KATE
I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say, I have no words, no questions. Only a mild curiosity that I am too tired to put into words. I sigh softly, catching Emily’s attention. She looks up at me with a slightly guilty expression, but neither of us say anything as I approach her.
She watches me intently as I insert my key into the lock and hold the door open, silently inviting her in. Emily wheels herself into the kitchen as I lock the door behind us, shrugging my coat off my shoulders and setting my purse on the table next to the door. I follow her in and finally break the silence.
“Do you drink coffee?” I ask, reaching for the bag of coffee grounds that Michael bought for himself to use here.
“Yeah, I do,” Emily says conversationally.
“I’ll make some.”
“Thank you,” she says earnestly. A few quiet moments pass as I spoon coffee grounds into the filter, the tiny sound of the individual grains hitting the paper seeming to echo into the silence. “You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” Emily finally speaks again.
“Not really,” I shrug, walking past her to put the bag of coffee back in the pantry.
“What?” She asks, a small smile on her face.
“I’m not really wondering why you’re here,” I shrug again. “I’m sorry if that sounds rude, I just—I… I don’t feel like anything could surprise me anymore.”
Emily laughs, and for the first time I really look at her. She is beautiful still, barely any different from the picture of her that was tacked onto Michael’s old bulletin board. She looks a little older, a little more world-worn. Her skin is naturally tan and the caramel highlights blend perfectly into the dark hair that spills over her shoulders in waves. She doesn’t wear makeup but she doesn’t need it.
“You’re a strong one then, Kate,” Emily laughs. “But I guess you would have to be, to be with Michael.”
“I’m not with Michael,” I automatically respond.
“Oh,” Emily’s eyes widen. “I’m sorry, I—I didn’t…”
“It’s fine,” I put her out of her misery.
“I’m so sorry, Kate. Is this…does this have anything to do with me?” She asks sheepishly.
“No. Well… no. It’s a Michael thing.”
“A Michael thing?” She asks with a smirk.
“A Michael problem,” I correct myself, reaching for a coffee mug and filling it for her. “Cream and sugar are on the counter,” I nod to them while handing her the coffee cup.
“Thank you,” Emily says, raising the cup to her lips. Suddenly she is looking all around the kitchen, everywhere but at me. She sighs. “You know what?” She asks.
