She asks about how you are, and you think, how is this so easy, falling back into old routines of How-was-your-days like nothing hurt in between today and the last day you saw her? Seven years. Is it long enough for things to be written off, just like that?
And yet, you say, "Older and wiser," smiling as you lead her into the kitchen, pulling out a seat for her at the table and flipping a switch on. She squints at the light, and she suddenly looks so young; something tightens in your chest as your heart turns itself over. "You?"
"Older," she just says, shifting her eyes back down to the surface of the table. "A whole lot older."