Drifters
The apartment was too warm. The fan in the corner buzzed, doing nothing but shuffle the heavy air around. Esme sat at the small kitchen table, laptop open, fingers flying across the keys. Her concentration was surgical-sharp, focused, and slightly furious. She always typed like she had something to prove, and a print deadline to make.
Meg wandered in, barefoot, nursing a half-empty glass of orange juice that probably wasn't hers. Her hair was damp from the shower, curling at the ends, her oversized T-shirt slipping off one shoulder. She looked like she'd just woken from a dream she hadn't quite escaped.
"You've been up since six," Meg said, peering over Esme's shoulder. "Who are you trying to ruin this time?"
"Corrupt councilman," Esme muttered. "Midtown. Has a thing for underage assistants and offshore accounts."
Meg gave a low whistle. "That's ambitious for an intern."
Esme didn't look up. "We don't all have the luxury of sleeping till noon."
"I wasn't sleeping," Meg said, slipping into the seat across from her. "I was… contemplating my artistic legacy."
"Mm. How's that going?"
Meg smirked. "Still broke."
The silence that followed was warm, almost familiar. A flash of what they used to be.
They had come to the city together - two girls from nowhere, with big eyes and chipped dreams. Meg remembered the train ride in: their backpacks stuffed with everything they owned, Esme reading aloud from a guidebook, Meg sketching strangers across the aisle. They'd promised each other it was the beginning of everything.
And in some ways, it had been.
Esme was the first to land on her feet - internship at a paper, nights fact-checking, mornings chasing leads. She'd fallen into the rhythm of the city like she was born to it. Meg had drifted more than landed. Gallery assistant, barista, one disastrous week temping at a law firm. Art school had been the dream, but dreams didn't come with tuition.
Still, they'd always had this. The apartment. The shared fridge. The unspoken promise that no matter how frayed things got, they'd still meet at the kitchen table.
But lately…
Lately the silences between them had sharpened. Less companionable, more loaded.
"You've been out with Flynn again," Esme said, not quite a question.
Meg leaned back, tired of pretending it didn't bother her when Esme said his name like it was something sticky.
"Yeah. So?"
Esme sighed, finally pulling her eyes from the screen. "He's not good for you."
Meg rolled her eyes. "Here we go."
"I'm serious."
"You don't know him."
"I know enough," Esme said. "He cons people for fun, Meg. He thinks getting away with things is a personality trait."
"He makes me laugh," Meg said. "He listens. He doesn't lecture."
Esme's eyes flickered. That one landed.
"I just don't want to see you get sucked into something you can't crawl out of," she said, voice quieter now. "You're already drifting."
"Drifting?" Meg's smile vanished. "Thanks."
"I mean it." Esme stood up, not out of anger but out of some deep, restless energy that Meg couldn't reach. "You're so damn talented, and you're wasting it. Sketching in cafes and hanging out with some… charming criminal."
"I don't have your path, Esme," Meg said. "I don't have a paper offering me a future. I don't have-" She stopped, biting the inside of her cheek. "I'm figuring it out."
"I know you are," Esme said, softer now. "But I hate watching you struggle when I know you're capable of more."
They stared at each other. A quiet kind of ache sitting between them.
Meg stood and walked to the fridge, mostly for something to do. She took out a nearly-empty jar of peanut butter, considered it, then put it back.
"You remember our first night here?" she asked without turning around. "When we didn't have furniture and we ate Chinese on the floor?"
Esme's voice thawed. "You spilled sweet and sour on the lease."
"You told me I'd never make it through a New York winter."
"And you told me I'd sell out and start writing ad copy in six months."
They both smiled, faintly. A memory they could still share.
"I miss that," Meg said, quieter now. "When it was just us. When it wasn't all… pressure and expectations."
"It's still us," Esme said. "Just messier."
Meg finally looked at her, and for a second they were back on that empty apartment floor, their future still unwritten.
But then the moment passed, and Meg's phone buzzed on the counter.
She didn't check it, but they both knew who it would be.
Esme gathered her laptop. "I've got to file this" she said. "Try not to burn the place down."
"Only if it gets me a mention in your exposé."
Esme almost smiled.
"Oh" she turned before reaching the door. "Yoga tonight as usual? The guy in his speedos might be there again."
Meg cringed. "Ah, I forgot – I'm sorry, I said I would go to some roof party with Flynn. Next week?"
"Next week." Esme said softly, looking back at her friend.
The door clicked behind her.
Meg stood in the silence for a long time, staring at the phone she hadn't answered. When she finally picked it up, her reflection in the dark screen looked a little older. A little further away.
Author's Note: Fun fact: the Speedo-wearing yoga guy is drawn from life and is, alas, not a product of my own invention.