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Kate huffed, and threw her shit down on Clint’s couch. This was life now. She felt kind of stupid, somehow - having no one else for this sort of thing. Well, no one if she wanted to stay in New York. Lucky came up behind her and nudged her hand with his nose.
“Hey, pizza dog.” She patted his head, staring at the couch that had her whole life condensed into bags thrown across it. “Family’s suck, bud. It’s a good thing you were probably given up as a puppy.”
She had cut all ties with her dad – lying, conniving, working-with-her-arch-nemesis piece of crap. As a result, Kate now had no money, and no ritzy, ditzy New York apartment. She sort of finally got why Clint called it that, as various strangers from craigslist came and took pieces of her furniture for money. It had been a tough forty-eight hours.
“Hey, Kater tate - ” Clint stuck his head into the apartment, looking sheepish.
“You totally don’t have my cello?”
“I smacked it into a railing trying to take it up the stairs.”
“Yeah, that happens.” Kate motioned for him to come in, as she headed out the door and into the hallway. “I got it.”
“You’ve actually taken that thing places?”
“Yep, all the time in high school. Dragging that thing around on the subway at rush hour is actually why I should be called Hawkeye.”
“I always figured it was all those bags from Fifth Avenue.” Clint called after her, triumphantly, after she had already gone down three flights of stairs. “Sorry.” Followed after another minute.
“Uh-huh.” Kate said, entirely to herself as she hefted her cello – still at the first floor landing - onto her shoulder and headed back up the five flights of stairs to Clint’s apartment. This was life now.
She would be ok.