It's all Eliana can think about, even as the door is opening and her mother's fingers are digging into her shoulder, index finger right in the tender indent where her collarbone is meant gets separated. She's not used to starch. She's not used to the itching it brings to her skin, or to the odd constriction of her scratchy tights--or to the faint buzz in the back of her mind that's making the man who opens the door sound very soft and far away.
Alena's left hand stays tight in her daughter's shoulder even as she lifts her other hand with a thin smile. It doesn't reach her eyes as well as it might--but then, they've been so hollow and quiet generally lately. "Tyler? Tyler Novak-Kagan? I don't know if you remember me. Alena Lowell."
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It's all Eliana can think about, even as the door is opening and her mother's fingers are digging into her shoulder, index finger right in the tender indent where her collarbone is meant gets separated. She's not used to starch. She's not used to the itching it brings to her skin, or to the odd constriction of her scratchy tights--or to the faint buzz in the back of her mind that's making the man who opens the door sound very soft and far away.
Alena's left hand stays tight in her daughter's shoulder even as she lifts her other hand with a thin smile. It doesn't reach her eyes as well as it might--but then, they've been so hollow and quiet generally lately. "Tyler? Tyler Novak-Kagan? I don't know if you remember me. Alena Lowell."