KATE
Just like everything in my life these days, I think for a minute about whether or not to serve Emily Allen alcohol and then realize that I really don't care. It's none of my business what she drinks, no matter the past. So I just shrug my shoulders and pull out the bottle of wine that I meant to give Dana for Christmas.
"Join me?" Emily asks, taking the full glass that I hand her. I sigh a little, unsure if drinking with the only other girl that my boyfriend has ever loved is a good idea. Ex-boyfriend, I mean.
But then, like everything else, I realize that I truly do not have the capacity to care. I take down another glass and fill it for myself, gesturing to the living room. "Do you want to sit?" I ask.
"I'm always sitting," Emily points out.
"Oh- I... I'm sorry, I didn't... I forgot..."
"Kate, relax," Emily laughs. "It's fine. Let's go sit, yeah?"
I follow her into the living room and sit down on the couch, across from her. She raises her wine glass to her lips, deep in thought. Unsure of what to do or say, I proceed to do the same. When the wine hits my tongue, I shudder. It's strong, too strong. Emily doesn't seem to have a problem with it; her glass is more than halfway empty already.
"So how is Michael?" She asks, a little bluntly.
"Um. He's good."
"Is he now?" She asks, raising her eyebrows with a little smirk.
"Yeah... Um, I don't really know," I shrug.
"Then why did you say yes?" She asks.
"Because... Because that's what you say when people ask you or somebody is. It's polite, I guess."
"I'm so tired of that," Emily sighs. "Of people just being polite. Everything loses meaning that way. Michael's not good, is he? He's probably beating himself up this very minute, but it doesn't matter because you'd rather be 'polite' than acknowledge his pain."
"His pain?" I laugh without humor. "All due respect, Emily, but you don't know me. You don't know the situation, you don't even know Michael anymore."
"That's just it, isn't it?" She says. Her voice is suddenly sad, all traces of the momentary fire from before, gone. "I don't know... anything... anymore." She tilts her wine glass up one more time, finishing its contents.
"So... Without being 'polite,'" I draw air quotes around the word, "Tell me why you're really here," I challenge.
Emily laughs, raising her empty glass to me. "I'll let you know when I figure it out."
I lean back into the couch and down almost my entire glass of wine, sure that I will need the buzz. I'm not entirely sure what it is that I feel toward this girl yet, but the blizzard outside is most likely trapping us in together as we speak.
"More?" I ask, reaching for her empty glass.
"Please," she nods her head. I go back to the kitchen, filling both of our glasses before just taking the wine bottle back with me.
"Thank you," Emily says sincerely as I hand her the glass. I just shrug noncommittally. She is not entirely welcome. "I'm sorry, Kate, if I've been... rude. Why don't you tell me about you and Michael?"
"Because it's none of your business," I snap. Emily recoils a little, but gives an understanding nod of her head.
We sit in silence for an undetermined amount of time. Eventually I sit up, suddenly realizing that I do want to talk to her. I want to know about how Michael was back then, and I want to tell her about how he is now. The wine makes me brave.
"Tell me about the Michael you knew," I break the silence. Emily's eyes are guarded, but she raises her glass to me again before she starts talking.
In the back of my mind, I know that she and I are both well on our way to being drunk. But I don't care, as she talks and laughs with so much animation that I find myself laughing, too. And more than that, she listens. She is sympathetic when I tell her about Michael giving up, tell her about how hard I've tried to save him, tell her things that I won't remember telling her in the morning.
But she listens, and that's more than anyone else around here has ever bothered to do.
MICHAEL
"Could you be going any slower?" I groan. Like is driving so slowly that he can't be going above eight miles an hour.
"Do you value your life, Michael?" He snaps.
"No," I grumble. Kate's life is the one I'm worried about right now; every minute that passes without hearing from her is sheer agony.
"We're close," Luke sighs. But it takes us 25 more minutes to get to the apartment building, and ten more to cross the parking lot without injuring ourselves.
Upon entering the building, we find that the elevator is broken (of course), and we are left to take the stairs up to Kate's apartment. With every step upwards, my heart beats a little faster, adrenaline and fear pumping through my veins more powerfully than blood.
Luke and I practically sprint to Kate's door- it bothers me how he knows exactly which one it is- and I collect myself before knocking a lot more softly than I would like to.
My heart rate accelerates as there is no answer. "Kate!" I yell, letting lose and hammering my fist on the door. "Kate, are you in there? Are you okay?" There is no answer and I rest my forehead against the freezing cold wood of the door. "Please, baby," I whisper, more to myself than to her.
Suddenly I hear a clicking sound and I draw away from the door as it opens.
"Well, well, well," Kate says, too loudly, from the doorway. "If it isn't thing one and thing two." Her eyes shift slowly from me to Luke, and the slow, lethargic tone of her voice gives away immediately that she is drunk. I can tell that it's not the same drunk that I've seen on her before. She's feisty, testy. But I am consumed with overwhelming relief that she's okay, that she's here.
"What are you doing here?" She asks bluntly.
"We wanted to make sure that you were okay," Luke answers before I can. "You weren't answering your phone."
"Well excuuuuuuuuse me, phone police," Kate slurs, laughing at her own terrible joke. "You know, Luke, you're not a bad guy."
"Thanks," Luke says, muffling his laughter.
"You," Kate turns her gaze to me. "You suck."
I laugh in spite of myself. "I know."
"Your Alaska is here," Kate says. The intensity of her eye contact with me is intimidating, but not enough to distract me from her words.
"My what?"
"Your Alaska. A-las-ka."
"My book?" I ask, bewildered.
"No, your girl. And it's my book."
"What are you talking about?" I ask. Kate sways on the spot and then smacks my hand away as I reach out to steady her.
"Who's is that?" Another drunk voice sounds from behind Kate in the apartment, and my blood runs cold in my veins. Is that-? My unspoken question is answered as Emily wheels into view, suddenly stopping at the sight of us.
The tension in the air is so thick that not a single one of us even draws breath. Luke looks like he's seen a ghost, and it dawns on me that he really has.
"Your Alaska," Kate whispers again, her eyes downcast. My heart falters in my chest at the obvious pain her voice as I look on the scene that depicts the mess of my life, laid out before me like punishment for everything I've ever run from.
