The Definition of Fate

Chapter 2

what's the greatest lesson a woman should learn?

that since day one, she's already had everything
she needs within herself. it's the world that
convinced her she did not.

-rupi kaur

Despite the fact that it's 10:30 at night when I get back to my apartment, the air is still sticky and the humidity almost palpable. Pennsylvania in the early summer is like a sauna. I grab the half gallon of Breyers chocolate chip cookie dough that I bought at the grocery store from my passenger's seat and jump out of the car.

Our apartment is a small two-bedroom in a quiet apartment complex that's basically a retirement community plus the two of us. Emmalee and I are both quiet and we didn't want to live near all the partying college students, so we chose Mayapple Apartments. I was worried it was a bad idea until Mrs. Fernandez showed up on our front door with churros and her tabby cat. Ron Weasley and I are now best friends, and I watch him every time Mrs. Fernandez goes to Philadelphia to visit her daughter.

I head up the stairs of our building, my briefcase in one hand and the ice cream carton in the other, and kick the door so I don't have to dig for my keys. "Em, open up!" I hear her lift the latch to check the peephole and resist the urge to roll my eyes. "Em, unless you want melted ice cream, open the door."

Emmalee swings the door open and takes the ice cream from my hands. Her long box braids are held back by a red bandana and I immediately spy the bucket of ammonia water and rubber gloves in the corner of our galley kitchen.

"You're still cleaning?" I ask.

She shrugs, going into the kitchen to grab bowls and spoons. I'd personally be more inclined to eat out of the carton, but that's not really her style. I debate turning down the ice cream since summer's on it's way, but I know better. I'd rather eat ice cream and wear a poncho than go without it in a bikini.

"So," I say as I accept the heaping bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough from Emmalee and plop on our fraying polyester couch.

"So," she says, sitting cross-legged next to me. "How was your date with Aaron?"

Emmalee says his voice in a sing-song as if we're still in that cute just-met honeymoon phase. Sometimes I wonder if she's jealous, but really I think she just doesn't understand. Her life consists of work, me, and more work. She hasn't dated in a few years and is perfectly content, so I don't think she really understands Aaron's role in my life. I've tried finding commonalities between them or explaining how much he means to me, but my explanations seem to fall on deaf ears.

"It was great. We went to Demetri's."

For a moment, I debate spilling my guts and telling her about Aaron's job offer and what it could mean for our relationship. There was a time when I told her everything and we had a reciprocal relationship, but that's deteriorated since long before her diagnosis. About the time that I started dating Aaron, I realized that Emmalee didn't really have any friends besides me, and while I always try to be there for her, I've become her crutch. It's embittered me, if I'm honest, but I don't know what to do about it. So I don't tell her about my life; I just focus on hers.

"You weren't mad about coming home early?" she asks.

"I didn't come back early," I answer, reassuring her.

"But you weren't upset, right? I mean, I wasn't trying to pressure you or anything," Emmalee says, twirling a braid around a finger with the nail bitten to the bed.

I sigh. "No, it's fine. I said it's fine, so it's fine." For a moment, she looks stricken, and when she opens her mouth to apologize, I stop her with a hand and soften my voice. "Don't worry about it, seriously, okay?"