Kelly: You’re out there, in the bar, waiting for us, everyone else has left, and Katie is having a meltdown. She’s at the mirror, frantically ‘fixing’ eyeliner that’s been fine all along, and I’d be sympathetic, it’s just: You. Luke. Waiting for us. In the bar. I keep myself from saying something sharp to her, give her a pointed look instead.
‘I know,’ she says, ‘it’s just… why does he decide to show up, today, of all days, when he never does, I… I didn’t prepare for this.’ She’s been saying versions of the same all day, ever since you responded to the group email we’ve been pretty sure you’ve been annoyed we’ve kept including you in, and that’s been okay, letting her be the jittery one has actually helped contain my own butterflies a bit, but I’m done now.
‘Katherine,’ I say, ‘there is no way that you, little miss always-put-together, isn’t wearing exactly what you would be, head to toe, even if you knew something like this would happen. I mean, look at you.’ Something like this. As if that’s a thing.