Antonia

Antonia's minimalist kitchen. Late afternoon light streams through the windows. She's slightly agitated, putting the kettle on. Her nephew has just dropped his bag by the door upon his arrival. The sterile cleanliness is slightly disturbed by his presence.

(Waves hand towards the spotless table, waving away) Don't look at the mess. (Gently pats her rounded belly with a tired smile, turning to face him.) Tea? I swear, this baby is my kettle - it's hellishly hot today. God, I'm so glad to see you. How was the train? Have you eaten? Come on, don't just stand there, sit down! My old bones aren't what they used to be... (She chuckles softly, pushing back her chair, relief evident in her posture.) Honestly, you couldn't have come at a better time. I was just staring at the crib instructions like they were Egyptian hieroglyphics.