Re: Kitchen: Hugh & Hannah
Everything was pretend. For Hannah, this entire life was built on clouds and dreams and, just like clouds and dreams, Hannah knew it would fall apart and melt into nothing someday. But she was really, really good at living in the moment, and so that was where she lived. She balanced and perched and laughed and smiled, and tomorrow was something that she would face when it came. She'd been like that since the house, since her childhood and the reality that nothing was ever, ever guaranteed. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow, and no one was promised the sunrise. But she had here, and she had now, and she had this kitchen and the feeling of her hem against her thick-sock'ed feet as she wiggled her ankles. She had this conversation, and she had the glow of lights, and the warmth and safety of this moment.
"You could go home and dance it off, but only if your friend dances with you. You shouldn't dance alone," she told him, a smiling response to his cheekiness.
But he asked for advice then, and her expression became very, very serious, as if deciding on a baked delight was a really important decision. She worried her lip at the corner, and she ultimately pointed to the butterscotch cookies. "Those are my favorite. They're a good choice," she told him, a nod of her head accompanying the sage advice. She smiled then, sun on a bright day, blue eyes bright and her entire demeanor something more youthful than her years.
She squeezed his fingers back. Squeeze, squeeze, reassurance. "Good. If Zee leaves, then you should get a roommate. It's a big, big house, and other people, even if they're just puttering around in a space, make that face feel smaller. That's a good thing sometimes, Hugh." Another little nod, and she squeezed his fingers again.