A vase at the center of the dining table. Empty. Waiting. The sound from the kitchen microwave. Three beeps. Another sound the of the door clicking open. A shutting sound following. A shadow taking the dish plate in one of the rooms. Inside that room there's a half eaten apple, and some crumpled up paper in the waste basket. A teenager at work. Sounds of surface of pencil rubbing against paper. The wall behind him is covered with caricatures drawn in pencil, some in felt. He doesn't know. He's just a kid.
The doorbell rings. He rushes up to the door, half rubbing the sweat off the fingers. He opens the door to a taller but gentler figure who hugs him. She's carrying a humble bundle of it all... groceries, condiments, things that everyone likes, and the little things that she likes. The young eyes scan the bag of condiments. He searches for bourbon biscuits like James Bond looking for war plans in a Soviet state. The mother only smiled and went to the kitchen.
You need to be careful with these, and make sure to cut just the right length. She has a pair of scissors in her hand, but her face bears an unsure frown. She goes to the table. Sounds of frisking the bag of groceries go on. She caresses his head as he smiles upon finding chocolates. Don't eat all at once- she said. Then she went back to the kitchen with the vase, while the excited kid runs back to the kitchen with the treats.
She measures the length of the stem against the length of the vase and after some quite sure approximations, she cuts it off. She fills the vase with water, and arranges them in a desirable fashion. She likes the smell of them, the color of them... She likes the fact that they need only a little bit of love to live long. And that she can love them long enough.
She places them on the table, and takes the bag of groceries to the kitchen. The little one is lending a helping hand.
A vase at the center of the dining table. With tuberose flowers, and fresh water.