#interaction.matty

Sometimes, they'd find themselves waling around dimly lit alleyways on the backstreets of Providence Peak. Other times, they'd take up on her stoop or a park nearby. That night, she'd invited Foster into the warmth of her apartment, one that might not be hers for much longer if she stuck with her commitment of trying out actually living with her wife while subletting her own apartment. It was weird, how quickly they lived together when they first dated and how hesitant she was now. A lot had changed, though. There weren't a lot of suburbs in Baton Rouge, so naturally they'd lived in the city, a place where Emmy had always been happy. Now that Verda had a solid grasp on the suburbs and a dog, she couldn't help but wonder how she fit into it all. "Feel free to help yourself to come leftovers," She suggested, dropping the bags she'd brought home from the restaurant on the table, pulling out the containers of still-hot food before turning to Foster. "You want a drink? I've got water, beer, shitty beer, and wine. If I were you, I'd go with the shitty beer, but that's just me." The chef was always inclined to a good Bud Light over any locally crafted bottle that ended up in her fridge. She dropped some plates and forks onto the counter beside the table and glanced at the view from the windows of her apartment that towered high above the dark streets of the city. "Gonna be hard to give up that view."

She was working. Like always. It worked out in her favor recently, because it gave her a chance to get out of the home she'd just moved into, the home that she already spent days in, staring at the well-decorated walls, trying to convince herself that she fit there. It usually kept her out from under Verda's watchful, nervous gaze too, the woman busy with her bakery during the day and Emmy typically away from the house until nighttime rolled around and she barely had time to roll into bed before her alarm clock went off again. She'd spent her life working, from the moment she turned double digits, night and day and day and night, climbing the ladder that eventually got her here. To a time in her life when she didn't have to work all hours of the day. To where she could be home in time for dinner with her wife, take days off to go on the honeymoon trip she'd promised the other woman. To hand the work over to someone else who was in the middle of paying dues that Emmy had long since paid. But it was hard to hand the reigns over when she was hesitant about it, when she'd be giving up her last excuse to escape with, when she'd be trusting someone who never met Amelie to do right by her. Foster was different. They'd spent enough time together in the dead of night with a few cigarettes and their own uttered secrets for her to know she could trust him. More than she could trust anyone else she'd interviewed for the head chef position. Maybe this was her chance to allow someone else to do right by Amelie, so she could do right by her wife instead? Only time would tell, she supposed, as she met Foster in the lobby of the restaurant and motioned for him to bypass the line waiting to be seated in favor of following her to her office to talk. "Do you want anything? Food? A drink?" Emmy questioned as she let him into the room in the back of the building, a quiet place for her to think in peace away from the hustle and bustle of dinner service.

The holiday shopping rush seemed to be on the moment the final days of November started coming to a close and while Emmy wasn't exactly a big go get'em shopper that had to immediately get the obviously overpriced deals the moment they dropped, she did figure that, now that she had a wife, she should start shopping a little earlier than she had in years past — notoriously someone who kept their shopping to a minimum and usually last minute. Granted, quite a few new people made their way to her list this year, including the return of Verda and her newfound sweet child Jeanie. While last minute shopping was good enough for any of Tyler's gifts, she knew that only perfection in the form of holiday gifts could exist for them. So she found herself in a crowded mall or one of her sacred days out of the kitchen of her restaurant, hopelessly wandering around the aisles of a department store with a warm latte in her hands from the overpriced cafe in the mall, trying to avoid bumping into someone while also finding the perfect gift for those on her list. Unfortunately, neither were deemed a success when a frustrated breath left her lips and in the next moment, her shoulder knocked against someone else's, leaving her fumbling for a save with her coffee cup only to have it spilling to the ground anyway. "Shit," Emmy mumbled, dismally watching the dark liquid spread across the linoleum of the store.