She entered the coffee shop and reached the table, breath fogging a little in the warm air. I stood up to greet her.
"Thanks for coming on such short notice," I said.
"D-don't even… mention it," she said, shaking my hand with both of hers like she was afraid I'd pull away. "Heh… heh…"
She always had the same look: oversized black hoodie, oversized black pants, oversized everything. Like she bought clothes by the handful from a clearance bin. Hood still up, curtain of damp hair hiding half her face.
A waitress appeared instantly, smiling with professional warmth.
"Welcome," she said. "What can I get for you, ma'am?"
"C… c… cola." Cora whispered.
The waitress blinked. "Sorry? I didn't catch that."
"C–c—" she tried again, shoulders hunching as her voice died in her throat.
I understood immediately. God, I'd been there. In high school I'd rather starve than order something myself.
"A cola," I said for her. "She's sick. Her throat hurts, can't speak properly. Sorry."
