Chapter Three
Nic
I haven’t been to the Crescent Lounge since the night before I left for grad school two years ago. That night is a blur (the
absolute last time I drank tequila), and I’m honestly glad for it. I’m afraid if I remembered, I’d see a night of me throwing
myself at Skylar, occasionally weeping into my shot glass, and making Marco hug me every five minutes because he’s terrible
at staying in contact and I knew I’d barely talk to him once I left.
I was a wreck the next morning, and not just because of the brutal hangover.
Now, seeing the rainbow glow backlighting the wall of liquor bottles, the string lights, the two guys crooning terrible karaoke,
trashed way too early in the night... it feels like home. For the first time since I got off the plane, I really feel like
I’m back. Then a gruff voice booms from halfway down the bar.
“Nicole Fucking Wells, get the fuck over here!”
An uncontrollable grin hijacks my face. Now I’m back.
“Ian, you giant bear of a man, I have missed you the worst ,” I say as he wraps his enormous arms around me.
“Not that kind of bear, folks,” he says, holding a hand up for clarification, then hoisting me up off the floor with the force
of his hug.
See, this I can do. Ian and I are simple. I can always rely on him to chill me out, and he can always rely on me to keep him
from having that last shot that’ll make him do things in public he’ll regret. Symbiosis at its finest.
“How did the little shitters do at graduation?” I ask, smiling even harder at the confused reaction to the nickname on the
bartender’s face.
Ian groans and finally lets me go so he can gesture dramatically. “Three years into this job and I still don’t understand
why we have preschool graduations. Purely designed for my personal torture, I swear. This year’s group did okay, minimal crying
and pissing, but new year, new crop of shitters. It’s a living. At least there’s fewer of them in the summer semester.”
He turns to order a drink, and I stifle a grin behind his back. He adores his job and those kids, but I suppose being both
a burly, beer-brewing woodsman hipster and an early learning specialist is a delicate balance. I swipe my rum and Coke off
the bar for a long sip, my eyes drifting to the entrance every few seconds. Still no Skylar.
Willow breaks my staring contest with the door by flopping down on the stool beside me, kicking their sneakered feet and sucking
down some kind of dark beer.
“Defense beer?” I ask.
They nod, swallow, and set their pint glass down. “Beer before liquor, never sicker. I couldn’t possibly do shots now.” They prop flat hands under their chin and tip their head to the side in an angelic pose, short purple-black
hair flopping into their eyes, and I have to laugh. The laugh catches in my throat, though, when the door swings open and
over Will’s shoulder, I see her .
Skylar.
She’s here.
Her appearance shouldn’t shock me. We video-chatted all the time while I was gone, and it’s not like grad school kept me from
stalking her Instagram accounts, both public and private. I even saw her in person at Christmas six months ago. But seeing
her now, knowing that I’m back for good, not just passing through... it’s like a punch to the gut, leaving me breathless,
speechless, wide-eyed, and still. She’s laughing as she walks in, honey-brown hair whirling as she turns to give Marco sass
over something. He gives her a gentle shove, and she stumbles fully into the bar, her long white dress fluttering around her
in the perfect breezy, bohemian style.
She turns away from Marco and scans the bar, smiling as she finds our group... then me.
She shrieks.
“NIC KNACK!”
Then she’s running, and in my arms, and I guess she’s still using that $40 lavender shampoo. With my nose in her hair, it’s
all I can smell. My eyes fill with tears because god, it’s so good to see her again— so good—but it hurts . I pull her closer, drinking in that uniquely Skylar energy that pours off her at all times, and she rocks me back and forth—almost
like she ached for me as much as I did for her.
“Hey, Sky,” I whisper.
She squeezes me tight one more time, then pulls back to cup my face in her hands.
“I have missed you so much,” she says, planting a giant smacking kiss on my blushing cheek. “How in the world did you manage to sneak back into
Seattle without me knowing immediately? My mother is going to be furious . I hope you’re ready.”
Hmm, almost like the sneaking was intentional. What a mystery.
“Just wanted to get settled. You know I need quiet sometimes,” I say, putting on my best smile for her. “But I’m back now.”
She beams. “You’re back. And the gang’s all here!” she shouts, finally letting me go so she can scan the group.
“Wait,” she says, planting her hands on her hips. “Where are Kira and Gracie?”
“Heeere!” Grace’s voice calls from the entryway, where she and a tall white girl who must be Kira are shrugging out of their
jackets. Skylar screeches again and darts over to meet them, leaping up on Kira and wrapping all four limbs around her. Something
ugly bares its teeth in my chest at the sight—Skylar greeting her new best friend. My replacement.
Skylar slings an arm around both Grace and Kira as they walk back to the group. By the time they reach us, Skylar has her
head bent to Kira’s ear, talking at lightning speed about some work situation.
“...and so I told her no, obviously I can’t take on your son’s case when you and I have slept together before, even if
it’s pro bono. The money is not the issue. Is this not obvious?”
“And didn’t you already tell her this, like, three months ago?” Kira asks.
“YES. You see my frustration.”
“Of course I do.” Kira makes a pouty face and bops her on the nose with one finger, a guaranteed Skylar-diffuser. Sure enough,
Skylar melts into a smile and whirls away to demand a drink from the bartender. Well, at least if I have to be replaced, it’s
by someone who knows how to handle Skylar well. She seems happy. That’s what’s important, right?
Marco’s hand lands on my shoulder, jolting me out of my spiral.
“Welcome back, my child,” he says, knocking his hip against mine. “You good?”
Does he know? Am I that obvious? Who am I kidding, everyone probably knows. I bump his hip right back and wind an arm around
his narrow waist. “I’m good. Missed you.”
“Same, darling.”
We rest our heads together for a moment, and that’s it. Slotted back together, like no time has passed. The shorter hair is
the only giveaway. He’s always had the most gorgeously soft and shiny black hair, worn on the longer side, a beautiful complement
to his bronze-brown skin. I bet he deliberately didn’t post a photo of his new cut to Instagram so I would be surprised and
shower him with compliments. Which I do, of course.
Marco sips down his Manhattan at a frightening rate and tells me in vague terms all about some guy he’s having regular Sunday
brunch dates with— but they are not dates and how dare I suggest otherwise. I say supportive things in all the right places, mentally preparing my I-told-you-so
for when he inevitably gets together with this guy. Marco is not known for repeated cozy get-togethers with men he isn’t seriously interested in. Eventually, Ian bellows Marco’s name and
gives him some kind of signal. Marco smiles down at me and squeezes my elbow, then moves to throw an arm around Skylar.
“Ladies, enbies, and gentlebitches, may I have your attention please?” he begins with a grand sweep of his mostly empty drink.
“We are here tonight to celebrate Skylar’s...”
He pauses, notices that several of the Crescent Lounge’s other customers are listening in and adjusts his words accordingly.
“...uh, thing.” He leans in close, and we all follow suit. “I mean, this is real , right? This is really, truly, one thousand percent not just a super long vacation? Or a quarter-life crisis?”
I bite my lip hard, waiting for what feels like an actual eternity until Skylar bursts into a wide grin.
“Oh, you,” she says, swatting Marco on the arm. My heart leaps. Is it all a joke? Was the whole thing just a game to get us
worked up?
Then Skylar’s smile shifts to one I know from college. It’s her “big dreams and life plans” smile.
“Of course it’s real! Plane tickets bought, property rented, visa acquired, and my passport photo is so cute. And just six more weeks to go at the radio station, so cheers to that!” Skylar says, hoisting her drink.
A beat of silence, then everyone lifts their drink with a cheer while I quietly die inside.
“Skylar’s doing the thing!” Marco declares triumphantly.
“ Yeah she is,” Grace cuts in with a lewd gesture.
“Oi, let’s respect the monk-like celibacy Skylar is destined for, okay?” Ian says.
Willow snorts. “I think her vibrator collection might have something to say about that.”
“Hey, what me and my toy box get up to in the privacy of my own home is none of your business, here or in Fiji,” Skylar says primly, sipping her violently pink drink through a dainty straw.
Kira barks a laugh. “It is when you insist on spilling the details in our group chat.”
“Listen, I just wanted to personally recommend a product I believe in!”
Grace arches an eyebrow. “Along with your affiliate code.”
“ Besides ,” Skylar continues, “you do know there are women in Fiji, right?”
“But it takes time ,” Ian says with the air of someone imparting sincere wisdom. “Establishing yourself in a new place, finding your people—”
“Um, excuse me, gentlebitches, is this your speech?” Marco says. “No. Thank you.”
I lift a hand to my mouth to stifle a laugh, then stop just in time to avoid wiping the remnants of Skylar’s glitter ambush
all over my face. Ugh. A sparkle catches my eye in Kira’s direction, and Ian’s, and sure enough, every single one of us has
some amount of glitter we couldn’t successfully wash from our hands before coming here. Everyone, of course, except for Skylar...
and Marco?
“Wait, wait, wait,” I interrupt, zeroing in on Marco’s hands. “How in the hell are your hands not covered in glitter?”
“Hey, yeah,” Grace says, glitter visible in the straight black hair of her ponytail. “The rest of us look like we jacked off
a unicorn.”
“Collectively, or individually?” Kira muses.
Marco raises his glass in a toast. “Gloves, duh.”
The rest of us groan.
Ian wipes his glitter hands off on his jeans, somehow leaving both his hands and his jeans looking more sparkly. “Look, not
all of us are nurses who creepily have latex gloves at home.”
“Who said they had anything to do with my day job?” Marco shot back with an eyebrow waggle.
The group groan returns. Marco preens, then waves a “fuck it” hand and lifts his drink toward Skylar.
“Oh, what-the-fuck-ever, never mind. Congrats babe, we love you, now let’s get drunk.”
“Hear, hear!” we shout, glasses clinking all around until every single one has been drained dry. Marco and his soon-to-be-nurse-practitioner
salary buys us another round (Willow stares despondently into the shot glass he presses into their hand—so much for that defense
beer), and we settle into our usual bar routine.
Only, I don’t seem to quite fit like I used to. I still love them, and they still love me, but it’s like I’ve come back shaped
differently, my edges not quite matching up with the puzzle anymore. Every time I open my mouth to jump into the conversation,
I hesitate. I hover next to Will for the next fifteen minutes, and they rub my back soothingly after every single shot they
down.
“It’s all gonna be okay. We missed you. Things’ll settle.”
I shrug and sip my rum and Coke so I won’t have to reply, watching the rainbow lights behind the bar shift over Skylar’s hair
as she sincerely thanks the bartender for putting up with us all. Then she turns her sun-bright smile on me and I quickly
avert my eyes, feeling my cheeks grow hot at having been caught staring. Skylar, it seems, either didn’t notice or didn’t
care, because she lunges forward, practically tackling me.
“Oh my god, Nic, you haven’t actually met Kira yet! Like, met met, proper introduction like real adults and shit!” There’s no time to protest. She drags me by the wrist to where Kira
leans up against the bar, chatting with Grace, who immediately vanishes like smoke in the wind. Skylar drops my wrist and
gestures to Kira with a grand flourish.
“This is Kira!” she says, grinning proudly like Kira is her very own child who just made the honor roll. Kira shifts uncomfortably
and offers up a half smile.
“Ah, yes, Satan’s ball sweat, right?” I say. “Nice to meet you.”
Kira’s face falls into something more genuine: a glare. “I am going to kill Grace,” she said.
Skylar claps her hands three times in rapid succession.
“Oh, this is so perfect! Okay, so you ,” she says, pointing to me, “light things on fire for a living, and you —” she points to Kira “—put them out for a living. Discuss!”
She drifts backward into the crowd, waving her hands in front of her like a witch casting a spell, leaving me alone with Kira.
She purses her lips at Skylar’s retreating form, then glances over at me with wicked humor in the quirk of her mouth.
“I imagine she’s like being hit by a bus when you’ve been away for a while,” she says, holding in a laugh. It’s enough to
shake me out of my daze, and I huff a small chuckle in response.
“You have no idea,” I say, resisting the urge to stare pathetically after Skylar and taking in the girl in front of me instead.
I wouldn’t necessarily guess firefighter at first glance, though her vibrant purple halter top reveals a long, graceful neck and strong, toned shoulders and arms
all lightly dusted with freckles. She’s not a bodybuilder or anything, but you can tell she uses those arms a lot and keeps
in shape for a reason. It is... very attractive. (Yes, I will admit to being one of those people who has spent hours watching videos of that lumberjack lesbian
chopping wood.) Her red curls are cropped close on top and shaved on the sides, leaving all the room for her incredible cheekbones
and killer eyeliner. Stylish jeans and sensible-but-adorable flats complete her look. She’s gorgeous. Normally, I’m happy
to channel the casual nerd style, but Kira makes me feel totally underdressed in my long-sleeve V-neck T-shirt, slouchy jeans,
and messy ponytail.
“So, yeah, not to be rude but, like... do I need to call the police or get some backup or something?”
I yank my gaze to her face. “I’m sorry, what?”
Kira looks at me sidelong. “I mean, you set fires for a living. Are you some kind of arsonist? Cleanup crew for the mob? A
hit woman specializing in fire?”
I bust out laughing in spite of my dour mood.
“Oh my god, no, I’m a scientist . A chemist and physicist. I study fire behavior. We burn and blow things up in controlled lab environments only, I promise.”
She raises a skeptical eyebrow, so I pull out my phone and flip to a video taken a few hours earlier of me and my new colleagues
doing a burn trial. We built a scale model of a building constructed using new materials produced by one of the professors
to evaluate their fire-resistant rating claims. It was my first time on a project as lab coordinator since finishing orientation,
and as a treat, the professor who ordered the test gave us permission to test a new “probably explosive” chemical on what
was left of the model when we finished.
We tried to be somber, we really did, but sometimes it’s hard to be chill in our lab.
“Watch this,” I say, and hit Play.
On-screen, one of my colleagues adjusts one small thing on the model, then darts out of the shot. A shout of “CLEAR!” echoes
from behind the camera, and we all count down together. “Three... two... one...”
A huge BANG distorts the audio, followed by assorted cheering and cackling laughter as the model explodes into a beautifully
colored fireball, practically liquefying the model. My own voice, louder because I was the one holding the phone, shouts,
“Yeeeesssss, burn! Ooh, not so fire-resistant after all, Dr. Murray.”
In hindsight, maybe this wasn’t the best video to convince her of my sanity and non-danger to society.
Kira covers her eyes. “Please tell me you have a thousand fire extinguishers behind the camera. Or in-house firefighters.
Or something.”
I stash my phone in my back pocket and wave her comment away. “We’re scientists who study fire. We’ve all been trained in
basic fire suppression since undergrad. Hell, some of us invent new fire suppression techniques; I did work on one as part
of my master’s thesis. Besides, the whole room is rigged with a super fancy system. It’s all fine, promise.”
Kira peeks out from between her fingers with a skeptical look. “If you say so, pyro.”
I grin. “Come by the lab sometime and I’ll show you.”
Pyro indeed. She has no idea.
She shakes her head (not reassured of my sanity at all, oh well) and changes the subject.
“Anywaaay... what do you think of Skylar’s whole plan?” she says offhand, like she’s asking about the weather. My interest
piques. Perfect opportunity to feel her out, see if I might have an ally in my anti-Fiji cause.
I cock my head and study Kira for a moment. “If you’re her new best friend, you’ve probably had to pull Skylar out of the
metaphorical fire a few times, right?”
She nods vigorously. “Seems like every other day, she’s trying to physically or emotionally walk into traffic. Not that she
doesn’t return the favor all the time . Let’s be real. I too, am an out and proud mess—mentally speaking, at least. But it’s always something. She’s got a new business
idea, or a new ‘project’ to sink all her money into, or whatever else. Am I right?”
A surprised laugh bursts out of me because her words are so on point. That’s exactly what it’s like. I cast a quick glance at the others, then guide Kira a bit further away with a gentle
hand on her elbow.
“Do you think this is one of those times?” I ask.
She smiles faintly, some of the tension melting from her features, and glances over her shoulder to make sure the others are
a safe distance away. “Yes. Thank god there’s another sane human in this group.”
“Right?” I say, incredulous. “I know everyone is used to egging her on, just letting her do her, and being there to take her
out for drinks and hugs when it all blows up... but isn’t this a little different? It won’t be an easy bounceback. I wonder
if they somehow think she won’t go through with it.”
“Oh, she’ll do it,” Kira says.
I nod. “One hundred percent, this is happening. She is all-or-nothing. Can you imagine what’s going to happen when her followers
find out she’s planning to delete her accounts?”
“Ugh, yes, she’s going to get eviscerated online. I can already picture the clickbait-y headlines. Not to mention, she knows
nothing about farming, or being a vacation rental host, or swimming , for god’s sake—”
I lay one hand on Kira’s arm and another over my heart. “Okay, stop, that’s enough. I’m about to have a panic attack for her.”
I take a moment and breathe, then realize I’m still touching Kira and snatch my hand back, the warmth of her skin lingering
on my fingertips. “All good points though, yeah. And do you know about her student loan debt?”
“Please, I have nightmares about it, and it’s not even mine. And you know how she is...”
“Go big or go home,” we say in unison, then break into snickering laughter again. It’s nice, actually—this is the most I’ve
laughed since coming home.
“So, we’re gonna do this, right? Stop this scheme of hers? Or at least talk to her about it?” Kira asks, leaning in conspiratorially.
“We have to,” I agree. “It’s our sworn duty, is it not?”
She grins wickedly and holds out a hand. I take it, and she shakes it firmly. “Okay, Legolas, your oath be sworn. This move
shall not go forth!”
“I’m really more of a Samwise,” I say, but at least she knows what Lord of the Rings is, theoretically?
She raises an eyebrow. “What, no shieldmaiden éowyn for you?”
“Ah, I would never presume such greatness,” I say, blushing. “But she was my first major girl crush. Pretty sure I’m gay because
of her.”
“Mmm, when I was a baby bi, I was more of an Arwen girl,” Kira says, and our eyes meet for a brief moment before sliding away
to look anywhere but at each other.
Skylar saves us from our mutual awkwardness by throwing herself between us, an arm around each of our necks, and a dribble
of her fresh vodka soda down my cleavage. It’s gonna be a sloppy kind of night, I can already tell. I raise my eyebrows at
Kira over Skylar’s head, and she gives me a tiny salute and mouths reporting for duty . My shoulders shake with silent laughter as I rest my head against Skylar’s.
“Sky, can we ask you something?” Kira says once Skylar and I separate. Skylar gestures expansively, and I barely dodge the
hand that flails dangerously close to my face.
“By all means! Anything for my two besties!”
Kira and I stare at each other for a second, silently debating who will be the one to ask her. I finally step up, since Kira
broke the ice and all.
“We were just wondering... why ? You know, the whole Fiji thing... We’re just...”
I trail off, and Kira swoops in.
“We’re concerned, is all,” she says. “You don’t really like people in your space. Are you sure a rental property is gonna
work out?”
“And the farm,” I add. “I didn’t know you... knew how to grow things?”
That sounds bad. Redirect, quick.
“But mostly, we’re worried about the money, right?” I say, shooting Kira a quick save me glance.
“Yes, the money,” she agrees. “If you delete your social media accounts, then you won’t have any income from sponsors or ads,
right? Do you have a job lined up in Fiji already?”
The last bit had a pleading, hopeful edge. Naive hope. Skylar leans in close, waggling her eyebrows conspiratorially.
“You wanna know?” she says.
We both nod, eyes wide, barely breathing.
“Well...” Skylar says, then snorts and bursts into half-drunk giggles. “Too bad! It’s a surprise, remember? I’ll announce
all my grand plans at the party. Look at you two, trying to spoil all my fun.”
The words “grand plans” seem to land as badly with Kira as they do with me. Skylar winks and steps back like she’s about to
leave, and I mentally scramble for something else to add.
“Wait, though!” I shout, then lower my voice with a wince. “Have you considered just... not deleting your accounts, at
least? You don’t have to use them or anything, but they’ll still be there. Just in case, you know?”
Not that being a social media influencer is the most stable of careers, but it is a career, and her having the option open would at least help me sleep slightly better. Skylar shakes her head, though.
“Nope. Done deal. Deleting forever. Much healthier for me. Besides, with such terrible internet access at my house in Fiji,
I’d never be able to use them anyway.”
Kira seems to crumple in on herself, and I feel myself doing the same. Skylar always does this, puts up a big brick wall for
all of us to throw ourselves against while she does something she knows we won’t like. I can’t just let it go, though. I don’t
care how pathetic it makes me—if I have to just straight-up ask, I’ll ask.
“What if we asked you to stay?” I force out past the herd of elephants making a home inside my chest.
“Or begged,” Kira added. “I will beg if it’ll help.”
Skylar’s expression softens.
“My sweet friends,” she says, setting her drink on a nearby table so she can wrap both arms around our necks. “I will miss
you so, so much. I know it’ll be weird and hard. But you showed me, Nic—we can still be the closest of friends, even if we
don’t live in each other’s pockets twenty-four seven.”
My heart drops straight through the floor. Is this my fault? By leaving for grad school, I somehow gave her the idea to do this? Skylar squeezes us both one more time, then steps
back with a confident smile.
“I’m doing this. I promise, all will be revealed in time,” she says, waggling her fingers like a magician. “Until then, have
a little faith!” She raises her glass to us with a wink. “ And have fun.”
With that, she whirls around and practically floats through the crowd toward the karaoke rig. Kira and I share an anguished
look.
“I’m so sorry,” I babble. “I never imagined that me going to grad school would turn into... into... this !”
Kira shakes her head and waves down the bartender for more drinks. “It’s not your fault. She would have come up with this
plan no matter what. We’ll just have to find another way to convince her.”
I nod solemnly.
“Shenanigans?”
“Shenanigans,” she agrees. “Not gonna lie, though—I’m scared shitless. Last time she had a secret she didn’t want to tell
anyone, it was that she’d spent all her savings launching a new skin care line to promote on her socials. She closed the business
like six months later when she got bored.”
I wince at the memory. “And before that, it was her ‘mental wellness subscription service’ that she took a bunch of orders
for, then had to cancel because she had no idea what she was doing.”
“Then there’s the sheer number of unused web domains she has reserved and pays to renew each year for all her brilliant blog/website
ideas.”
“And the room in her mom’s house that’s packed with boxes of craft supplies from when she tried to start an Etsy shop.”
The fresh drinks arrive, and we both latch onto them with the fervor of parched desert travelers. In one corner of the bar,
a bright riff of ’80s synths blasts from the speakers. Throughout the bar, heads swivel to catch Marco and Grace flailing
in a semi-coordinated dance to... Billy Joel?
“Really?” Kira says, then shouts it for them both to hear. “Really, bitches?”
Their matching grins are devilish and charming as they point to Skylar, who shrugs innocently in front of the karaoke rig,
and Marco and Grace launch into the first verse in shouted unison. Guess Marco’s earlier “no karaoke” commandment has been
voided by vodka. In front of the stage, Willow and Ian lock arms and spin in a mad circle. Skylar appears beside us at the
bar and slams her drink down on the countertop, then snatches Kira’s and my drinks to do the same. Before I can blink, we’ve
both been dragged over to the karaoke corner, where Skylar plants herself between us, throws her arms up, and dances her heart
out.
And what else can I do? I slide my hands to Skylar’s waist, Kira throws her arms around Skylar’s neck, and the three of us
shout along with the chorus of “We Didn’t Start the Fire” by Billy Joel.
It’s everything I’ve missed. Skylar, warm and laughing in front of me, my hands on her body like a combustion reaction, my
friends all around me, drink, and music, and so many hours left ahead of us tonight.
Skylar tips her head back during the next verse, so it rests briefly on my shoulder.
“Welcome home, Nic Knack,” she says, just loud enough for me to hear.
I press a kiss to her temple and dance closer, a weight lifting from my chest as I meet Kira’s gaze.
We’ll stop this. It’ll take time, and we’ll have to be careful—strategic—but we’ll get her to call off this mad plan one way
or another.
And when the time is right, I’ll tell Skylar exactly why it is I’m so desperate for her to stay.