oh, anna [-hs]

leaning on you

"Ah, you look beautiful, mademoiselle," I curtsey. She rolls her eyes.

"Let's get this over with."

I drive her back down to Greenwich village, past our old apartment building. We park along the street, and when she steps out of the car she stops and takes a deep breath of fresh air. A small grin spreads across her face.

"This used to be our home," her eyes twinkle. I lock the car and dance around the hood, linking our arms.

"Shall we?" She nods and follows my lead.

It's freezing, and soon my toes start to feel it, but the piles of crispy white snow in Washington Square Park are worth it. We find a patch untouched and smush our faces in, leaving behind imprints of our laughing mouths and noses. Emma waves shyly at a little dog in a sweater that passes by us.

"Hello school," she sighs when we pass our old dorm building. I find my freshman year window, it's pretty easy. I used to look for it all the time when I passed by. There's a few potted plants sitting behind the glass. The blinds are closed. Emma sees hers too. The blinds are also shut. They don't want anyone looking inside.

"Do you think they found that gum I left under the desk yet," she whispers to me. I laugh, and we have to stop walking.

And then we pass our old apartment building again. We walked in a big loop. I look down the road where Wes' apartment is. I haven't walked around here in a long time. Emma keeps a tight grip on my arm.

"We aren't going that way," she decides stubbornly. I nod.

"Good call."

The next block down is Beachwood Cafe. We both freeze in place, the breath knocked out of us. "Shit," Emma whispers.

The boiling rage I felt two weeks ago in Emma's bed, suddenly reappears. I rip my arm from her grip and march towards the building.

"Quinn, Quinn, whoa," she calls after me, trying to catch up. I'm running. I'm barrelling toward the front door of the cafe. She's in there, she has to be. My heavy winter boots can't get me there fast enough. I hit the door, making the open sign rattle. I gasp and find my bearings, reaching for the handle, whipping it back, and stepping into the building.

Everyone is staring at me. The abominable snowman. My eyelashes are frozen together, my breath heavy, my frame wide from the puffiness of my winter jacket. I pant, searching the room for her face. It's silent in here, the yellow and blue tiles cheerily contrasting against the anger bursting in my chest.

Emma bursts in a second later, gasping for breath. She reaches for my elbow to steady herself.

I storm to the front counter with her in tow. A man I've seen here occasionally is at the register. He gapes at me, eyes wide, terrified. I bet I look wild.

"Mark," Emma pants. Her voice is apologetic. I press my hands into the counter between us.

"Hey, Emma," he mumbles, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Where's Kate," I demand. He bites his bottom lip and sucks in a breath through his teeth.

"It's the weirdest thing," he starts slowly, worried how I will react to the story. "A week ago she came in and quit."

"What?" Emma's hold on my elbow tightens.

"Yeah," Mark's eyes dart over to her. "She said she was moving and the commute would be too far."

"Moving where?" Emma murmurs, the color draining from her face. I don't know why she's so shocked. Why does it matter? All it means is that I can't punch her stupid face.