Reunion

 A woman sits in a garden courtyard on a wicker chair.

The cushions beneath her are soft and worn. The morning sunlight filters through the branches of the fir tree above. A pot of tea with two tea cups is set before her on a glass-topped table. A milk jug and sugar bowl accompany the teapot, from which gentle steam emits.

She is waiting. Not the restless sort of waiting, but instead, the waiting that one is grateful to have. That stretch of time before an event in which she meanders through her thoughts, stopping at a couple of them and feeling their fabric, enjoying their weight in her hands. 

She is brought back to her courtyard with the sound of footsteps growing louder as they draw nearer. A lady is striding confidently in her direction, a large grin stretching across her face. 

"My darling!" 

The woman stands up. 

It is as if the fir trees and the sunlight and the courtyard and the very air around them turn golden and warm, sparkling and vibrating with energy. Two hearts become as closely connected as they have been in almost two decades as the women embrace. 

"Mum!" 

They hold each other tightly. This hug is making up for tens of thousands of missed hugs, solitary hands when they needed holding, absent ears when thoughts and feelings and words needed speaking, heavy silence and empty spaces. 

They stand apart but keep hands held, better to look into each other's eyes - both pairs that same shade of blue, straddling noses that also so closely resemble one another. 

Mother and daughter. The luxury of each other's company. 

"Would you like a cup of tea?" asks the woman to her mother, revelling in her ability to ask such a thing. 

"I thought you would never ask," she responds.

They sit down in their wicker chairs and fill their teacups and fill the space with words left too long unsaid, and fill their ears with the sound of a voice too long unheard, and fill their hearts and fill. And fill. 

And fill.