A smile, the first sign everything was going to be okay. Even if the struggles behind closed doors could never be understood from an outsider, Emmaâs facial movements seemed genuine. âRemind me again, why arenât we fat?â She sniggered and stepped inside, stamping her feet on the mat to remove any dust from the bottom of her sneakers. Not once had she been inside Veronicaâs house, their acquaintanceship rarely progressing in the right direction for friendship; it wasnât because Sierra didnât like her, it was because their paths rarely crossed. And unlike Rafe, they never did in high school. âChipotle, a ton of it. The woman behind the counter was shocked when I told her it was only for twoâŠâ She snorted, embraced by the woman in a tight hug. For once Sierra didnât flinch, instead embraced her back and allowed the bag of food to drop onto a side table. It felt like more than just a hug, but a gesture to move forward that was welcomed by the brunette. She squeezed too, happy that Emma had been discharged and looked healthy. âHow are you?â Sierra questioned as they went into the kitchen, leaning down to rub the top of the dogs heads.
There was a moment of pondering evident on Emma after the question, and all she could offer was, âI have no idea. You raise a super valid point but Iâm just going to keep letting the cosmos do its thing.â With a soft laugh, she took the lead in welcoming Sierra inside; at this stage, the house felt like it was partly hers. That had been a sensation most of her group of friends had experienced in whatever place Veronica owned, considering she was the appointed squad mother and her place always had Rafeâs douchebag jar in it. However, countering the fact that Emma had her own stylised room, chipped in for utility bills, and slept in the house nightly, it was safe to assume she was a resident of it. âIâm, like, almost a little offended? But Iâll let it slide considering she doesnât know us and the power of our bottomless stomachs. We could probably start a Stress Eaterâs Club considering the skill weâve amounted in that area.â Melodic laughter followed as she ended their journey into the kitchen. From there, Emma hopped up onto a stool surrounding the center island, and began to fuss around with the food bags planted atop the counter. As she did so, she answered, a sigh leading her replying statement. âGood, I think. Iâm just taking each day at a time but, like, itâs kind of funny that -- at twenty-eight, almost twenty-nine -- Iâm learning more about emotions and grief handling and whatever than I ever did as a teenager, you know. In those years where youâre meant to become a fully functioning person who gets those kinds of things. My parents werenât very fussed with those life lessons, though, so... better late than never, right?â
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