(no subject)
Mary drags her wheeled suitcase through the airport. She's gotten very used to flying, the customs officials no longer frighten her. She notices the darkness outside, and feels the strain in her arms from dragging her luggage, remembering that it's Friday already, Mary is suddenly glad she's not Orthodox anymore.
She won't be observing Passover alone, a friend of a friend has kindly invited her to spend it with him and his girlfriend.
She sticks her arm out for a cab, when it stops the driver helps her stowe the luggage and Mary relaxes into the back seat.
There will be things she'll miss about Passover with the family. There are also things she won't miss, such as 5,000 years of half deaf, toothless relatives arguing with each other and complaining about "young people these days."
She won't miss Martha's domination of the kitchen. Or the nervewracking chore of making sure everything is exactly the way a Certain Someone likes it, woe betide them all if the potatoes are lumpy.
But there will be no shared stories, no laughing at in jokes, no one who remembers the last Passover on earth with Yeshua.
The cab pulls up in front of her brownstone. Mary pulls her bag up the steps and fits her key in the lock. She grabs her mail and unlocks her first floor apartment. She's considered buying the whole place and renting out rooms herself. If she's planning on sticking around. Mary flicks on a light and tosses the mail on her glass coffee table. She kicks her shoes off and deposits the suitcase in her bedroom.
She's just relieved to be home. On the way back from Rome, the plane kept losing radio contact, nearly colliding with Air Lingus on the runway.
She turns on her computer to check email, she keeps getting 404s and finally gives up until she can call Sarah for help.
Too bad phone service is out for the entire block.
Mary takes a shower and goes to bed.