13

It was a one-room place. A futon served as a bed and couch. A minute kitchen with a waist-high fridge and the smallest stove I’d ever seen were against the opposite wall. Emmy’s desk and bookcase were piled high with books, papers, and her old laptop was sitting on top of a mountain of documents. A makeshift closet and laundry baskets were in the corner. The walls were blue, and she had lots of posters and pictures on them, making it cheerful. It was chaotic and small. The entire place was smaller than my closet at my house. Still, it was clean and inviting, and when I inhaled deeply, I smiled. It smelled like her.

She placed the flowers on the small table beside her futon. She stroked the petals; the tender gesture so her, I had to smile once more. She picked up a shawl, and I hurried forward, taking it from her hands and sliding it around her shoulders.

“Will you be warm enough?”

“Yes.”

“I made sure our table wasn’t under an air conditioning vent.”

Her eyes glistened, and she reache