Emile would’ve never thought that the moments leading up to this one would have led him here, to this moment, in his mother’s arms. This wasn’t supposed to happen now – it hadn’t been planned this way – but he could feel his mother’s silent tears penetrate the fabric of his shirt as they seeped onto his shoulder, and he could feel his own tears dropping slowly. This was a dream, and he was waiting to wake up and head out to the stables, to lead another normal day at the orchard with Roy. He was waiting for his eyes to blink open, disturbed by the light of a new morning, but all that was happening was the warmth of his mother’s familiar embrace and the smell of home and cinnamon in his mother’s auburn hair.
Pulling away, dazed, Emile felt his mother’s fingers ghost across his cheeks, taking his face into her hands and searching his eyes. Her fingers were more calloused than he’d remembered. Then again, it had been seven years. Emile figured seven years was enough to change someone – included themselves. Camille Laroche’s expression was something Emile felt but couldn’t put into words himself. It was relief and joy and pride, but mostly it was seven years parted without a single word. It was reunion.
They stayed like that for a few moments. Taking everything in. How much Emile had grown, the grey hairs peeking out at his mother’s widow’s peak. She still wore the same faded apron, still styled her hair in that same carefree ponytail over her left shoulder.
“Your hair has gotten longer,” his mother remarked, as if on cue, moving her hands to take tufts of his hair in her hands.
Clemence’s voice had matured, but it wasn’t any different than it had been all those years ago. Emile barely felt his mother’s fingers fall from his face as she smiled knowingly at him and stepped aside. Behind her was Clemence, donning a pale yellow dress he’d never seen her wearing before. He had to keep reminding himself that the reason he’d never seen this particular dress was because she would’ve inevitably grown over seven years. And she had – when she threw herself into his arms a breath later, her head was just below his chin now. Her hair – blonde, like no one else in the family – had once been just past her shoulders. It now fell with the slightest of waves to the small of her back.
“So has yours,” Emile breathed, a helpless laugh cracking into his words.
She still smelled like lavender, even in the winter when all that was left was dry soil buried beneath layers of snow. It was like she loved the lavender so much that she had become a part of it; there was lavender in her veins and her eyes and her heart, and it was what Emile had missed the most about her.
He didn’t want to let go.
This was an infinite number of letters he’d carefully scrawled out at night, guided only by candle light. This was hundreds of attempts to spell out her name, to form the letters on smooth paper. This was wadded up letters, shred apart in frustration because he’d never been taught to read or write well. This was all of the things he’d wanted to say to her over seven years, and all he could do was smile into her crown of golden hair.
Clemence eventually grew restless of being held in her brother’s arms, and was able to wriggle herself away just enough to move her eyes across his face. He took the time to finally look at her – really look – and saw just how much she had grown during his absence. She was no longer the little girl that he called his baby sister. This was a young woman standing before him. He opened his mouth to compliment her, to tell her how much of a beautiful young lady she’d grown into, but she was already rolling her eyes at him.
“Oh, save it, Emile,” she sighed, through a smile. And it made Emile happy, because he knew now that she hadn’t changed a bit. She was still Clemence, he was still Emile. They were all still a family.
Emile, finally beginning to come to terms with things, turned to face Roy again. He faced him seriously at first, fronting an air of gratitude and respect, before another helpless smile broke through. He wanted to thank him a million times over, but figured he ought to save it.
“Boys, come sit,” His mother piped in moments later, still unable to remove her awed gaze from her nearly-grown son, “I’ll get you some tea.”
They were ushered into the kitchen, taking seats at the small wooden table in the center of the room. It still smelled like it always had – like tea leaves and fresh bread. Emile remembered sitting here countless times, making faces at Clemence from across the table and giggling when she’s make them back. It was quiet; Emile’s mother momentarily brought out two cups of tea, setting one down in front of Emile and one in front of Roy. Emile graciously took it; he hadn’t realized how tired he’d been until he’d taken a seat. He didn’t know if he should step right back into his old life and act like he always had, like he’d never even left, or if he should treat this like a serious ordeal. It was hard to tell with everyone keeping so quiet, especially when everyone’s gazes seemed to expectantly float between him and Roy.
“I insist that you boys stay the rest of the night. It’s far too cold out for you to be out in the first place. Which reminds me – what brought you here in the first place, so suddenly?”
His mother’s gaze fell upon Emile as he downed another sip of tea, and he meet eyes with Roy beside him before he could stop himself from doing so.
“It’s not really my place to say, but I’m sure one night wouldn’t be a problem,” Emile suggested, again glancing from his mother to Roy, “We were just walking. Everyone gets a little restless in the winter.”
It was the best excuse he could turn to for the time being – he didn’t want to flat out say that an emotional episode had brought them here by chance.
Now that she’d brought it up, Emile didn’t know how long they were going to stay. He assumed that, if anything, it would only be tonight. But he knew that Roy was aware of how important this was to him, and had a sliver of hope that they could stay longer. Emile just had to hope that this wasn’t uncomfortable for Roy. He knew that his mother and Clemence already accepted Roy as family, but Emile didn’t know if Roy was okay with everything.
A glance out the window reminded Emile that it was still late, and he knew by her quietness that Clemence had to be tired.
“Are there still blankets in my room?”
Emile’s mother looked at him, for once facing him with a serious expression.
It was two words, but Emile knew what she meant. She had always been waiting, prepared, for this day. He nodded, standing, and smiled once more at his mother and sister.
He kissed his mother on the forehead, and did the same to Clemence before heading to the narrow staircase. “Goodnight.”
He gestured for Roy to follow him, and he counted the stairs on the way up. Twenty-one. Same as always. The door to his room was closed; he had to wonder how long it had been since it had last been opened. Perhaps since the day he’d left. It was still the same inside as he’d left it: bed still pushed beneath the window at the other end of the room, faded blue paint neatly donning the walls.
It was strange to be back in this place. It was like a museum, like he was only observing. He felt as though he shouldn’t touch anything, as if it were all being preserved and the slightest disturbance would ruin things. He found himself sitting on the familiar mattress moments later, hearing it creak under his weight, and watched Roy’s eyes dance across the room. He was curious as to what Roy thought about all of this – about seeing where Emile had grown up all those years before they met.
“Thank you, Roy,” he said quietly after a moment, dropping his gaze to the floor, “This means a lot to me. This is all I ever wanted, so thank you.”
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