Forget Me Not

Chapter 9

Emma thought that maybe you needed to let go of something so that something else, something better, could come your way.

Except she didn't know what that something else was.

And right now, the future was just a blank canvas. But maybe that was the best part about life – its unpredictability. Not knowing where the multiple roads in front of you lead, not knowing where one choice could take you.

She closed her eyes briefly and thought about that day back at the hospital. The conversation she'd had with Flo was vague and forever etched in her memory all at once. She remembered how Flo hadn't said a word after that; she'd stayed stock still, frozen in place for what seemed like forever. And Emma had taken the elevator down, leaving everything behind her – Dylan, the past, and all the what-we-were and could-have-been's in between.

It seemed like lifetimes ago, when in reality, it had only been two weeks.

Two weeks of struggling to return back to some semblance of normality, trying to remember the way things had been pre-Dylan. Two weeks of being surrounded by kids – both at her job, which she threw herself into; and whenever she dropped by Scout's after work to lend a helping hand to her friend, who seemed entirely frazzled by the prospect of having a new baby who seemed to scream at every waking hour. Two weeks of early morning coffee runs and sweater weather, because it was closing in to December and Emma absolutely loathed the chill. Loathed it with every frozen fibre of her being.

"Next."

The sharp, unfamiliar voice jolted her out of the little reverie she'd sunken into. Emma opened her eyes and realised that the person in front of her had finished ordering. Smiling apologetically at the young girl at the counter, she stepped forward and rattled off her order.

She paid the bill and stepped aside when she was done, leaning against the counter and waiting for her coffee to be done. Her eyes followed the barista as he made her coffee, absentmindedly checking if her order was right. Roasted coffee beans. Less milk. Less sugar.

In retrospect, Emma realised she drank her coffee a lot like the way the whole idea of love was – bittersweet.

She almost smiled in amusement at that thought. It kind of was the perfect balance.

She received her coffee minutes later and eagerly wrapped her fingers around the cup. The warmth from within soaked through the Styrofoam and into her frigid skin, like the warmest of suns on the coldest of winter days. Murmuring polite excuse-me's under her breath, Emma carefully navigated her way through the crowd in the coffee-shop. She braced herself when she reached the main exit, blinking away the sudden chill that nipped at her eyes when she opened the door to let herself out.

Only to freeze in her spot when she saw the person standing barely a few feet away from her.

Dylan looked far better than the last time she'd seen him – most of his casts and bandages gone now, save for the remaining one on his right foot. His hair was matted against his forehead as a woollen cap was pulled over his head, but the jacket he wore seemed far too thin for such frigid weather. No surprise there. She was always averse to cold and he never was.

His eyes lit when he saw her, and Emma could barely think, barely breathe, when he closed the last few steps between them, bracing his arms steadily on his crutches. Some rational part of her mind screamed at her in the background to go forward and help, but really, she was just so taken aback that she found herself awkwardly rooted where she was.

"Emma," was all he said when he was close enough. His voice was soft and her name threaded out in wisps of air. That was just how cold the weather was but Emma, suddenly, felt warm.