If the master suite of the house was his father's sanctuary, then the kitchen was his mother's.
This was her center of operations—not because of traditional roles, but because they had spent so much time there growing up that even he felt a wave of comfort as soon as he entered.
The constant scent of food lingered, even when nothing was cooking. The worn-out small stools and plastic chairs, used for years of discussions and bonding, were still there.
"Now that I'm back in here, I suddenly feel reluctant to move them," Austin said to David as they both entered the kitchen.
"Are you crying?" Naomi asked suddenly as she passed by the two of them.
David quickly wiped the small tears from his eyes. The nostalgia had overwhelmed him without him even realizing it.
"If you just kept your mouth shut sometimes, you'd make more friends," Austin retorted.
"As in, can't your mouth just stay closed?" David added, frustrated.
