Page 12 of Quarantine Crush
Iwake to the smell of fresh-brewed coffee. The room is dark, sunlight peeking in around the closed blinds, and I groan as I realize not pulling the couch out was a big mistake. My body aches like I ran a marathon. Emotionally, that’s not far off. I stand and stretch, my gaze darting toward the kitchen where Emy is pulling a mug from the cabinet.
“I’m so sorry. Did I wake you?” she asks, glancing at me over her shoulder. Something flickers in her eyes at the sight of me standing shirtless in her living room, but she turns away too quickly for me to determine what it is.
The urge to ask her about last night hangs on the tip of my tongue, but I bite it back, determined not to make the situation any worse for her.
“Nah. I was up. What time is it?” I ask, pulling a shirt on over my head.
“It’s just after eight,” she says, pouring herself a mug.
I cross the room and watch as she pulls a bottle of hazelnut creamer from the fridge.
“You can go back to bed if you want. I know you’re probably jetlagged. I tried to hold off as long as I could, but I needed some coffee in order to concentrate. I can keep working in my room while you catch up on some sleep, and then maybe we can grab some lunch?”
No trace of the awkwardness from last night remains, and I let out a sigh of relief. Maybe my dad was right after all.
“No, it’s okay,” I say, shooting her a grin. “It’s already one o’clock my time. I wouldn’t mind some of that coffee though.”
“Oh, sure,” she says, motioning to the cabinet. “Mugs are in there. Go ahead and help yourself.”
I step into the small kitchen, my breath stalling at the sight of Emy. Her long hair is piled messily on top of her head, and the curves I now know she has are hidden beneath a man’s t-shirt that reads ‘Surely not everyone was kung fu fighting,’ her long tan legs bare underneath.
“Do all of your shirts have ridiculous phrases on them?” I ask with a grin, doing my best to keep my tone playful.
She frowns down at her shirt like she doesn’t even remember what she’s wearing and shrugs.
“This one isn’t even mine,” she admits.
Something ugly coils in my stomach, but before I have a chance to dissect it, she’s smiling up at me with a nervous grin.
“Shit. Sorry, Knox. I didn’t even think to ask how you like your coffee. I only have fancy, flavored creamer here.”
“It’s fine,” I tell her with a smile. “I take my coffee black anyway.”
“Right. I forgot.” She wrinkles her nose before scooting past me to sit at the bar that separates the kitchen from the living room.
We drink our coffee in a comfortable silence as she browses on her laptop. I lean against the counter next to the sink and let my eyes travel the room in lazy inspection. Emy’s decor is sparse. That being said, what’s here is definitely her. There’s a dish towel that reads “My favorite salad is wine,” and a vinyl decal has been placed on the wall that reads, “Whether the glass is half-full or half-empty, there’s clearly more room for wine.” Emy’s humor and style are everywhere, but I’m also relieved to see things I gave her throughout the years sprinkled around her apartment as well. Pieces of our friendship can be seen all over. It gives me a sense of comfort I haven’t felt since leaving for London six years ago.
Damn. Have I really been gone six fucking years?
“Have you seen this?” she asks, turning her screen for me to see.
It’s another news story about the virus that has been spreading in China. I skim the article, not seeing any new information.
“It’s crazy over there,” she says, chewing on her bottom lip. “And there’ve been cases here in Queens now, too.”
“We’ve been keeping an eye on it for suppliers, but accurate information is hard to come by,” I tell her.
So far, the virus spread has been slow, but based on the company memos the dads have been sending lately, I wouldn’t be surprised if this thing is bigger than we’re all thinking right now.
When I tune back in, Emy’s talking about our plans for the day. Something about a matinee and then lunch at the Rock Garden, a little hipster place we found together when we were in high school.
I grew up in Lake Placid. It’s where I met Emy when she became my next-door neighbor. At first, she purely spent summers out there. However, after her mom died, her dad moved them out there permanently. He’s been my old man’s best friend ever since. When they went into business together, it changed my family’s life. My dad’s little hobby woodworking business became an international success.
By the time I was in high school, we were spending weekends in the city while the dads went to meetings. Emy and I would always use the time to explore on our own. The memories of those trips are some of my best. London’s been a blast, still, I’ve missed New York almost as much as I missed my family–Emy included.
“Sounds good to me.” I nod my agreement, and she lets out a long sigh before standing and stretching. Her shirt inches dangerously high on her thighs, and I quickly avert my eyes.
“I’m gonna go take a shower and throw on some clothes, and then we can head out, okay?” she asks.
