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, Emma’s facial movements seemed genuine. “Remind me again, why aren’t we fat?” 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 Veronica’s house, their acquaintanceship rarely progressing in the right direction for friendship; it wasn’t because Sierra didn’t like her, it was because their paths rarely crossed. And unlike Rafe, they never did in high school. “Chipotle, a ton of it. The woman behind the counter was shocked when I told her it was only for two…” She snorted, embraced by the woman in a tight hug. For once Sierra didn’t 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. “How are you?” 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, “I have no idea. You raise a super valid point but I’m just going to keep letting the cosmos do its thing.” 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 Rafe’s 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. “I’m, like, almost a little offended? But I’ll let it slide considering she doesn’t know us and the power of our bottomless stomachs. We could probably start a Stress Eater’s Club considering the skill we’ve amounted in that area.” 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. “Good, I think. I’m just taking each day at a time but, like, it’s kind of funny that -- at twenty-eight, almost twenty-nine -- I’m learning more about emotions and grief handling and whatever than I ever did as a teenager, you know. In those years where you’re meant to become a fully functioning person who gets those kinds of things. My parents weren’t very fussed with those life lessons, though, so... better late than never, right?”
snowghoul
theartofmadeline
andulkaphoto
2087
vaporwave
