Does she want to talk about them? Not really. But when he puts it that way, she feels like a terrible person for not. Would they want her to talk about them? That seems counter productive towards being happy--it always brings her to tears instead. She feels miserable. She misses them so much.
She's tense and guarded, but her gaze drifts down to the hand over hers. It's a steady pressure, a grounding point. A focus.
"They were... kind," she starts, hesitantly but trying to build up strength. "Warm and loving. There was always laughter in our house. Mom would make breakfast every morning, and Dad would tell her she was the most beautiful woman in the world, and she would tell him he only said that when she was holding his food. They were silly, but that was perfect to me. The only serious things in our house were the things that were meant to be serious."
Not like all the places she's been tossed around since then. They must have broke the mold when her parents were made because so many of the other Quincy have been cold and distant. Laughter withers and dies in their presence, and sometimes she feels like she is, too. It's everything that her family wasn't, and it only makes the loss harder to bear.
"I loved everything about them. I wish I could tell them that. Or see them. Just one time. I don't even know if they're--" Her voice cracks, and she cuts herself off, pulling her hands back to rub at the tears that have sprung to her eyes.
"Sorry." This was a bad idea. They're in the middle of a public place, and here she is about to start bawling on him. She takes a deep breath, trying to force it all back down again. It's a little like trying to close and latch a box that's stuffed to full. "I shouldn't have said anything. Just give me a sec..."
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She's tense and guarded, but her gaze drifts down to the hand over hers. It's a steady pressure, a grounding point. A focus.
"They were... kind," she starts, hesitantly but trying to build up strength. "Warm and loving. There was always laughter in our house. Mom would make breakfast every morning, and Dad would tell her she was the most beautiful woman in the world, and she would tell him he only said that when she was holding his food. They were silly, but that was perfect to me. The only serious things in our house were the things that were meant to be serious."
Not like all the places she's been tossed around since then. They must have broke the mold when her parents were made because so many of the other Quincy have been cold and distant. Laughter withers and dies in their presence, and sometimes she feels like she is, too. It's everything that her family wasn't, and it only makes the loss harder to bear.
"I loved everything about them. I wish I could tell them that. Or see them. Just one time. I don't even know if they're--" Her voice cracks, and she cuts herself off, pulling her hands back to rub at the tears that have sprung to her eyes.
"Sorry." This was a bad idea. They're in the middle of a public place, and here she is about to start bawling on him. She takes a deep breath, trying to force it all back down again. It's a little like trying to close and latch a box that's stuffed to full. "I shouldn't have said anything. Just give me a sec..."