Chapter Two
Kira
I can tell something’s wrong the second I walk in the door. Grace looks positively ecstatic, which means somewhere in the
world, chaos and drama are afoot. She’s practically bouncing in her seat, staring at me with shining eyes and lips pursed
to keep from exploding.
“What’s on fire?” I ask, already done with whatever it is. I finished a twenty-four-hour shift this morning with a structure
fire, multiple car accidents, and my favorite: two “something smells funny” calls. And then, of course, instead of coming
home and immediately taking a nap like a woman who loves herself, I went to a completely optional continuing education class
on the fire risk of abandoned buildings. For eight hours . What day is it, even? June... eighth? Ninth?
I am the embodiment of tired.
“Come here. Sit down,” Grace says, patting the cushion next to her.
“Is someone dead?”
“No, for— Jesus, Kira, just sit down.”
With silent resentment, I kick off my flats next to the door, throw my keys in the basket on the counter, and finally flop
down on the couch next to Grace and two incredibly bright pink boxes. The TV is on in the background, muted and playing a
new K-drama I haven’t seen yet. Grace grabs the controller and turns on the subtitles for me, then nudges one of the pink
boxes toward me. It’s too late for the box, though—I’m already completely distracted by the over-the-top romance playing out
silently on screen, exactly what this evening calls for. I can feel myself starting to zone out when Grace pokes me in the
thigh with one socked foot.
“What?” I deadpan, letting my head loll in her direction. “Did you buy into yet another subscription box? I already told you
to keep your refer-a-friend codes away from me.”
She wrinkles her dainty nose. “You brought firehouse stank home again. Gross.”
I roll my eyes and offer her a middle finger. I showered at the firehouse and changed into fresh clothes before class. She
is one hundred percent imagining things and/or just saying it to give me shit. I move right past it and get to the point.
The sooner this is over, the sooner I can cuddle with my pillow and pass out with some Netflix on my phone. I lean forward
and snag the pink box with my name on it, eyeing the swooping letters on top with suspicion.
Dear lord, what is Skylar up to now?
“I swear, I love her to death, she’s a genius and a sweetheart, my best friend in the world, et cetera,” I begin, pulling
open the box flaps.
“Co-best friend!” Grace chirps, watching me with a disturbingly hungry expression. If she weren’t straight, I’d swear she
was coming on to me. But no, this is the look of a shark scenting blood. Or a Grace Ahn scenting anarchy.
“But,” I continue, “that girl is the star of her own mental Broadway musical, complete with big dramatic dance numbers.”
“Does that make us the backup singers?” Grace asks, whipping out her phone and tapping away.
“Psh, please. I’m the lead dancer. No one wants to hear me sing.”
My phone vibrates in my bag, which is still hanging from my shoulder, squashed between me and the arm of the couch. Grumbling
at the effort required, I shove my hand inside and fish around blindly until hand and phone are finally reunited. The home
screen glows with a notification banner for our group chat.
Grace: Ahhhh skylar congrats!!!
Grace: I mean, obviously we’ll miss you, but I love this for you!
I look up at Grace and raise an eyebrow. She blinks sweetly at me, tracing one finger over Skylar’s name on the top of her
own pink box.
Okay, fine. May as well see what I’m in for. Skylar never does anything halfway.
I carefully separate the slotted tabs and pull the flaps gently back to reveal a box full of confetti and glitter, which I
immediately hold out for Grace.
“You do it,” I say.
“What?” she protests. “You love glitter!”
“Um, yes, when it’s glitter by choice. Or glitter firmly attached to a shirt. This is glitter that I’ll be finding in my bunker
pants at the firehouse for weeks, and it is not welcome.” No one makes lieutenant with glitter in their pants.
Grace folds her arms and shakes her head. “Nope. It’s part of the experience. I’ve already got glitter hands from opening
mine. Do it.”
I sigh and collect myself as if preparing to enter a burning building, then plunge my hands into the box, pulling out item
after item. A miniature bottle of good small-batch whiskey. Nice. A collection of small zip bags of dried fruit, nuts, and
seeds, perfect for snacking on shift. My favorite Sephora eyeliner. Star stickers for my planner.
When I get to the envelope at the bottom, Grace lets out an eager squeak.
“Mmm, this is too good, hurry up!” she pleads, practically bursting.
I have never been more worried in my life.
I slice my finger in my haste to get the envelope open, but I’m a damn firefighter; I’ve had worse. I skim through the silvery
embossed pages one at a time, then go back through again, because there is no way I’m reading this right.
Skylar.
Is moving to Fiji.
To start a farm?
Grace makes a screeching sound like a balloon losing air and flaps her hands. “How. Good. Is. This?”
I shake my head, stunned.
“This is the most Skylar thing Skylar has ever done. She’s actually out Skylar-ed herself.” I shake my head again, like that’ll
make it any clearer. I get the humor of the situation, I really do, but the humor is quickly being eclipsed by worry.
This is a giant red flag.
I haven’t known Skylar as long as the others in our group have, but she and I went through some really serious shit together.
She’s the closest friend I’ve ever had in my life, and I’ve spent the past two years stepping in to save her from herself
whenever her grand schemes take a turn for the self-sabotaging. This, though... she’s already in deep. She must have been
sitting on this secret for a while if she already has her visa and business license, and that might be more worrying than
anything, since she normally can’t keep a secret to save her life.
Right now, she has a decently successful and lucrative enough career as, of all things, a PhD-holding social media relationship
counselor, plus a side gig doing a call-in relationship advice show on a local radio station. She has a huge online following,
and tons of friends. She knows nothing about farming. She can’t cook mac and cheese without one of her neighbors calling 911.
She’ll be completely jobless if she deletes her social media accounts. She can’t swim, and islands are surrounded by water . If she goes through with this, she’s going to crash and burn. Personally, professionally, and—with her crushing student loan
debt—financially. This will ruin her.
This will ruin me .
Without Skylar, I’d still be practically living at the firehouse, never seeing a new face outside my weekly grocery run and
the bros at work who resent my existence. I’m the one who keeps her grounded when social media expectations start to get to
her. She’s who I go to when we lose a civilian in a structure fire, or we respond to a particularly bad car accident. I’m
her support when the weight of her volunteer counseling clients’ struggles gets to be too much. She’s the one who’s coached
me through every promotion I’ve failed to get. If she leaves, I’ll probably never get promoted. No one else seems to understand how hard and heavy our careers are at times. I can’t do this on my own anymore.
She also gave me a social life and real friends who are more like a surrogate family, especially since my mom moved to Vancouver.
Skylar’s the main character, the glue of our group. Without her, Willow will forget to leave their house, Marco will drift
away and do his own thing, Ian will let his work consume him, and Grace will aggressively cut everyone off before they have
the chance to do the same to her. We’ll all fall apart, and I’m not ready to let go.
I have to stop this madness.
My phone chimes again, and I glance down to see a flood of excitement from the group, including a message from Nicole, who
I haven’t met yet but who just moved back to town. A total wild card thrown into the middle of this scenario, and I don’t
know how to feel about her grand return. Right as I reach the end of the congrats train, a new message pops up.
Grace: Also Kira came home smelling like satan’s ball sweat again.
I glare at Gracie over the top of my phone and hammer out a response, putting my feet all over her as I type. She shrieks
and wiggles away, slapping my feet with impunity.
Kira: Hey, I showered at the firehouse! I smell like LUSH Plum Rain and ambition.
Grace: Alsoalsoalso, Kira says congrats and she’s super happy for you and she can’t wait to see your plans for the big party.
Grace: She wants a poofy dress with puff sleeves
Skylar: Hahahaha, yeah okay, sure.
Skylar: K, I know you’re already internally panicking about all of the required social interaction that comes with planning a huge
party like this.
Skylar: Not to worry dear, most things will be just us.
Yeah, the social events are definitely what I’m most worried about in this situation. Not my best friend leaving the country.
Skylar: And you will absolutely bag yourself a delicious lover in the gender of your choice while wearing the dress I picked for
you.
Skylar: I chose the perfect outfit for each of you according to your own personal styles and I think you’re going to thank meeee
And now I have a whole new set of worries. Is it too late to opt out of the “party fam”?
Grace: SO EXCITED.
Ian: Worried? But excited kinda?
Marco: I better look fierce bitch
Willow: Does Gandalf get a wedding outfit?
Willow: photo of Gandalf with one of Will’s bow ties held in front of his neck
Willow: Bow ties are cool
Before I can even think to respond to any of it, a new group chat invitation pops up.
Marco wants you to join: SKYLAR’S EPIC FAREWELL FESTIVITIES
I tap Join and am immediately flooded with new messages.
Marco: Side chat for planning Skylar things! If this is like a wedding, then we obviously have to do a bachelorette party-ish thing,
right?
Marco: But also
Marco: popcorn.gif
Ian: Lololol god this is going to be SO good
Ian: starwars-AT-AT-walker-crashing.gif
Grace:
Willow: Hey guys, she seems really sincere about this
Willow: But yeah, I’ve got my popcorn ready
Grace: So obviously we should be throwing Skylar a “congrats on quitting your job” party too. Tonight.
Willow: You just want an excuse for drinks
Grace: Correct
Ian: Madison?
Marco: NO
Willow: NO
Ian: But the sounders game is onnnnnnn
Marco: Exactly. Way too crowded, and confused straight guys always wander in on game nights.
Marco: No offense
Ian: None taken, I embrace the confused straight guy label
Willow: Crescent, obviously, why are we still talking?
Grace: CRESCENT YES! 9ish?
Marco: I’ll kidnap Skylar. Be there in 20. NO KARAOKE, GRACE, I MEAN IT.
Grace:
Willow: Okay I’ll go pick up Nic. I know you’re not looking at this chat right now bb but we’re all so excited to see you too! Welcome
home!
Ian: The whole gang’s back together. Seattle is not ready
I’m not ready. But whether I eventually come up with a way to talk sense into Skylar or not, there’s obviously no getting out
of this party tonight, no matter how tired I am. No matter how much this whole Skylar announcement has me feeling totally
flat and dazed. Do I even believe this? If she’s serious, do I really think I can change her mind?
With a groan, I haul myself up off the couch, leaving my purse half wedged into the couch cushions, and stagger down the hall.
“What are you doing?” Gracie shouts after me. “We have to go!”
“Chill it out, East Coast, we’ll get there. Since you claim I reek of firehouse, I’m gonna go de-stink-ify myself so you can’t
give me any more shit.”
I rip my (perfectly fresh-smelling, thank you) shirt off over my head and stalk into the bathroom, fully intending to take
my damn time and enjoy my shower. Skylar and Marco will debate outfit choices for an hour and be fashionably late anyway.
As soon as the water is warm, I stuff my close-cropped red curls into a shower cap and climb in, yanking our inexplicably
giraffe-themed shower curtain closed. Not five seconds later, the bathroom door cracks open, and Grace pokes her head in.
“What are you gonna wear?” she asks.
The warm water rains over my skin, and I sigh. Heaven. I crank it up even hotter.
“Gracie, I spend my days either in uniform or bunker gear. I fully intend to show as much skin as possible tonight.”
“Your purple halter?”
I care exactly zero. Let me cook myself in peace. “Sure, let’s go with that.”
“Yesssss,” she hisses, and slams the door behind her.
I close my eyes and tip my head back, breathing in the billowing steam.
I’ll leave Skylar be tonight, let her have this for a bit. It needs to stop eventually, though. Maybe I’ll talk to her about
it tomorrow.
I can at least enjoy my night off first.