Emma was having second thoughts about the restaurant. It wasn't the nicest one in her Upper East Side neighborhood, but it was a nice restaurant on the Upper East Side. She might know people inside it; it might alienate Cordelia.

But Emma liked it here, found something soothing in the crispness of its lines, its bright whites and long windows, its sense of space. Emma never wanted to feel suffocated.

She still had no idea how Cordelia really was. If she was as fine as she claimed. If she needed something. Maybe Emma wouldn't mind if Cordelia did need something. She had missed her; she had worried. Emma wanted her sister. Maybe that was a bridge too far, but Emma didn't want to remove the option entirely.

She also didn't want to affix her heart to her sleeve if Cordelia wasn't better.

But Emma was hopeful.

She sat, a glass of wine in hand, and scrolled through her phone, answering an email or two.