they see cain and i see abel | emma

Kate wanted to bang her head against the wall. There was no way in hell she could disclose to her sister what had happened between her and her ex-husband. Really, it felt like there was no one in the world--Ariana had never really approved of Charlie, and her friendship with Oliver was too new (and too interconnected) to go and vent to him about anything. That left Emma.

Emma had been kind enough to churn out the usual supportive spiel: if you need anything, come see me, come talk to me. Kate had done the whole thing where she’d agreed but hadn’t really meant it, just to reassure Emma that she’d heard her. Yes, of course, I’ll owl you. I’ll come by. And she hadn’t meant it--until now.

Kate knew it probably wasn’t healthy that she only felt comfortable venting and expressing things to her friends when she felt like she had no other option, but at least she was here, on her friend’s doorstep, putting herself out there. On the metaphorical limb, so to speak. She knocked and waited for her to answer, giving her friend a big smile before her lower lip inevitably started trembling.

Good grief.

Grief wasn’t good, anyway, and it was the cousin to whatever she was feeling, but she was tired of feeling so tightly cinched that if she moved a centimeter it would all come exploding out of her. “Hey, Emma. Um. Can I come in? I have to talk to you about. Something. That happened between Charlie and I.”

Something was a nice way of putting it. She’d invited him into her house, they’d slept together (almost on the same couch he’d proposed to her the first time), and now she had no idea what was going to happen or when she was going to see him next. If she were a smart woman(she wasn’t), she’d live and let be, let die, whatever. Seeing Charlie had pretty much done the opposite of that. Kate found herself poring over when she was going to see him next.

Her tiny boots clacked over the threshold and she sat on her friend’s couch. “I. Is this a good time? I can. Come back later, if need be.” Kate sniffled and wiped at her nose with the sleeve of her pressed tweed jacket. How snotty. How Londoner-y. She should be in a sundress.

Noah and Harri were out for the time being, and so Emma had no qualms whatsoever about capitalizing on the opportunity to [loudly] sing along to the radio [very off-key] as she carried out her weekly wipe-down of the kitchen. Rosie was draped atop the curve in her cat-tree, flipped over on her back and watching the scene upside-down through one half-open eye – but otherwise completely unperturbed by her mistresses antics. She’d borne witness to twelve years of it, after all.

So immersed was she in twirling about the place and attempting to harmonize with herself that she almost didn’t hear a knock at the door. Peeking through the peep-hole, Emma was nothing short of delighted to recognize the pleasantly unexpected but familiar (though distorted, thanks to the convex glass) figure on the other side. Pink-faced from her antics and with more than a few fly-a-ways in her coming-down ponytail, she flung the door wide to admit her friend, who smiled in greeting and so she beamed back – until Kate’s lower lip started wobbling.

Emma’s face fell and her brow furrowed immediately, concerned.

“Hey, Emma. Um. Can I come in? I have to talk to you about. Something. That happened between Charlie and I.”

Before the younger girl could so much as finish her statement, Emma had already taken her by the hand and began to usher her inside.
“Of course, of course!”
She felt strongly compelled to pull Kate into a hug, then, but figured she should maybe give the poor thing a moment to breathe first. Instead she snatched up her wand from the countertop, jabbing it hurriedly at the radio in the corner to turn the volume down as Kate made for the couch. Fortunately she’d put the kettle on just a few minutes previously; she quickly put together a tea tray and sent it ahead of her into the sitting area, letting it come to rest of the coffee table in front of where Kate was seated.

“I. Is this a good time? I can. Come back later, if need be.”

Emma flapped a hand enthusiastically as though shooing away a fly as she prepared the drinks.
“No, no! Please, stay – I was just doing a bit of tidying-up, honestly.”
After summoning a tin of shortbread biscuits that her mum had sent earlier in the week (she was firmly of the opinion that biscuits made everything more tolerable), she reached out and gave Kate’s hand a gentle squeeze in a tacit: ‘tell me, whenever you’re ready’. In the meantime she watched her younger friend’s expression carefully, ready to jump in with a bone-crushing hug at the slightest indication.

The way Emma was flailing around her apartment was slightly comforting. Had it been anyone else, it might have stressed Kate out, but right now it was a kind reminder of daily life and that things could -- and would, Lord willing -- get better. That soon, she could go about tasks like these, cleaning her apartment and singing at the top of her lungs, without a lyric (or a whole song) inadvertently twinging at her heartstrings or a belonging left behind by her significant other being found. She let her friend guide her over to the couch and sat down, legs perfectly poised and clenched together, as the tea tray made its way over to them.

Kate had almost forgotten what it was like to use magic in her house; living with Charlie she’d come to appreciate a more hands-on, methodical way of doing things and somehow felt more accomplished when only using her own two hands to do the cleaning or cooking. So much of him was a part of her now, and she wondered, perhaps too deeply, whether any of her habits had rubbed off on him.

She pondered whether or not he’d gone back to his old ways as though slipping on an old pair of jeans, or if their years together had taught him anything.  Taught was the wrong word, because what she was imagining didn’t even need to be anything moralistic. Could be something like remembering to drink a few glasses of water every day as she’d urged him to do, or not washing his face with a bar of soap, or any of the cooking shortcuts she’d taught him. Kate’s heart beat achingly slow as she contemplated if he’d done all he could to wash his hands completely clean of her, or if pieces still remained. It was hard for her not to feel like he was still an entire half.

Kate closed her eyes and appreciated everything her friend had done for her for a minute. Tea, cookies, a place to sit and vent, and a warm hug. She did feel blessed by the amount of support that had been offered to her in one way or another since the divorce, even if she hadn’t always taken it because of people’s opinions about Charlie. There was something to be said about how many of her close friends and family were willing to rally with her and be there if push came to shove and she needed them.

Her hand automatically applied some pressure when Emma squeezed it, and she gave a little nod as if to punctuate the beginning of her speech. Or, well. How much of it she could get out until she started crying again, that was. Kate sniffed and wiped quickly at her face with her free hand before she went ahead. “He came over, a few days ago, and. I invited him inside and we had sex.”

Saying it aloud felt foreign. Why should it be strange they had sex? They’d been married, after all. It wasn’t the weirdest thing in the world, but she’d been so sure about her decision several months ago, and had until the time she’d seen him in New York. Kate didn’t know if it would have been the same regardless of how long they’d been apart, but it was starting to feel like it would’ve. He was a spot of red, red wine on the white, otherwise nondescript and boring fabric of her life. Interesting, very memorable, intoxicating, and very stubbornly staying put.

“And it was after I had. Kind of picked up another guy at the bar,” Kate picked up a cookie with her forefingers, holding it between painted nails, “And I didn’t tell him that, I don’t know how to or whether or not he even needs to know but it feels like I should say something. And I kind of keep thinking about it and when I’m going to see him again, and I don’t know what to do. Or whether or not this whole thing was a mistake.” Word vomit. Kate shoved the whole cookie in her mouth and chewed to stop herself from ejecting another minute-long run-on sentence.

“He came over, a few days ago, and. I invited him inside and we had sex.”

Emma bit the inside of her lip very discreetly but very hard in an effort to keep her face as minimally reactive as possible; not only did she want to give Kate her space to say what she needed to, but Emma also didn’t want to unintentionally deter her from talking via body language. In all honesty, she had wanted to face-palm as soon as Kate had said it. She did manage to resist and nod sympathetically instead, however, and another wave of her wand brought a box of tissues zooming in from the bathroom down the hall. Wordlessly, she offered them to the younger woman.

“And it was after I had. Kind of picked up another guy at the bar.”

‘Ah, there it is. Guilt?’ Emma thought to herself, her brow furrowing gently as she considered. ‘No!’ she wanted to interject when Kate said she felt like she should say something to Charlie, but – with difficulty – held her tongue a little longer. Shortly thereafter her friend finally ate the biscuit she’d been toying with, and Emma took a deep breath.

“Okay, I have some strong feelings on this so just… bear with me.” She shifted slightly on the couch, angling her body to face her friend a little more openly. Validation was particularly important, she felt.
“First off, this is all still really fresh – I’d be shocked if you didn’t feel confused or upset or conflicted about all this. Whether it was the ‘right’ decision or not, it would still be very difficult emotionally. You’re allowed to feel conflicted. It was a big event.”
Emma leveled her gaze – she wanted to drive home this next point, too.
“Second, you are not obligated to say jack shit to him; you don’t ‘owe it to him’ to tell him anything. I know it’s a strange concept, because I know how devoted and loyal you are. I'm not trying to rub salt in the wound,” – here she hedged and attempted to soften her tone a bit – “but you’re not together anymore. You’re free to do what you’d like, with whomever you’d like.”
Emma hesitated a fraction of a second here before concluding the thought, knowing her friend would not like to hear it but also knowing she needed to say it: “And so is he.”
Her deep blue eyes found Kate’s light brown ones, searching.
“I am so sorry you’re hurting. But, as a friend on the outside of this who cares about you… I really do think that this separation from him is a good thing. Maybe it’ll be permanent, and maybe it won’t be. But in the meantime… I think it may be best for the two of you to give each other ample space as you navigate this.”

She was quiet for a long moment so as to give her friend some time to process and respond. In the interim, Rosie had vacated her hammock and sauntered over to the couch, greeting Kate with a gentle head-butt to the shin. Emma allowed herself a small smile; she’d swear on her own life that Rosie had a sixth sense that was emotional intuition. Anyone who didn’t believe that pets could pick up on emotions was, in her not-so-humble-opinion, unequivocally bat-shit.