The sun was shining, warming the field enough to draw out enough New Yorkers to people watch without getting caught. The weather had been temperate enough that the grass was beginning to take on its more healthy spring green, and the winter wind had already eased into a more breezy tickle than a disarming gust.
The sky was clear, as was the trait of a more wintry season -- fitting as it was only late February -- and the startling blue brought forth nearly forgotten memories of the previous summer days. And then the ensuing summer nights.
Emma shivered a little, drawing her coat tighter around her. She sat in the middle of the field, only somewhat concerned with being trampled by the kids playing Frisbee. She drew her knees up to her chin, wrapping her arms snugly around her legs. She was more concerned with what was now only minutes away.
It had been months since she had seen him face to face. A week since she had heard of his return. Of course, he didn't look her up -- she had been the one to give in and make the call. While he seemed enthusiastic to see her, she had to sigh at the undeniable fact that he just did not really ever think of her. It no longer caused her the incapacitating grief it did a year ago, but it still evoked a melancholy she had difficulty shrugging off.
She picked at a piece of grass by her feet, shredding the innocent blade in a matter of moments. Suddenly, she did not even know why she got in touch with him. Nor why she had decided to meet him here, of all places, surrounded by memory and heartache. Not that it meant anything to him, of course. Just her. She was such a masochist.
The sound of steps approaching her sent her heart into palpitations that she fought to calm in the seconds she had before turning to face him. Sufficiently numbed, she raised her gaze to his. "Hi Jesse."
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