[Context: Dawn and Morgan are best friends, but they are the complete opposite. Dawn is short and skinny, and she tends to cry at the drop of a hat. She also likes to bake. Morgan towers over Dawn, is on the bigger side, and hasn't cried in a looong time. Morgan likes to wear all black.]

Dawn is in the middle of making her famous sugar cookies when her doorbell rings. Setting down her rolling pin, she frowns and checks the stove’s clock. It’s 8:34 pm, and already fully dark outside.

“Hold on!” She shouts loudly as she hurries over to the sink to wash her flour-coated hands. She dries her hands as quickly as she can and fast-walks to the front door, not wanting to keep the person outside waiting. It’s probably Kathy, asking for a cup of sugar. Kathy and Dawn are what some people call “frenemies”--they respect each other’s baking skills, but they’re constantly butting heads over whose recipes are the best, or whose cream puffs are the fluffiest.

Dawn opens the door. Morgan stands on the doorsteps, shivering. For the first time, Dawn notices that it’s drizzling outside--she had been too wrapped up in making cookies to notice the sound of rain hitting the roof.

“Hi,” Morgan says, her teeth chattering. “I’m sorry. I know it’s late, but… can I come in?”

As Dawn quickly takes in her best friend’s appearance, she notes a couple of things that are off. For one, Morgan isn’t wearing a coat--just her studded black leather jacket. The second thing is that her mascara is running. Lastly, Dawn looks miserable, and not just because she’s soaking wet and shivering violently.

“It’s okay! Come inside,” Dawn steps aside. Morgan wipes her black Doc Martens on the welcome mat and walks in, instantly grateful for the warmth. She closes the door behind her, takes off her boots, and follows Dawn into the conjoined living room and kitchen. The women sit on Dawn’s cozy, floral-patterned couch.

“So,” Dawn looks over at her best friend. “What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?” Morgan stares at the patterned rug, trying to keep her tone light. Her voice cracks on the last word, and she winces, wondering how it’s possible to ruin such a simple sentence.

Dawn takes a deep breath, preparing herself. Normally, it’s Morgan who doesn’t take any BS from Dawn, but tonight is obviously different. “C’mon. Tell me what’s wrong. And don’t tell me that there’s nothing going on.”

Morgan chews on her bottom lip, thinking. Dawn’s thin eyebrows scrunch together as she becomes even more concerned. Morgan isn’t the type to think about what she’s going to say. She’s also not the type to show up at someone’s doorstep late at night--that means that she needs someone, and Morgan doesn’t need anybody.

Or so she thinks.

“I don’t know,” Morgan leans against the armrest of the couch, distancing herself from Dawn. She thinks the words she needs to say, and she bites her lip to keep it from wobbling. When she’s sure that it won’t, Morgan speaks again. “Lucky died this afternoon.” Emotion constricts her breath, and she has to bite her lip again.

“Oh, no,” Dawn breathes, placing her hand on Morgan’s shoulder. Not thinking, Dawn wraps her arms around Morgan and gives her a hug. Morgan stiffens under the contact, and Dawn suddenly remembers the one rule of their friendship: no hugs. At all. Ever. Dawn quickly releases Morgan from the hug and tries to pull away, but something stops her.

Morgan… what?

It takes Dawn a few seconds to figure out what’s going on: Morgan is hugging her back. Not only that, but she’s squeezing tightly, as if she’s clinging onto her last hope in life. Shocked to the core, Dawn wraps her arms back around Morgan and puts her chin on her shoulder. Dawn places her hands flat on Morgan’s back and rubs her shoulder blades.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

Morgan tries to say something, but she can’t speak past the hard knot in her throat. She squeezes her eyes shut, instantly knowing the sensations that come next--the burning in the back of the eyes, the tingling in the sinuses, and the heat in her cheeks. The collective sensations are all too familiar, even though she hasn’t felt them since she was twelve or thirteen. She tries to shove the emotions back where they came from, but the fuse is already lit. Morgan sucks in a deep breath and tenses up, but the image of her golden retriever on the table at the vet’s office pops into her head. She holds her breath.

“It’s okay to cry,” Dawn whispers. “You’re safe here.”

Morgan lets the breath out in one huge exhale, which turns into a sob. She tries to choke the other sobs back, but the image of Lucky won’t leave her mind. She thinks about the last moment she had with him--his last breath--the last time she touched his soft fur. She thinks about their daily walk, and the kids who got off the school bus at three o’clock and always stopped to say hi to Lucky.

All Morgan can do is think and feel and sob.

All Dawn can do is squeeze the bigger woman as tightly to herself as she can, as if she’s kneading the sadness out of Morgan. Morgan’s body shakes and shudders with each sob, and it breaks Dawn’s heart. Dawn’s eyes water with her own tears. She lets them fall without a fight, trying to focus on comforting Morgan. Dawn whispers in Morgan’s ear, saying stuff like, “It’ll be okay,” and “He’s in a better place.”

Eventually, Morgan’s sobs die down, becoming sniffles and sighs. Morgan is the first to move away from the embrace. Dawn pulls away as well, but leaves her hands on Morgan’s shoulders. The two look into each other’s red-rimmed, tear-filled eyes.

“Do you want a tissue?” Dawn asks, feeling her own tears start to dry on her face, causing the skin to tighten uncomfortably.

Morgan nods and sniffles. “Sure.”

Dawn reaches over to the end table beside the couch and snags the baby blue tissue box. She places it on the coffee table in front of them. Morgan takes a few, and so does Dawn. They wipe their faces.

After a few seconds, Dawn breaks the silence. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“Yeah,” Morgan says, surprising herself. She usually doesn’t like to talk about emotional stuff. “It started when Lucky started whimpering early this morning…” 

Over the next ten minutes, Morgan explains what happened to Lucky. Tears run down her face, but Morgan only wipes them away when they become overwhelming. Dawn listens closely, nods, and rubs Morgan’s back. She doesn’t say much, knowing that all Morgan needs is someone to listen.

After she’s done explaining what happened, Dawn hugs Morgan again. Morgan hugs back, but she doesn’t squeeze as tightly as before. They break the embrace, and Morgan blows her nose. She stands up, throws her tissue away, and sits back down on the couch. She sighs.

“Tired?” Dawn asks.

“Yup.”

“You can sleep here tonight if you want,” Dawn offers.

Morgan turns her head to look at Dawn and gives her a small smile. “Thanks."

“In the meantime,” Dawn stands up and gestures toward the kitchen counter. “Would you like some cookie dough?”

Morgan grins. “Absolutely.”