[Reaction]
She is unfolding a step stool, quietly purchased online and hidden from view several days prior, so she can reach the top shelf of the blasted cabinets on her own; without the need to climb up on the counter tops or call out for his help. Zee is certain had she been caught yanking herself onto the counters, which had occurred a few times by now in this massive house of his, that there'd have been a belly full of laughs. She could have lived with it, not even minded much, but pride is a funny thing and it prevented her from wanting that to actually happen. Nor allowing her to ask for help. The step stool felt like the most logical answer but she still didn't feel like drawing attention to it.
She rose up, still needing to stand on the tips of her toes to reach that high, and began stuffing seasoning packets on the shelf. Out of the way, but in a place where she could access them once she was ready. Her hand is helping to keep balance and it tightens against the cabinet door when the memory floods her. Unaware of what is actually happening, she had the good sense to rest the bottoms of her feet fully down against the stool, but her grip remains iron clad.
The rush of the applause is foreign to her, but she can easily recall the hope of spotting someone specific in a crowd. In recent years, it was acquainted to airports. And the closest she can acquaint to this, of being that young, was graduations. Searching eyes for her Uncle, knowing without any doubt that he was there. Her hopes never came with the potential of doubt. Not when it came to this. She recognizes it can't even be close to the same.
But this thought doesn't linger because the memory isn't just feelings following a job well done. There are individuals and images and the very clear image of Mary is enough to make her hand slip from the cabinet. It falls to the counter top to steady herself and she takes a step backward, down to the ground, and soon enough she is leaning, with head in her hands.
None of this is truly news to Zee. She'd known how incredibly unsupportive Isaac was. Mary making excuses was expected. And yet, the same disdain she had for the man as early on as she could recall comes flooding back as the memory subsides. It is this feeling that lingers with her in the aftermath, far more than the boy and the potential of that exchange; even if that moment has gears turning in her mind of questions.
But questions feel absurd.
She doesn't know why she was suddenly thinking of Hugh, as though she was him in that moment, for an incident that very well could have occurred, but what other explanation was there? Maybe being in this house for this long was starting to get to her in other ways.
And even though she summoned that possibility as an explanation, she had a inkling that wasn't really it.