The Definition of Fate

Chapter 1

I chipped away at your cold exterior
dodging shards of ice until
you were no longer hard,
but even though I cracked the surface
your heart would not melt.

- Christy Ann Martine

"I'm heading out for the day!" I say to my boss at The Morning Call.

Tina sits behind a stack of files that dwarf even her gargantuan frame as she slams her fingers into the keys with a fury they don't deserve. Her pale blonde hair frizzes around her head in a halo as she types the last article for the paper. My editor in chief doesn't even look up as she answers me.

"That's fine, Rachel. Have a great weekend."

"You too," I answer as I throw my oversized purse over my shoulder and grab my lunch bag.

As I walk out the front door and head to my car, I check my watch. 5:00 P.M. Right on time. I'm supposed to meet Aaron, my boyfriend, for dinner at Demetri's, our favorite Greek restaurant. My mouth waters at the thought of devouring an authentic gyro. I send Aaron a text to let him know that I'll be there in just a few minutes while a warm breeze disrupts my curls.

I climb into my car, a refurbished Volkswagen bug that I bought on a whim and now deeply regret. Why I thought it was a good idea to buy a car with no storage space, rust around the rims, and a thousand mechanical problems, I don't know. Actually, I do know. I thought it was cute. I know, I'm a genius.

Before I start driving, I call Emmalee, my roommate, to let her know I won't be home until later tonight. If I don't give her a head's up, she's bound to freak out when I don't show up exactly seventeen minutes from the time I leave every day.

"Hello?" Em calls into the phone.

"Hey, it's Rachel."

"Hey!" Her voice sounds like it's a thousand miles away. "Hang on a sec." I hear scuffling and then her voice, clearer this time. "Sorry, I was cleaning and I had bleach on my hands."

I laugh, unsurprised. When Emmalee's stressed, she cleans, even on a Friday night. She makes me look like I have a life, which is really saying something.

"It's fine. I'm just calling to let you know that I won't be home until later tonight. I'm grabbing dinner with Aaron."

There's an awkward pause before I hear her answer, disturbingly chipper, "Oh, okay. Um, I'll see you later."

I sigh and wonder if I should ask her what's wrong. Emmalee's hit a rough patch recently, and even though we've been roommates for four years, this last year she has been especially difficult to deal with. Six months ago, she was diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Since finding out, Emmalee's been at her wit's end trying to figure out how to cope with her diagnosis. Most of the time, I don't know what to do except listen to her.

"Is everything okay?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I just...I had parent teacher conferences today, and one of the moms yelled at me for how I treat her kid."

Emmalee's a special education teacher at the local elementary school, and she's incredible. I've never seen anyone more passionate about their students; she spends hours each weekend planning lessons and pouring over IEPs. She's the most dedicated teacher I've ever met, and any time I've seen her with her students, she shows a kindness and sensitivity to her students that I only dream of having. To hear that one of her student's parents has treated her like crap breaks my heart.

"Aw, Em, I'm so sorry. When I get home, we can talk about it," I say, thrumming my fingers on the wheel.

Emmalee curses and I flinch. "I didn't mean to make you feel bad. Crap, I can't do anything right."