“Nice to know I can always trust my son to be honest.” Hera followed in his footsteps, unable to prevent a relieved sigh when she set the rest of her packages down. “I hope you don’t mind,” she waved a hand to indicate the portion of the counter used, “I just wasn’t sure what you’d have or what you’d need so I picked up a bit of everything. There’s some baklava in that bag and danishes. I didn’t know what you liked so I made a bit of everything.” Almost no one knew about her early morning baking sessions, but most of the family had tasted the results at some point or another. Except Ares. It had come to her as she was setting another tray cookies onto the cooling wrack that she’d never made him anything – had no idea if he even liked sweets. So everything her fear and worry and insomnia had produced had gone into the bags because even he had to like something.
The first-aid kit came out first, fully stocked and set aside. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but Hera always did prepare for the worst. “Have you eaten yet? I brought some staples. I can make us soup – or whatever you like really.”