Posting the presents

She leans over the desk, light hair falling across one shoulder, and seals another envelope. Her shirt rides up at the back. Another parcel ready. Two still missing the address. She straightens, runs her tongue across the flap, presses it flat with the heel of her palm. Everything smells like fresh paper and ink from the sharpies. She nudges the neat stack with her knuckle, lines the corners exactly, then steps back to admire the row of plain brown rectangles. Her hips shift. A faint stretch in her thighs as she bends again, picking up the last one. One slow, careful stroke of the marker and the final DVD slides inside. The edge of the envelope brushes her wrist. She exhales. Still two missing. She rolls her shoulders, straightens the sleeves, and the movement tightens the fabric across her chest before she lets the shirt settle again. The last envelope waits. She runs a finger along its seam, slow and deliberate, then sets it down to join the others, a small pile of promises in plain view.