The brittle leaves of fall tumble across the green lawn, brushing past somber stones and the feet of the few who have attended.
Anna stands with Elsa by her side, holding her hand. A thumb brushes over her skin; soothing, rhythmic circles that anchor her to this moment. The wind picks up briefly and the hem of her black dress moves with it. The canopies of the trees rustle just below the sound of Reverend Freeman's deep but benevolent voice.
"... Therefore we do not lose heart," he continues on, "Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal."
She looks down at the ground, at the low heels Elsa helped her choose. They dig into the grass and the earth still damp from the rain of the night before. There is a tiny smudge of dry mud on one of them that she observes but somehow doesn't register enough for it to be bothersome. She feels numb; vacant. If the wind were to pick up again, if there were to be a storm, she thinks it would be strong enough to make her fall. And she would choose to stay there, curled up next to the bare patch of earth that lies by their feet, conjuring up images that will take her far away from here.
The hand in hers tightens, drawing her attention. She turns to Elsa, who touches her cheek with the soft pad of her thumb and wipes away the tear that was beginning to make its way down. There is the ghost of a smile on Elsa's lips blanketed beneath all that sorrow, and Anna can't help but step closer to her, hold onto her arm with her other hand, and rest her head on her shoulder. She smells of jasmine, just like she always has.
Her gaze goes back to the ground where Theo now rests. She wonders, as another pang of sadness washes over her, whether Theo would have liked the passage Reverend Freeman is reading. But it is soon over and she can't wonder any longer, because suddenly people are starting to move slowly—as if the thick, mourning air were to be disturbed if they moved any faster—and they're approaching the patch of earth as though with the intention of giving their definite farewells; the notion of visiting again far away from their minds. And all Anna feels like doing is screaming and weeping, because she doesn't know how else to express this vehement state of gloom that's been gnawing at her insides for the past week.
To the other side of her, Lauren shifts. She's resting a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze that causes her to straighten up before taking a step away from Elsa so that she can accept the hug she offers her.
"I'm here if you need anything," Lauren tells her close to her ear and Anna nods but says nothing. If she were to part her lips, she does not know what would come out.
She registers Gaby moving too, taking steps forward by herself, laying fresh marigolds on the ground. The sight of them—so bright and orange and full of life—makes Anna think that Theo would have loved them. Gazing down at the sunflower she's twirling in her hand, Anna gives into a smile. Amidst all this somberness, there will be color. She thinks: Just the way Theo would have liked it.
Across from them, she catches a pair of solemn brown eyes. There's Willie and Alonzo and Marguerite standing on the other side. Anna had heard of them in passing, coming from Theo's lips. She knows that Willie and Alonzo are her great-nephews. That Marguerite is the daughter of her sister Hetty, whom she rarely spoke to after she moved out of St. Louis. They are family; blood-related; all in black and wearing the faces that correspond to distant family members who seek to mourn someone they may have rarely thought of while living.
Anna can't help but experience an odd sensation upon seeing them. You didn't come when she was still alive, she thinks of saying. Why didn't you? But things are a little hard to express at the moment, and all she can say when they finally approach to speak to her and Elsa are one-worded answers.
Elsa does most of the talking; polite and reserved, just like she's always known how to be. She holds onto her hand through it all, and when everyone has left—when Lauren has promised her once more that she would be around; when Gaby has crossed herself and walked away with an umbrella tucked under her arm and Reverend Freeman next to her; when Willie and Alonzo and Marguerite have said, in many different forms, that they wish they'd been around more often—the two of them remain closely together.
The sunflower is placed next to the marigolds and the lilac forget-me-nots that Elsa has brought with her, the white lilies brought by Lauren and the roses laid down by the rest. More tears escape Anna's eyes but she wipes them away at once. This quiet mourning doesn't seem right. She feels as though Theo would have wanted them to do things differently; to reminisce what should be reminisced; to live in her honor rather than to cry at her absence.
Elsa distracts her from her thoughts by tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "What are you thinking?"
She continues to gaze at the flowers on the ground as she asks, "What do you think Theo would have said about all this?"
"That funerals are for the living," Elsa murmurs.
Anna finally turns to her. There is, in those eyes, love staring back. "What would she have asked us to do now?"
"Well," she says, twirling Anna's fingers with her own, "I think... to keep going."
"Easier said than done."
A sad smile tugs at Elsa's lips. "But that's what we have each other for." She draws Anna closer until she is able to wrap an arm around her shoulders. The two of them face Theo's stone one last time in silence, lost in thought. Anna closes her eyes as she tries to remind herself that this shouldn't feel like a goodbye. Because she'll carry Theo with her everywhere she goes. And maybe, if all those things people say about life after death are true, she will get to see her again.
The wind brushes past them and picks up, but this time, with Elsa as her anchor, Anna doesn't feel like falling to the ground.
They've carried their quietude all the way back to the city, to the cold streets that make it, to the heart of Central Park itself.
The laughter of children weaves with the wind as it tickles the naked branches of the trees. They play tag and race each other to the arms of Alice's bronze sculpture. They skip from one cap of a mushroom to another, squealing. They hold onto the ears of the White Rabbit, step onto the Mad Hatter's bent leg, all the while ignoring the feeble warning calls of the parents who sit on the benches that surround them.
Anna watches them from afar, a melancholic smile on her face. She treads with Elsa along the edge of the Conservatory Water as she thinks, despite herself, of all the little things she wishes weren't so painfully real. Tears blurry her vision again, frustratingly so. Grief forms a knot in her throat. She should cry—she thinks she should cry. Just not here. Not when they are so close to children whose joy makes the act of crying almost insulting.
"We can talk about how we're feeling, you know?" It is Elsa who says this. She who walks so close to Anna that they share the same warmth. She is giving her that look; the one that is kind and all-knowing; the one she gives her when it is Anna who's doing less of the talking and more of the pondering.
"I just don't know what to say," she answers. "I keep wanting to cry every time I think of anything that relates to her."
For a few seconds, there is silence. Then, with a soft but solemn voice, Elsa murmurs, "It'll take some time." It is spoken with so much honesty that it doesn't take long for Anna to realize that she speaks from experience. The thought drives her to reach for Elsa's hand. She clasps it with all the love she can muster and doesn't let go.
"It just feels unreal that she's not here anymore. It's like I'm not grasping it. Like if I took a train to Queens right now my first thought is that she'll still be there, waiting for us with a puzzle, and some tea, and maybe some advice for us so that we don't end up messing something up."
Elsa chuckles weakly. Anna notices her gaze fall to the ground. "Being able to let go is the hardest part, I think. No matter how much we may have expected it."
"It hurts," she murmurs, rubbing her burning eyes. She feels her hand being squeezed in a sign of comfort.
"Do you think it's true that time heals everything?" Elsa asks her after a moment.
Anna thinks of an answer as she looks away. The crisp air that carries with it the scent of wet soil passes over the pond, causing gentle ripples that suddenly captivate her attention. Does time heal? she wonders. Or is it ourselves, preoccupied with the present and the future until no longer do we look back at our past and the people who made it. Isn't it life itself that captivates us again and thus heals us, and not time that does the job?
"I guess," she says, opting for a simpler response. "Partly yes, partly... I don't know. I don't think I'll make a lot of sense right now even if I tried." She wades through the thick waters of her grief to muster enough curiosity before she asks, "What about you?"
Elsa gives a little shrug. Between their bodies, their hands remain intertwined like the only kind of permanence in their lives. "Sometimes I think it's true," she says, "But then some days memories just sort of refuse to go away, and they're clear and vivid, and you just can't do anything other than let it pass on its own."
"The more you fight it the worse it gets kind of thing?"
She nods. "Just like everything else."
They've stopped some meters away from the Alice in Wonderland's sculpture. Kids, relentless in their imagination, continue to make up games. They hide below the largest mushroom, on which Alice sits, grinning at the discovery of a safe haven, faces shining with the delight of their innocence. Mortality so far away from their minds they appear untouched by it.
"Why do you think they came?" Anna asks all of the sudden, "Willie and Alonzo and Marguerite. Why do you think they came now and not before?"
"It bothered you, didn't it?"
"Not... bothered. I just don't understand. What is the point of doing it now that Theo is not here to see them?"
"Regret, maybe. Maybe they tried to come and Theo asked them not to."
"But Theo was fond of them."
Elsa gives out a pondering look before she tugs at her hand and they continue to walk. "She was also proud," she tells her. "I've had patients who don't want their family members to see them like that."
Anna stares down at the ground, at the fallen leaves that cling to the concrete from condensation and the footsteps of many. She frowns, and Elsa adds: "You're thinking too hard about it, love."
The corner of her lips twitch at the term. It doesn't go ignored. She cherishes it in silence, allows it to warm her from the inside out.
They follow the path that leads them away from the pond and the laughing children. Without a destination in mind, they let themselves be carried by the vague unpreparedness of returning home, walking amidst naked trees, stumbling upon scurrying squirrels and strangers passing by. It occurs to Anna, somewhere below a stone bridge, that the last memory she shared with Elsa in this park was also the first time she admitted to herself that she wasn't happy. That the moment, so distant from them now, feels almost like a made up memory, and that life, and not time, was the one to heal them in the end.
"Hey, Elsa?"
"Yes?"
"Did Theo ever tell you that the sunflower I gave her was actually for you?"
Anna watches her try to recall the moment she's referring to before a smile slowly begins to creep across her face.
"No," Elsa finally answers, "She never told me."
"It was a last minute idea but I know she knew as soon as she saw me with it."
Elsa laughs a little. "Of course she knew. She was always figuring us out."
Anna can't help but grin at the sudden surge of memories. "I remember I was trying to come up with ideas one day, because I wanted to see you, and they were all so bad Theo just kept telling me, 'I don't think that's such a good idea, sugar.'"
"What kind of ideas were they?"
"Well, one of them had me hiding under her bed until you showed up, so you can imagine the kind of ideas they were."
Elsa grins, shakes her head. "I'm glad Theo was always there to keep you in check."
She giggles until her amusement wanes and gives way to sadness. And just like that, her eyes sting anew. They water until the sight of the trees and the fallen leaves on the ground begin to grow indistinct, and she has to wipe the tears that fall, and allow herself to smile through it all. Because the only thing greater than her grief—the only satisfaction at the end of this road—is the immense gratitude she feels at having had someone like Theo there, in her life, at all.
Exhaustion creeps heavier over her body the more train stops they pass. Her head leans against Elsa's while Elsa's rests on her shoulder. The rhythmic rattling is lulling her to sleep, dragging her deeper and deeper into a calming state of numbness where her emotions grow faint and the pain of her loss feels like nothing more than a distant cry.
She thinks she can finally get some rest. For the past week she's been worn out thin by distress and, finally, she finds herself defeated. All she wants is to curl up in bed and sleep; to fall into obliviousness for a few hours. And tomorrow... tomorrow will be another day, different by nature from today, and maybe the sun that shines through the window will rouse her from slumber and this mourning inside will have quietened down to a hush.
She doesn't realize she's on the verge of falling asleep until she feels Elsa begin to sit up. She blinks her bleary eyes, looks around her at the strangers who know nothing of the woes inside her heart. Then again, she vaguely muses, does she know anything of theirs?
Her gaze falls on the woman sitting across from her, a hijab wrapped around her head and a book nestled in her hands. Their eyes meet just as the train begins to break to a stop. Driven by instinct, Anna smiles, and the woman returns it demurely. Her hand is being grabbed now. Elsa is standing up.
They step onto the platform of Union Square's Q line. She stumbles on her own two feet, blushes despite her exhaustion, apologizes without knowing why. Elsa reassures her, takes her hand, and leads her out of the station where the melody of a guitar reverberates against its walls.
In a park so full of life, Anna feels out of place. Submerged in an energy that she can't assimilate, she clings to Elsa's arm with the hand that isn't being securely clasped. Her heels hit the pavement of the street, the sound almost completely drowned out by the noise that surrounds them. Home is the word that echoes almost in time with these sounds. Home, home, home. She just wants to be home.
They reach the entrance to Elsa's apartment building some minutes later before they linger, like two lovers who never learned how to say goodbye.
"Anna?"
"Yes?"
Elsa nibbles at her lip. "Do you think... you can stay the night?"
She opens her mouth to respond—
"We don't have to do anything of course," Elsa rushes to add, "but I'm not—I don't—"
Anna silences her with a quelling hand on her arm. "I can stay the night," she softly says. "I think we can both use the company."
It is only when Elsa nods and her eyes catch the reflection of the streetlights that Anna notices they are brimming with tears.
They make their slow way up the stairs, as if every step they took were more taxing than the last. Inside the apartment, Anna tries to shake off the slight sensation of being in a foreign space. She has yet to come often enough to reach the familiarity she once had with Elsa's previous apartment, which is exactly why, when they get to the living room, she stands with hands clasped and pursed, awkward lips.
"Are you okay?" Elsa asks with a tilt of her head.
"Yes. I'm sorry. I just... this feels... new?"
"Even though it shouldn't be?"
"Yeah..."
In a few, quick strides, Anna finds herself enveloped in an embrace. They don't speak, for there is nothing to be said. Moments pass in silence until the arms around Anna tighten briefly before they release her.
"Are you hungry?" Elsa asks.
"Not really."
"But you will be."
"... Perhaps."
Elsa gives her a tender look.
They have cereal in the end because neither of them have the energy to cook a single thing. They sit cross-legged on the couch, both changed into Elsa's comfy clothes, sharing few words and tired expressions. When Anna finishes first—hungrier than she'd thought herself to be—she wraps her arms around her knees and glances around the room. It would be a lie not to admit that she is nervous about sleeping with Elsa. She is, in fact, feeling like a bit of a mess.
She offers to wash the bowls while Elsa gets ready for bed and stalls by wiping droplets of water off the kitchen counter. She is exhausted. Her eyelids are heavy. Her body screams to lie down. Her feet demand a break. But for a moment, she feels as though she were back to being twenty-one, nervous and fidgety about spending time with the girl she's just come to realize she adores; impervious to life's merciless doings.
With some reluctance, Anna brushes her teeth and splashes water on her face. She notices the redness around her eyes, and for a moment, she thinks she could cry all over again. But she swallows hard and inhales a shaky breath with the desire to stop hurting.
She goes up the spiral staircase, noticing that only the light from a lamp has been kept on. The room (is it a room if it has no door?) looks unsurprisingly cozy, but Anna has little chance to take it in because a weak sniffling sound commands her full attention. She registers Elsa lying in bed, facing the other side. Her silhouette rises and falls erratically, and Anna's heart aches at the sight.
The bed sinks under her weight as she pulls at the covers and gently lies behind Elsa. For a second, she hesitates with a hand hovering in the air before she scoots even closer and experiences a kind of intimacy she had almost forgotten the feeling of.
Anna holds her close as the first sob finally breaks through Elsa's chest. She lets her weep, even as a few tears escape her own eyes. She rests her lips on the back of Elsa's head for a kiss that lingers, seeking to portray the reminder that she is not alone in this. Anna tightens the arm around her waist and warmth encompasses her whole being as she realizes that this, right here, is the home she'd meant all along.
After some time has passed, Elsa shifts until she has fully turned around. Anna brushes away the strands of hair that threaten to cover her face before she pulls back her arm and lets it rest in the small space between their bodies, grazing every so often the soft skin of Elsa's forearm.
"What do you think Theo is up to right now?" Elsa asks in a near whisper.
It takes her a moment to understand what Elsa is referring to, but when she does, she decides to answer as truthfully as she can. "I think... she's meeting up with your parents," she murmurs. "She's probably telling them about how awesome you are as a doctor and about all the lives you've saved."
"You think they're having coffee and tea somewhere?"
She nods a bit. "Definitely. They're probably at Theo's house. Somewhere in a nice warm Southern place, working on a puzzle. Who would like it more, you think, your mom or your dad?"
"Dad for sure."
"So she's probably working on one of those thousand-piece puzzles with your dad while she's chatting away with your mom."
Elsa giggles, then sniffles. "That sounds pretty accurate."
A soft smile grows across Anna's face as she rearranges herself in bed. Sleepiness may be taking over her by the minute, but she will keep this going for as long as she's awake. It soothes her to muse over this just as much as she thinks it heals her. It is not hard, either, for her to notice that Elsa feels the same way.
"What do you think her home looks like now?" she asks.
"I think," Elsa says, "that it's maybe one of those small, cozy houses where everything's close but not too crammed, you know? And maybe she has this big shelf with all the books she loves and a comfy armchair like the one she had at the Center."
"And a nice big kitchen."
"And a closet where she can keep all her clothes and arrange them by color."
"And a desk, don't forget a desk."
"Of course," Elsa grins.
"So she's invited your parents over."
"I think so?"
"I think so too," Anna whispers. They share another smile, stifled by nostalgia and fatigue. "I'm sure Theo's also telling them all about me."
"You're sure about that, huh?"
"Positive. She has to tell them about how amazing I am."
"But they already know," comes the shy admission, and Anna understands that Elsa has, in a way, already told them. "What about her parents?" Elsa then adds.
"I'm sure she's seen them already," Anna responds. "I'm sure she's had some of her mom's Sunday cornbread and that she's had lengthy conversations with her dad about all the things she was up to while she was here."
Elsa's eyes flutter closed at the same time that a laden sigh escapes through her parted lips. "I miss her," she says.
"I know... I miss her too..."
Between them, their fingers seek each other like a timid game they've never played before. Anna's pinky and ring finger hook with Elsa's before she, too, closes her eyes if nothing more than to rest them. The bed shifts suddenly, followed by the brief absence of Elsa's proximity. Behind her closed lids, she sees the light go out.
Her hand goes back to being held more fully this time.
And then, silence.
Through a haze, Anna finds the still novel wonder of being able to share the same bed with Elsa again. To do so in the simplest of forms, with no expectations to fulfill, is what brings her the greatest comfort.
"Anna?"
"Hm?"
"Thank you for staying the night."
Anna smiles, content to go on without seeing. "You don't have to thank me," she says, "I need you just as much."
Elsa hums lowly and distractedly, as if her consciousness were no longer in control. Induced by the darkness of the room, they grow quiet until Elsa's breathing finally deepens and Anna feels the impulse to open up her eyes one last time for the night. She grazes Elsa's cheek before her hand goes back to being nestled under her chin.
"I love you," she breathes.
And finally, she sleeps.
She cannot tell the time when she wakes up but she knows it can't be that late. The sunlight shining through the window appears fresh from the break of dawn, yet the silence in the apartment feels heavy as though Anna had been alone in it for a while. She turns her head to the other side and finds the bed empty. She turns back around, reaches for her phone and finds that a note has been placed on top of it.
Emergency call. Shouldn't take too long
-E
Anna falls back on the pillows, throws an arm over her face. She'd thought she would sleep more, but she's sprung back to wakefulness like she'd done nothing but kept her eyes shut for a few hours. She feels just as weary. Just as worn out. Things are starting to resurface and the back of her throat is beginning to sting. So she does the only thing she can think of. She takes Elsa's pillow and hugs it to herself, burrowing into the cool scent that's been left behind.
She doesn't cry, not then. She simply breathes, calming herself, and skirts around the reminiscences that she knows will hurt the most. She is aware that it will be this way for a while; that grief is an entire process and not just a single emotion. She knows this the way one learns of a concept through a textbook, with a certain amount of detachment. She's heard it over and over again—has read about it in stories of all kinds. And even though the knowledge itself does little to assuage this feeling, it is enough to keep her from breaking this morning, alone, in Elsa's bed.
The decision to get up comes some time later, when Anna concludes she will not be able to go back to sleep. She checks her phone and reads the messages that her friends have sent. It's all words of love, comfort and support, and a Halo invitation from Eugene. You and E can play as long as you want, the text says, which makes Anna laugh a little and vaguely consider the offer—she's up for some screaming and some mind-numbing distraction after all.
She opens a new message from Elsa as well, that explains some more the nature of the emergency, tells her that she can take whatever she wants from the kitchen and reassures her that Elsa shouldn't take long. The text, Anna notices, was sent a little over an hour ago, which might mean that she still has a couple of hours before Elsa returns.
She remains where she is, sitting on the edge of the bed, for a few more minutes. There is a not so unfamiliar sensation dictating the whole of her; a feeling of helplessness, overpowering and oppressive. Yet, she forces herself to stand up. She takes in her surroundings, the small but cozy space that Elsa now calls her room. There is little furniture up here but all of it Anna is able to recognize. The desk is no longer messy, perhaps because Elsa spends all of her time at the hospital. The butterfly chair is still here, although Anna doubts it is used any more than it was before. The nightstand is also the same, and she wonders whether Elsa still keeps her treasured belongings in there.
Downstairs, she pours herself a glass of orange juice before she leans against the counter and stares off into space. What goes hand in hand with depression? she wonders. That lack of desire to do anything, the burdensome state of not knowing what to do. That is exactly what she feels right now. And although she knows this is not depression, the sensation still lingers as if she were slowly being consumed by it. She recognizes it from all those years ago, back when she was teetering on the edge of hitting rock bottom and she couldn't yet find a way to escape it.
She takes care of washing the glass before exiting the kitchen and mulling over whether she should borrow some clothes out of Elsa's closet or put on the same black, mourning outfit of yesterday's. She opts for the former rather quickly, figures it will take a while before she ever decides to wear that dress again.
A quick text message is sent Elsa's way. Anna cannot stay inside the apartment. She will grow restless and her thoughts will grow unforgiving, and that is not something she wants to experience.
Deep down, she knows Theo wouldn't want it for her either.
The streets are rousing. Strangers come and go as if the sun hiding behind the horizon had merely put a pause on their strides. Now that it is out again, they can resume going forward like players do in a video game. Same facial expressions as the one from days prior. Same route. Same music in their ears. Same daydreams. Was that the natural state of all human beings? Always heading from one place to another. Always making their infinite way somewhere.
Anna hugs the lapels of her coat tighter around herself. She's wearing Elsa's sweater underneath; the cream cardigan one Anna is almost sure she wore on their first date. It smells of her. Faintly so, like the traces of a full memory.
She heads west all the way through 13th street. It is quieter here, less crowded. She runs into college students from The New School and NYU, backpacks with their laptops tucked inside and the self-important air of acting like adults that rarely ever lasts. Dancers from the ballet school down on 6th, in sweatpants and baggie sweaters, and slick hair pulled into immaculate buns. People who appear her age, having brunch and coffee, discussing big city things—which one of them slept with their roommate, which one is dreading going back home for the holidays, which one hates their job at the boutique firm on Madison.
Relief washes over her when she finally reaches the Hudson River.
She doesn't go far, but rather picks out the next empty bench on her path. Sitting on it and looking ahead, she takes a deep breath that she releases slowly. The cold breeze coming from the river grounds her, keeps her anchored to reality. A lonesome seagull flies across her line of sight, then perches on the rail. She studies it with sudden interest and stares at it as if the bird held all the answers to the universe. Okay, but what if... she thinks with a hint of amusement.
Part of her wishes she had brought a notebook. A journal, a piece of paper, a napkin—something. But another part of her suspects she would not have found the motivation to write a single word. So she fiddles with her fingers instead, and looks on.
Theo's voice irrupts into her mind, driving her to close her eyes. If Anna could speak to her right now, what would she say? I miss you, would come first. And then, little by little, everything else...
I wish you were still here, she tells her. I wish you were back at the Center and that we could still come see you. I wish you were still alive so that you could see your book being published. Maybe we could've had one of those book release parties and you would have been the guest of honor... Can you imagine how fun that would have been?
Anna looks up at the sky, at the clouds that trail sluggishly across the eternal blue. What is amongst them that always has us gazing up with a longing akin to the desire to return home? I know it's probably silly of us to think you're now living in some nice Southern house doing everything you've ever loved... But I don't... know how else to cope with this. She wipes away the wet streaks on her cheeks. I'm angry and sad, and I know this will eventually pass but right now I can't think of anything else. And the worst thing is that it would be you who would try to teach me how to deal with it.
She sniffles before looking around, self-conscious all of the sudden about sitting on some bench and having a full inner monologue that no one will ever get to hear.
I guess the only thing left to do is to move forward, right? Continue living our lives and all that... I'm sure you'd probably tell us that if you could. She wipes her face some more. Sniffles. Sighs. That something she should have brought should have definitely been a napkin. Just know I'll carry you with me everywhere I go, she thinks at last. And when I grow old and my kids and grandkids ask me who Theo was after they've read your book, I'll tell them all about you.
Her phone soon vibrates inside her pocket and she pulls it out while she uses the sleeve of her coat to pat her eyelids dry. It is Elsa asking where she is. Anna sends the location before tucking her phone away and doing what she can to compose herself.
She feels... better. A tinge of improvement she doesn't think she would have found if she had stayed inside. What's left in her is a subdued sense of despondency. But she is ready to not be alone. And so she waits for Elsa in the midst of watching more seagulls and trying to figure out their secrets; of smiling at the dogs being walked and observing the strangers who've come out for a walk looking for a slice of self-reflection on yet another regular Saturday morning.
After some time, there is a light tap on her shoulder. Elsa stands behind her with beaming blue but tired eyes, one to-go cup in each hand.
"Hey."
"Hi." She goes around the bench, sits next to Anna and hands her one of the cups. "For you."
"Coffee?"
"Hot chocolate."
She smirks pleasantly. "How'd you know that would be even better than coffee?"
Elsa shrugs. "I know you."
Anna bites into her lip before she rests her head on Elsa's shoulder. "How did your emergency go?"
"It went okay. Just regular procedure."
"Saved a life?"
"Yup."
"My hero."
She hears a chuckle, feels a bit of weight on the crown of her head. "How are you feeling?" asks Elsa.
"I'm okay," she says, meaning it. "I cried some, talked to Theo some... What about you?"
"I cried a little on the train this morning," Elsa admits. "The lady sitting across from me gave me a tissue."
"That's really nice of her."
"Yeah..." There is a small pause. "Did you say you talked to Theo?"
"I did," she says sheepishly. "I wasn't sure what I was doing until I was doing it... Is that silly?"
"Not silly, no. I used to do that a lot with my parents. Still do, but less nowadays."
Anna hooks an arm with Elsa's. "It helps a little," she admits.
"It does," comes the murmur.
They sit quietly for a moment, taking sips of hot chocolate and gazing out at the cold, turbid water of the river until Elsa turns to Anna to ask: "Wanna stay here a bit longer?"
She shakes her head slowly, to which Elsa responds by taking her hand and intertwining their fingers together. "Come on then," she says with a gentle smile. "Let's go home."