Fic: Flowers for Emily (Skins; Katie/Naomi; PG-13)
Title: Flowers for Emily
Fandom: Skins
Pairing: Katie/Naomi
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Character death (off-screen)
Words: 2886
Summary: In March, it becomes a ritual: they meet in the churchyard on the monthly anniversary, and Naomi brings flowers.
Notes: This is a pinch hit for skins_holiday, written for one6two6 who requested "post-death Emily; Katie and Naomi coping".
In the gathering gloom of the churchyard, it begins to snow. The ground, iron-hard under her feet, becomes slippery as the snowflakes land and turn to slush, and Naomi has to watch her step. Briefly, she pauses to look at the sky; the church is lit from below by fat spotlights, and in the yellow beams the snowflakes are caught, bright like glow worms or sparks from a fire.
Naomi drops her gaze, keeps walking.
Enough light lingers that she can make out Emily's name on the grave, freshly carved, and the dates: 21st April 1992 - 21st January 2010. Naomi tries to latch onto a feeling that would anchor her to reality, make it true, but she can't shake the strangeness. Perhaps she's simply cried too many tears already.
"You finally came, then."
Surprised by the voice, Naomi spins round and sees Katie emerge from the shadows, her accusatory stare becoming clearer the closer she gets.
"Where were you yesterday?" Katie says, but already her defiance begins to crumble. "I can't believe you fucking missed--she would have wanted you there."
"I was there," Naomi says, her voice coming out hoarse. "I mean, not at the service, but I watched..." She gestures vaguely at the grave before her, unable to force out the words, I watched you bury her. It's one of those thoughts that doesn't seem true, the idea that Emily is below them in the frozen earth; it didn't seem real yesterday, either, when she watched from the sidelines as Katie and Mrs Fitch wept openly. Naomi ought to have been there with them, she knows that, but she didn't want a row with Mrs Fitch for all of their sakes. Instead, she ended up feeling like an intruder at her own girlfriend's funeral.
Katie crouches down by the headstone, wiping away the fine layer of snow that's settled on top of it. It's like she doesn't want Emily to be hidden.
"She needs some flowers," Katie says, sniffing a little. "Except it's so cold they'd only--stupid fucking winter."
Naomi nods, kneeling down beside Katie and staring at the words before her, not caring about the slush soaking through the knees of her tights, freezing her. "I just feel numb," she says eventually. It's been six days since she received the phone call from Katie, heard the broken way she said, "You should get to the hospital. It's Emily..." and came running. But she got there too late, the injuries from the accident were too severe, and all Naomi saw at the hospital was the devastation on Katie's face as a shape under a sheet was wheeled away. Katie has that same broken expression now, like she's been ripped in two and it physically hurts. Naomi knows what it's like; she's run the gamut of emotions since that phone call, and it's only through some sort of survival mechanism that she's landed back at numb.
Dusk resolves into night and still they remain, the two of them transfixed. They're not drinking, but the conversation moves as though they are; as time passes, words tumble more freely, words they wouldn't usually share.
"She fucking hated me," Katie says at one point. "I mean like, I was a total fucking bitch to her, and she hated me."
Naomi places a hand on Katie's knee, the gesture unfamiliar to both of them. "She loved you, Katie."
"She loved you." It's the first time Naomi's heard Katie acknowledge it with words. "She loved you because she just did. But like, you love your family because you just have to."
"Is that why you loved her? Because you had to?"
Katie falls silent, and Naomi hopes she understands. Naomi's never had a sister; what Katie and Emily had has always been beyond her powers of comprehension, but as witness to it she's never doubted the strength of their love. For a time Naomi was envious: Emily's bond with Katie was permanent, timeless, whereas Naomi and Emily's ties were always potentially breakable. It used to scare her, but now she has a selfish thought: perhaps it means she'll find it easier than Katie to move on.
It doesn't help.
"She's not really gone, though, is she?" Katie asks. "She's in a better place. That's what they said at the service, yeah?"
Naomi contemplates the value of a lie. "Yeah," she says at last. "She's in a better place."
"Good," Katie says, but she still looks as lost as Naomi feels. After a while she says, "What are we supposed to do now? Just like, carry on?"
"I don't know," Naomi says. It seems unfathomable, the idea of carrying on. Six days it's been, and still she can't conceive of life without Emily. She knows she existed without her before, but it's different now; now, there's something missing in her life, and no way to get it back. Naomi doesn't know how to fill the hole, or if she even wants to.
They say little else, and it's only when they realise how cold they've become that they go their separate ways.
The next day, in amongst the fog of grief, Naomi remembers something Katie said and has an idea. She goes outside and picks some snowdrops, returning to the churchyard and placing them on Emily's grave.
---
In February, on the one month anniversary, Naomi returns. This time she has a bunch of flowers with her, one she got from the florist; she didn't look to see what they were called, just picked ones that were pretty.
She isn't the only person there; Katie is kneeling by the headstone, her head bowed, and when Naomi gets closer she realises that Katie's shoulders are shaking with sobs. It feels intrusive at first, but then Katie turns and looks at Naomi and she realises that this is something they share.
Katie gives the flowers a once-over when Naomi kneels down beside her, and Naomi shrugs.
"I thought Emily might like them. I don't know. Fuck, she'd probably just be amazed I was buying her flowers at all." She can't look at Katie; tears are starting to sting her eyes and if she sees Katie crying it'll set her off. "I don't think she knew how much I loved her. Love her, I mean, I haven't stopped. Fuck, why did I have to be such a twat to her?"
"She knew," Katie says. "Stupid cunt, of course she knew." It might not be true, but it's reassuring all the same. It doesn't even make a difference anyway, Naomi thinks; it's too late to make up for her shortcomings, and whether Emily thought Naomi loved her or not, she's not thinking anything now.
"I thought it was meant to get easier," Katie says after a while, wiping at her tears with the sleeve of her coat. "It still hurts just the fucking same."
Naomi nods. The sharp sting of pain has yet to recede to an ache; she doesn't know if it ever will.
---
In March, it becomes a ritual: they meet in the churchyard on the monthly anniversary, and Naomi brings flowers. Flowers for Emily, they're supposed to be, but she thinks in reality they're more for Katie's benefit. This month she brings daffodils, because it's the first day of Spring.
The churchyard is showing the season; the trees are starting to blossom, and the grey monotony of the gravestones is interrupted by splashes of colourful flowers. They meet at midday, skiving off college to make their pilgrimage, and the sun provides a little welcome warmth. These aren't the only times they see each other, but these are the times that count. The awkward camaraderie they show at college becomes easier on these occasions, more natural, as they allow themselves to give voice to thoughts that usually remain sequestered away in their minds.
"I don't know how to stop thinking about her," Katie says. "I mean like, it's constant. When's it going to stop?"
"Do you want it to?" Naomi asks. Part of her thinks it might be nice, being able to forget, but she's not able to think that without feeling a burst of guilt.
"I just want her back," Katie says, and she begins to cry.
Naomi takes her hand, squeezing hard. "I know," she whispers. "I miss her too."
---
In April, Naomi brings tulips--bright red ones, chosen because they remind her of the shade of Emily's hair. She gets that a lot: little, unrelated things reminding her of Emily. Sometimes when it rains, the smell of damp earth reminds her of their night by the lake; sometimes someone will say a word that brings to mind something Emily once said. At first it would set Naomi off crying again, but now, sometimes, it makes her smile.
Katie isn't there when Naomi arrives, but then she doesn't expect her at all, not today. Having a moment alone is nice for a change--just her and Emily, she thinks at first, before she realises how ridiculous that is. Emily isn't here. She tries speaking aloud, whispering, "I miss you," but it just makes her feel stupid. It's not like she's going to get a response.
The stone is starting to look a little worn, or at least not quite so shiny and new as before. With her fingertip Naomi traces over the letters of Emily's name, and once she gets to the dates a heavy weight settles in her stomach. It's her birthday today; she would have turned eighteen. Too young for anyone to go, but it seems especially cruel that it happened to Emily.
She hears someone swearing in the distance; when she swivels her head she sees Katie crashing through the cemetery, a half-empty bottle of vodka swinging from her left hand. She looks a state, obviously drunk and dishevelled like she went out last night and hasn't been home since, and when she reaches Naomi she slumps on the ground, back propped up by her sister's grave.
"When I was about thirteen," Katie begins without preamble, "I used to hate sharing a birthday. It never felt special enough. Suppose all that wishing really paid off."
"Jesus," Naomi says, watching helplessly as Katie starts to cry. Black, mascara-filled tears stain her cheeks, leaving a mark even after Naomi reaches out and gently wipes them away. "It's not your fault," she says. Katie emits a sound that's somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
"Whatever," she says, sounding bitter. "It doesn't fucking make a difference whose fault it is now, does it? Can't change things."
"No." Naomi sits down next to Katie, who shifts over so Naomi can lean against the headstone too. The sky is very blue today, almost cloudless, but although the sun is high it struggles to provide any warmth. Next to Naomi, Katie shivers, her thin clothes obviously giving little protection from the breeze that whips through the church grounds. She's wearing leopard print again, for the first time in months; Naomi wonders if that means she's out of mourning now, or back in denial.
After a long pause and much sniffling, Katie says, "Sometimes I forget. I mean like, sometimes I wake up and my first thought isn't about her."
Naomi nods. "Sometimes I take a while to remember things, like what she smelled like."
When Katie looks at her, it's clear she understands. "Isn't this meant to be good for us? Like, moving on?" She shakes her head. "I don't want to fucking forget."
"You won't ever forget. Neither of us will." It's meant to sound reassuring, but it's not.
"Right," Katie says, and when she glances at Naomi she looks at her in a new way, full of curiosity. She motions forward slightly, lips just parted, and Naomi realises what's happening a split-second before their lips meet.
A couple of seconds and it's over, Katie pulling away and fixing her gaze on the ground.
"What was that?" Naomi says, trying to ask delicately, and Katie shrugs. Her hair falls down in a curtain across her face, but still Naomi thinks she can see her beginning to cry again.
"Sorry," Katie says, sounding helpless. "I just--she loved you, and I don't want to let go."
Naomi can't think of anything to say in return; in lieu of words, she puts her arm around Katie's shoulder and holds her close.
---
In May she brings carnations, pink ones tinged with white. Katie is waiting when she gets there, smiling as she sees Naomi approach. It's strange to see a smile on her face; even stranger that Naomi returns it.
"They're nice," Katie says, taking the flowers from Naomi, and Naomi bites down the urge to say, "They're for you." She finds herself glad to see Katie again; their paths have crossed at college, but never without an uncomfortable edge, and they haven't talked about what happened last time they were here. (The tension has been noticeable enough that Effy has asked a couple of pointed questions, but Naomi always managed to deflect.) Here, though, things are altogether less complicated between them.
This time they stand in silence, thinking about Emily. After a while, Naomi realises that she and Katie are holding hands.
---
In June, Naomi brings roses: yellow ones, to avoid being too clichéd, but roses all the same. It's been almost a year since the Love Ball, when it officially started.
She can't believe they didn't even get a year together. They had so many plans, most of them unspoken, and now all of those possibilities are closed. Now, all Naomi has is a gaping hole in her life where Emily should be.
A gaping hole, and Katie.
Katie looks brighter now, a bit less on the verge of falling apart. They don't cry, either of them, and instead of voicing their regrets, they tell stories. Naomi didn't know much about Emily before college, and Katie grew to know her less when Emily started seeing Naomi; together, now, they fill in each other's blanks until something like a full picture begins to emerge. Emily must have taken some secrets to the grave, just as anyone would, but even though no one can ever be fully known, Emily at least is remembered.
They laugh and laugh, the sound echoing unnaturally amongst the gravestones, and once they've caught their breath, Katie kisses Naomi again. This time, Naomi doesn't second guess it; she gladly kisses back.
Before Naomi realises it, they're back at her house, in her room, on her bed. Being with Katie should feel more wrong than it does, Naomi thinks distantly, but she's soft and responsive and warm, and Naomi needs this. They spend long lazy minutes kissing, clothes half shrugged off, and Naomi can't believe how much she's missed this, this contact, this connection. And then one stray syllable escapes her lips in a sigh, "Em," and it's over: Katie detaches, pulls her top back on, levels Naomi with an accusatory glare.
"I don't want this to be about her," Katie says. "I was this to be about us."
"But... it is about her," Naomi says, confused, and it's entirely the wrong thing to say.
Katie leaves.
---
Naomi almost doesn't show up in July, but her apology is long overdue by now and this is her best opportunity to say sorry. She hands the lilies to Katie without a word, and when the ghost of a smile crosses Katie's face she feels a little lighter.
"I don't know how I would have coped without you," Naomi says, shaping the words cautiously in her throat. "And I know you're not a replacement for her."
Katie shrugs. "Yeah, well, it probably was about her a bit." She looks up at Naomi and says, "She's probably always going to be between us in a way."
"Maybe. But we could still make it about us. I mean, if you want."
This time when they kiss, Naomi shoves all thoughts of Emily to one side and focuses on all the things that are uniquely Katie. The weight of grief still presses against her, but she feels a glimmer of happiness she hasn't felt in months.
---
In August they pick out sweet peas together and walk to the churchyard hand in hand.
---
September arrives--orchids--but Katie looks drawn and miserable once again.
"This is the last time, yeah?" she says. "I mean, you're off to uni in a couple of days, you won't be able to come anymore."
Naomi's thought about it a lot, whether she'll be able to keep to their ritual, but it's too far, too inconvenient, and she doesn't think she'll be able to make the monthly pilgrimage. "No," she says at last. "Not in term time, anyway."
Katie turns away, head bowed and arms folded, keeping very still. She says nothing, and doesn't even move when Naomi stands behind her, wrapping her arms around her.
"I'm not going to forget," Naomi says, looking at Emily's gravestone and holding Katie tight until Katie shifts round and faces her.
"You'd better fucking not," Katie says, a hint of a joke in her voice, and Naomi leans in and kisses her softly.
"I mean it, Katie," she says. "I promise. I'm not going to forget about her, and I'm not going to forget about you."
Fandom: Skins
Pairing: Katie/Naomi
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Character death (off-screen)
Words: 2886
Summary: In March, it becomes a ritual: they meet in the churchyard on the monthly anniversary, and Naomi brings flowers.
Notes: This is a pinch hit for skins_holiday, written for one6two6 who requested "post-death Emily; Katie and Naomi coping".
In the gathering gloom of the churchyard, it begins to snow. The ground, iron-hard under her feet, becomes slippery as the snowflakes land and turn to slush, and Naomi has to watch her step. Briefly, she pauses to look at the sky; the church is lit from below by fat spotlights, and in the yellow beams the snowflakes are caught, bright like glow worms or sparks from a fire.
Naomi drops her gaze, keeps walking.
Enough light lingers that she can make out Emily's name on the grave, freshly carved, and the dates: 21st April 1992 - 21st January 2010. Naomi tries to latch onto a feeling that would anchor her to reality, make it true, but she can't shake the strangeness. Perhaps she's simply cried too many tears already.
"You finally came, then."
Surprised by the voice, Naomi spins round and sees Katie emerge from the shadows, her accusatory stare becoming clearer the closer she gets.
"Where were you yesterday?" Katie says, but already her defiance begins to crumble. "I can't believe you fucking missed--she would have wanted you there."
"I was there," Naomi says, her voice coming out hoarse. "I mean, not at the service, but I watched..." She gestures vaguely at the grave before her, unable to force out the words, I watched you bury her. It's one of those thoughts that doesn't seem true, the idea that Emily is below them in the frozen earth; it didn't seem real yesterday, either, when she watched from the sidelines as Katie and Mrs Fitch wept openly. Naomi ought to have been there with them, she knows that, but she didn't want a row with Mrs Fitch for all of their sakes. Instead, she ended up feeling like an intruder at her own girlfriend's funeral.
Katie crouches down by the headstone, wiping away the fine layer of snow that's settled on top of it. It's like she doesn't want Emily to be hidden.
"She needs some flowers," Katie says, sniffing a little. "Except it's so cold they'd only--stupid fucking winter."
Naomi nods, kneeling down beside Katie and staring at the words before her, not caring about the slush soaking through the knees of her tights, freezing her. "I just feel numb," she says eventually. It's been six days since she received the phone call from Katie, heard the broken way she said, "You should get to the hospital. It's Emily..." and came running. But she got there too late, the injuries from the accident were too severe, and all Naomi saw at the hospital was the devastation on Katie's face as a shape under a sheet was wheeled away. Katie has that same broken expression now, like she's been ripped in two and it physically hurts. Naomi knows what it's like; she's run the gamut of emotions since that phone call, and it's only through some sort of survival mechanism that she's landed back at numb.
Dusk resolves into night and still they remain, the two of them transfixed. They're not drinking, but the conversation moves as though they are; as time passes, words tumble more freely, words they wouldn't usually share.
"She fucking hated me," Katie says at one point. "I mean like, I was a total fucking bitch to her, and she hated me."
Naomi places a hand on Katie's knee, the gesture unfamiliar to both of them. "She loved you, Katie."
"She loved you." It's the first time Naomi's heard Katie acknowledge it with words. "She loved you because she just did. But like, you love your family because you just have to."
"Is that why you loved her? Because you had to?"
Katie falls silent, and Naomi hopes she understands. Naomi's never had a sister; what Katie and Emily had has always been beyond her powers of comprehension, but as witness to it she's never doubted the strength of their love. For a time Naomi was envious: Emily's bond with Katie was permanent, timeless, whereas Naomi and Emily's ties were always potentially breakable. It used to scare her, but now she has a selfish thought: perhaps it means she'll find it easier than Katie to move on.
It doesn't help.
"She's not really gone, though, is she?" Katie asks. "She's in a better place. That's what they said at the service, yeah?"
Naomi contemplates the value of a lie. "Yeah," she says at last. "She's in a better place."
"Good," Katie says, but she still looks as lost as Naomi feels. After a while she says, "What are we supposed to do now? Just like, carry on?"
"I don't know," Naomi says. It seems unfathomable, the idea of carrying on. Six days it's been, and still she can't conceive of life without Emily. She knows she existed without her before, but it's different now; now, there's something missing in her life, and no way to get it back. Naomi doesn't know how to fill the hole, or if she even wants to.
They say little else, and it's only when they realise how cold they've become that they go their separate ways.
The next day, in amongst the fog of grief, Naomi remembers something Katie said and has an idea. She goes outside and picks some snowdrops, returning to the churchyard and placing them on Emily's grave.
---
In February, on the one month anniversary, Naomi returns. This time she has a bunch of flowers with her, one she got from the florist; she didn't look to see what they were called, just picked ones that were pretty.
She isn't the only person there; Katie is kneeling by the headstone, her head bowed, and when Naomi gets closer she realises that Katie's shoulders are shaking with sobs. It feels intrusive at first, but then Katie turns and looks at Naomi and she realises that this is something they share.
Katie gives the flowers a once-over when Naomi kneels down beside her, and Naomi shrugs.
"I thought Emily might like them. I don't know. Fuck, she'd probably just be amazed I was buying her flowers at all." She can't look at Katie; tears are starting to sting her eyes and if she sees Katie crying it'll set her off. "I don't think she knew how much I loved her. Love her, I mean, I haven't stopped. Fuck, why did I have to be such a twat to her?"
"She knew," Katie says. "Stupid cunt, of course she knew." It might not be true, but it's reassuring all the same. It doesn't even make a difference anyway, Naomi thinks; it's too late to make up for her shortcomings, and whether Emily thought Naomi loved her or not, she's not thinking anything now.
"I thought it was meant to get easier," Katie says after a while, wiping at her tears with the sleeve of her coat. "It still hurts just the fucking same."
Naomi nods. The sharp sting of pain has yet to recede to an ache; she doesn't know if it ever will.
---
In March, it becomes a ritual: they meet in the churchyard on the monthly anniversary, and Naomi brings flowers. Flowers for Emily, they're supposed to be, but she thinks in reality they're more for Katie's benefit. This month she brings daffodils, because it's the first day of Spring.
The churchyard is showing the season; the trees are starting to blossom, and the grey monotony of the gravestones is interrupted by splashes of colourful flowers. They meet at midday, skiving off college to make their pilgrimage, and the sun provides a little welcome warmth. These aren't the only times they see each other, but these are the times that count. The awkward camaraderie they show at college becomes easier on these occasions, more natural, as they allow themselves to give voice to thoughts that usually remain sequestered away in their minds.
"I don't know how to stop thinking about her," Katie says. "I mean like, it's constant. When's it going to stop?"
"Do you want it to?" Naomi asks. Part of her thinks it might be nice, being able to forget, but she's not able to think that without feeling a burst of guilt.
"I just want her back," Katie says, and she begins to cry.
Naomi takes her hand, squeezing hard. "I know," she whispers. "I miss her too."
---
In April, Naomi brings tulips--bright red ones, chosen because they remind her of the shade of Emily's hair. She gets that a lot: little, unrelated things reminding her of Emily. Sometimes when it rains, the smell of damp earth reminds her of their night by the lake; sometimes someone will say a word that brings to mind something Emily once said. At first it would set Naomi off crying again, but now, sometimes, it makes her smile.
Katie isn't there when Naomi arrives, but then she doesn't expect her at all, not today. Having a moment alone is nice for a change--just her and Emily, she thinks at first, before she realises how ridiculous that is. Emily isn't here. She tries speaking aloud, whispering, "I miss you," but it just makes her feel stupid. It's not like she's going to get a response.
The stone is starting to look a little worn, or at least not quite so shiny and new as before. With her fingertip Naomi traces over the letters of Emily's name, and once she gets to the dates a heavy weight settles in her stomach. It's her birthday today; she would have turned eighteen. Too young for anyone to go, but it seems especially cruel that it happened to Emily.
She hears someone swearing in the distance; when she swivels her head she sees Katie crashing through the cemetery, a half-empty bottle of vodka swinging from her left hand. She looks a state, obviously drunk and dishevelled like she went out last night and hasn't been home since, and when she reaches Naomi she slumps on the ground, back propped up by her sister's grave.
"When I was about thirteen," Katie begins without preamble, "I used to hate sharing a birthday. It never felt special enough. Suppose all that wishing really paid off."
"Jesus," Naomi says, watching helplessly as Katie starts to cry. Black, mascara-filled tears stain her cheeks, leaving a mark even after Naomi reaches out and gently wipes them away. "It's not your fault," she says. Katie emits a sound that's somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
"Whatever," she says, sounding bitter. "It doesn't fucking make a difference whose fault it is now, does it? Can't change things."
"No." Naomi sits down next to Katie, who shifts over so Naomi can lean against the headstone too. The sky is very blue today, almost cloudless, but although the sun is high it struggles to provide any warmth. Next to Naomi, Katie shivers, her thin clothes obviously giving little protection from the breeze that whips through the church grounds. She's wearing leopard print again, for the first time in months; Naomi wonders if that means she's out of mourning now, or back in denial.
After a long pause and much sniffling, Katie says, "Sometimes I forget. I mean like, sometimes I wake up and my first thought isn't about her."
Naomi nods. "Sometimes I take a while to remember things, like what she smelled like."
When Katie looks at her, it's clear she understands. "Isn't this meant to be good for us? Like, moving on?" She shakes her head. "I don't want to fucking forget."
"You won't ever forget. Neither of us will." It's meant to sound reassuring, but it's not.
"Right," Katie says, and when she glances at Naomi she looks at her in a new way, full of curiosity. She motions forward slightly, lips just parted, and Naomi realises what's happening a split-second before their lips meet.
A couple of seconds and it's over, Katie pulling away and fixing her gaze on the ground.
"What was that?" Naomi says, trying to ask delicately, and Katie shrugs. Her hair falls down in a curtain across her face, but still Naomi thinks she can see her beginning to cry again.
"Sorry," Katie says, sounding helpless. "I just--she loved you, and I don't want to let go."
Naomi can't think of anything to say in return; in lieu of words, she puts her arm around Katie's shoulder and holds her close.
---
In May she brings carnations, pink ones tinged with white. Katie is waiting when she gets there, smiling as she sees Naomi approach. It's strange to see a smile on her face; even stranger that Naomi returns it.
"They're nice," Katie says, taking the flowers from Naomi, and Naomi bites down the urge to say, "They're for you." She finds herself glad to see Katie again; their paths have crossed at college, but never without an uncomfortable edge, and they haven't talked about what happened last time they were here. (The tension has been noticeable enough that Effy has asked a couple of pointed questions, but Naomi always managed to deflect.) Here, though, things are altogether less complicated between them.
This time they stand in silence, thinking about Emily. After a while, Naomi realises that she and Katie are holding hands.
---
In June, Naomi brings roses: yellow ones, to avoid being too clichéd, but roses all the same. It's been almost a year since the Love Ball, when it officially started.
She can't believe they didn't even get a year together. They had so many plans, most of them unspoken, and now all of those possibilities are closed. Now, all Naomi has is a gaping hole in her life where Emily should be.
A gaping hole, and Katie.
Katie looks brighter now, a bit less on the verge of falling apart. They don't cry, either of them, and instead of voicing their regrets, they tell stories. Naomi didn't know much about Emily before college, and Katie grew to know her less when Emily started seeing Naomi; together, now, they fill in each other's blanks until something like a full picture begins to emerge. Emily must have taken some secrets to the grave, just as anyone would, but even though no one can ever be fully known, Emily at least is remembered.
They laugh and laugh, the sound echoing unnaturally amongst the gravestones, and once they've caught their breath, Katie kisses Naomi again. This time, Naomi doesn't second guess it; she gladly kisses back.
Before Naomi realises it, they're back at her house, in her room, on her bed. Being with Katie should feel more wrong than it does, Naomi thinks distantly, but she's soft and responsive and warm, and Naomi needs this. They spend long lazy minutes kissing, clothes half shrugged off, and Naomi can't believe how much she's missed this, this contact, this connection. And then one stray syllable escapes her lips in a sigh, "Em," and it's over: Katie detaches, pulls her top back on, levels Naomi with an accusatory glare.
"I don't want this to be about her," Katie says. "I was this to be about us."
"But... it is about her," Naomi says, confused, and it's entirely the wrong thing to say.
Katie leaves.
---
Naomi almost doesn't show up in July, but her apology is long overdue by now and this is her best opportunity to say sorry. She hands the lilies to Katie without a word, and when the ghost of a smile crosses Katie's face she feels a little lighter.
"I don't know how I would have coped without you," Naomi says, shaping the words cautiously in her throat. "And I know you're not a replacement for her."
Katie shrugs. "Yeah, well, it probably was about her a bit." She looks up at Naomi and says, "She's probably always going to be between us in a way."
"Maybe. But we could still make it about us. I mean, if you want."
This time when they kiss, Naomi shoves all thoughts of Emily to one side and focuses on all the things that are uniquely Katie. The weight of grief still presses against her, but she feels a glimmer of happiness she hasn't felt in months.
---
In August they pick out sweet peas together and walk to the churchyard hand in hand.
---
September arrives--orchids--but Katie looks drawn and miserable once again.
"This is the last time, yeah?" she says. "I mean, you're off to uni in a couple of days, you won't be able to come anymore."
Naomi's thought about it a lot, whether she'll be able to keep to their ritual, but it's too far, too inconvenient, and she doesn't think she'll be able to make the monthly pilgrimage. "No," she says at last. "Not in term time, anyway."
Katie turns away, head bowed and arms folded, keeping very still. She says nothing, and doesn't even move when Naomi stands behind her, wrapping her arms around her.
"I'm not going to forget," Naomi says, looking at Emily's gravestone and holding Katie tight until Katie shifts round and faces her.
"You'd better fucking not," Katie says, a hint of a joke in her voice, and Naomi leans in and kisses her softly.
"I mean it, Katie," she says. "I promise. I'm not going to forget about her, and I'm not going to forget about you."