Spencer sniffed and Ashley’s eyes followed the noise. Her hands were in her lap, playing with the hem of her shirt. Her mouth opened to speak, then closed, whatever wanting and needing to be said evaporating into thin air.

The smell of something sweet permeated through the room, and Ashley’s forehead frowned, attempting to ascertain what exactly her olfactory senses were telling her.

“Pancakes…and eggs, I think.”

Ash stared at Spencer who had found her voice, still playing with the hem on her shirt. It was only then that Ash noticed what shirt Spence wore. It was a Fighting Irish tee shirt; the one Ashley had bought for her years ago for St. Patrick’s Day. She had worn it to her uncle’s cabin in Tahoe. Ashley had been unable to go with her, her father requesting her help in cleaning out the garage.

Understanding why Ashley was staring, Spencer shifted her shoulders nervously, and began tapping her front teeth together.

“Weird it still fits, huh?” Spencer stood up, her legs visibly shaking, and Spencer had to use her palm to steady herself against the bed. Ashley’s hand reached out to grab her, but then pulled back immediately, not wanting Spencer to feel as though she had to rely upon Ash; it seemed vital that Spencer recognize her own strength; or at least force her to rely upon herself. Ash internally sighed, understanding that she was full of shit, her so-called words of wisdom a reminder that she had no idea what the hell she was doing.

Ash’s eyes glanced back down at her feet, not wanting to meet Spence’s eyes just yet; deciding she was being stupid, her face jerked back up, meeting Spencer dead on.

Spence pulled the hem of the tee shirt downwards, trying to stretch it out.

“I guess it’s a bit small, but, still fits.” A faint smile crept across her face as she spoke, as if testing the waters with her words; unclear to how much damage she had caused last night. Ash noticed her voice sounded hoarse and scratchy, most likely from her losing battle with the toilet bowl.

The urge overtook her completely, swallowing her up in a layer of warm butter, her insides unwilling to fight it, nor wanting to by any means.