“You loved her,” Cora whispers against my neon work vest, her fingers clutching the shirt underneath. “It’s nothing to be sorry about.”

She raises her head to look at me and our eyes lock together, something heavy and potent and commanding passing between our souls. Cora touches the pads of her fingertips to the side of my face, that is still damp with my grief. I grit my teeth together, unsure of how to process the moment or the strange, bewitching energy hovering in the air. I stare at her, taking in her runny makeup, glossy eyes, and pink mouth. Her cheekbones are flushed with sadness and her hair is a mess, sticking up like she just got zapped by something.

Maybe she did.

Cora leans up on her knees, then ever so softly, without warning, presses her lips against my mouth… just barely. It’s a feather-light kiss.

A flutter, a buzz—like hummingbird wings. Beautiful and curious.

She pulls back, her eyes widening slightly, a frown creasing her brow like she’s dazed and bewildered. Her tongue pokes out to wet her lips and she breaks eye contact, falling back to the floor and clearing her throat. “Sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

I draw my knees up to my chest and scratch at my shaggy hair, running my palm down the back of my neck. We’re friends, in a way—I think—and that’s what friends do sometimes during life’s shitty, heartbreaking moments.

Right?

I glance down at Cora, who is leaning against the bench beside me, her eyes closed and her lips pressed together as if she’s replaying how they felt against mine. I let my fingers dance their way over to her hand and I lace them through hers, grateful she doesn’t pull away from me. Her hand squeezes mine as I look back to Blizzard, so peaceful and loved, and say, “It’s nothing to be sorry about.”

I offer to drive Cora back home as the snow starts to fall.

It’s Martin Luther King Day, so she didn’t have to work today. She was grading papers at her parents’ house when Blizzard had a prolonged seizure she wasn’t able to recover from.

I asked her before we left the hospital, just to be certain, “Are you sure you don’t want to go with your parents? I don’t want you to be alone when you’re so upset.”

Cora shook her head. “I won’t be alone,” she said.

I took that to mean she wanted me to stay with her a while, so when we pull into her driveway, I follow her inside. The snow is falling hard now, having only been coming down in soft flurries when we pulled out of the parking lot. Fat snowflakes blanket our hair and jackets as we make our way up the snowy pathway to her front door.

I pause in my tracks before going inside, glancing up at the sky, blinking at the sheet of white raining down on my face. I can’t help a smile from breaking through my somber haze. “It’s a blizzard.”