The train continued to rattle on the tracks. The rain continued lashing at the windows, and the quiet lull and chatter of the other passengers continued to slowly grate on Emmie’s nerves, even though this was the emptiest car she could find. She pulled her scarf tighter around herself — the chill from the rain somehow kept managing to creep inside — and clicked on what felt like her two-hundredth article of the day.
          Emmie tapped each of her belongings again, as though they had moved from the seat next to her. Her bag, containing her water bottle, Rosemary’s present, phone charger, and the book she knew she wasn’t going to read. Next was her umbrella, the one she’d picked out online because it looked remarkably like lettuce. Then her phone, earbuds attached even though she wasn’t listening to anything. Maybe she should. It would block out the family to her right, who were talking loudly about some picnic they’d had with their cousins last summer, the same cousins they were going to see.
          Emmie was going to stay with Rosemary for the weekend, to help her move into her new home. If the train ever got there.
          Another stop. More people filed into her car, crowding it even further. Another passenger sat across from her, and Emmie resisted a scowl. It had been nice to be alone.
          The woman across from her didn’t pay her any attention. She was wearing a red-and-orange-striped sweater and rain boots, paired with a polka-dotted umbrella. Her chestnut hair fell in soft curls, and her skin was unfairly clear. Emmie avoided eye contact and kept scrolling through her phone.
          Emmie looked up at her several minutes later. The woman was loudly and obnoxiously eating an apple. Emmie pointedly glared at her, but the woman was looking out the rain-slashed window. Emmie rolled her eyes and kept reading, finally turning on some music.
          Emmie kept checking the time. They were due to arrive in only twelve minutes. One stop, and then she’d see Rosemary again. The woman across from her was reapplying the coral lipstick she had smudged while eating her apple. It somehow suited her perfectly, and Emmie narrowed her eyes in annoyance. Of course it did.
          The train pulled into the stop. The woman stood and left, taking her bag and umbrella. The doors shut behind her and Emmie relaxed again. No more annoying apples or perfect lipstick. Just four more minutes, and she’d be stepping out to see Rosemary.
          Emmie glanced up at the window. It was still raining just as hard, and, she was sure, was just as cold. As she turned back to her phone, she noticed something silver on the other woman’s seat. Her lipstick tube.
          She looked back out of the window. The woman was striding calmly across the platform, umbrella up.
          Emmie stared at the lipstick for about thirty seconds. She didn’t wear lipstick. She didn’t know anything about lipstick. But it felt weird to leave it there, even if there was no chance of returning it to its owner.
          She picked up the tube. She fiddled with it for a little bit, feeling the smooth outside. There was no brand marking, and no color-listing sticker on the bottom. It oddly wasn’t either warm or cold, despite having been in pockets and the rain. She opened it.
          Emmie frowned. It had been a light, delicate pink when she had seen the other woman put it on, but now it was a definite peach. It looked completely pristine. Untouched.
          Quickly opening her phone camera, Emmie tried on the lipstick.
          It looked . . . normal. Like lipstick.
          Not really sure what she had been expecting, she slipped it into her pocket.
          The train pulled into her stop. Emmie stood up, slinging her bag over her shoulder and grabbing her lettuce umbrella. She retrieved her luggage and then walked out onto the platform.
          Rosemary was waving at the other end. Emmie smiled, opening her umbrella before walking out into the rain.
          “I thought you’d be late!” Rosemary greeted her.
          “For once, it came on time,” Emmie said. They leaned in to kiss the other’s cheek.
          “I see you’re wearing that scarf I got you.” They started the walk to Rosemary’s car.
          “Yeah.” Emmie rearranged the scarf slightly. It was pale, with pink, yellow, and teal stripes. “Oh! I got you something!”
          “Really? You didn’t have to.”
          Emmie fished the present out of her bag. “I wrapped it myself.”
          Rosemary laughed. “I can see that. I can already tell what it is.” Emmie laughed, too. She’d always been terrible at wrapping things.
          Emmie loaded her stuff into Rosemary’s trunk and then sat up front. The rain had let up a little, slowing into whatever came right after a drizzle. Rosemary offered her her signature weird fruit-flavored gum, and then they were driving through city streets toward her new house.
          “I really like that lipstick you’re wearing,” Rosemary said. “It looks great on you.”
          “Oh,” Emmie said, “thanks.”
          “You never wear makeup. Where’d you get it?”
          Emmie slid her hand into her pocket. The tube still wasn’t warm or cool. Still smooth and featureless. “Oh,” she said. “I don’t really remember.”