You sit in the back of the car as I drive and we both make fun of you from the front. Easy banter, lousy jokes, cheap shots. You are rolling your eyes and we know this even without turning around or checking the rear-view mirror. It’s what you do.
We take you out for meals, show you our favourite cafés, tease you endlessly.
But we weren’t sarcastic about the steak you cooked for us; you know your meat.
Today you fly home, in the afternoon. We have barely a few hours left. Another meal at most. Already we are missing your dry humour, your silly grin, the rolling of your beautiful eyes.