Roberto was expectant, he could not settle, he wanted their arrival complete, for them to be seated, for his eyes to feast upon their love. He had shared this evening with them every year for the previous fifteen, they were as family to him. He fussed over them, he smoothed their every wrinkle, he gave to them an attention that he spared for few others. They allowed him now full reign over the menu, over the quantities, over the progress. They granted him this in appreciation. And, yes, in love.
He quivered at their history, at the sixty-five years, at the family that spread organically into the community. He paced the parlour, inspecting his nails, brushing a mote from the pressed seam of his trouser. He roused with the growing bustle in the foyer, they were here, flanked by three generations of sons.
His bow circumscribed his deep affection.
A member of the Weekend Reflections community.