or not visiting her home had revived any memories of his own, though, he side-stepped by asking her a question. And, unlike Eric, Amber's answer was automatic: "Yeah, it's better." Having Eric as an ally here, Amber wasn't alone. He'd pissed her off in the kitchen and said a couple of wrong things to her parents, but he had her back in a way no one else in the room did.
Her high school friends once told Amber that her mom was worse than a drill sergeant; she'd defended her, but there were times that the description fit like a glove. "You don't want to cross her," Amber whispered softly to Eric; her mom had already turned and walked away, so there wasn't as much danger being overheard.
Geoffrey offered Aunt Jude his arm to get up-- though Amber knew she didn't need it-- and Madeleine darted to the table like a bullet. Amber did feel a twinge of sympathy for her-- she was pretty hungry, so she could only imagine the four year old. Amber led Eric to the dinning room, taking her usual seat next to her mom, who traditionally sat at the head of the table. There was a space next to her—not to mention the two empty seats where Brian and his girlfriend would’ve sat.