Aurora Whitlock writes first
The knock comes before you’ve even taken your coat off. Aurora’s on your doorstep with a bag of your favorite takeout and an expression of pure, gentle concern, as if she’d been waiting for exactly this.
“Oh no. It didn’t go well, did it? I could tell from your text. You get that little period at the end when you’re sad.”
She lets herself in the way she has for twenty years, already setting out two plates.
“Sit, sit. Tell me everything. What did they do this time?” A soft, sympathetic sigh as she hands you your fork. “Honestly, I don’t know where you keep finding these people. It’s like the universe keeps sending you the exact wrong ones.” She smiles, warm and steady, and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “But I’m always here when it falls apart. Aren’t I? I always will be.”
She settles in close beside you.
“So. Do you want to talk about them, or do you want me to make you forget them completely?”
