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She likes to sit outside during thunderstorms; watch the rain fall, listen for the thunder. There’s something about the sounds that soothe the worst of her self-talk. Something about how the rain washes so much away. She gets it from her dad, like many of her most confusing traits. Jeff once told her she was a hurricane, so maybe it's got something to do with that.
She finds herself sitting on the fire escape of apartment 303 more and more after Annie and Abed leave. She’ll let her legs dangle over the edge and look out over the underwhelming skyline of strip malls and flickering street lights. Everything inside reminds her of something. The stovetop is where Abed would cook his buttered noodles. The vanity in the bedroom that now belongs to her was left behind by Annie. The table is where they all gathered for a Friendsgiving ages ago, before even Troy had left. The couch has seen a few too many of her misjudged hookups - with Jeff and others - in the recent months.
She wonders if it will ever get easier. She says this to Jeff one night when they’re laying in the bed that used to be Annie’s - his arm halfheartedly draped across her, her leg trapped between the two of his. He hums in response, then says:
“I don’t think so. Not while we’re still here, at least.”
She considers leaving. He’s mentioned it more than a few times, but neither one of them will seriously suggest it. Perhaps because they’re worried that the other person wouldn’t go with them. Perhaps because they’re worried that they would.
One day, she checks her savings and decides she’s got enough for a small vacation. It might be good to get out for a bit, she thinks, nothing long term. She doesn’t ask him to go with her, so it doesn’t threaten the fragility of whatever they are. She just mentions that she’s about to book a hotel one day when they’re sitting beside the pool at his apartment complex, laptops open on their laps like they’re doing any sort of important work.
“Greendale doesn’t start back until August 21, I’m good any time before then,” he replies.
She doesn’t even tell him where she’s going. He doesn’t ask.
So she books a trip to New York, since it’s been far too long, and he’s never been. They end up staying on the top floor of a decently nice place near Times Square, with a rooftop patio right outside their door. He says it’s his first time outside of Colorado, which she wants to call bullshit on until she sees how his eyes light up when he looks at the New York City skyline for the first time through the plane window.
They’re sitting outside when a storm hits; two lukewarm beers from a nearby bodega on an end table placed between their two chairs, underneath an awning that shields them from all but a few strong sprinkles.
“Do you wanna do this forever?” he asks.
She turns away from the storm and stares at him. “Do what forever?”
He shrugs. “Go places. Stay together. Sit back and watch storms.”
She looks back at the skyline, lets a small smile cross her lips. “Yeah, why not. Less depressing than doing it alone.”
He doesn’t say another word. She thinks she sees him nod out of the corner of her eye, but she doesn’t have it in her to look directly at him. They keep staring out at the city full of shining lights, blurred by a barrage of raindrops. Thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance. She picks up her beer and takes a swig.