Chapter Six
Kira
A week later, I’ve consumed thousands and thousands of words and images from Skylar in the form of texts, emails with dozens
of links, elaborate vision boards, and long phone calls full of rambling thoughts about Fiji and her party.
But not. A. Word. About the plants.
Are they alive? Is she taking care of them? Is she living in a mausoleum of plant corpses? Inquiring minds must know . Grace has been making terrible hinty plant puns all week since I told her about our “gifts,” but Skylar refuses to bite.
I never thought serene calm could be so infuriating.
Our next opportunity has presented itself, though: party planning appointments. And by party, I mean a low-key wedding-reception-sized
extravaganza with all the Skylar levels of extra. I’m pretty sure Skylar lives on Pinterest now, which I didn’t even know
people still used, and Nic and I are the unwilling recipients of her efforts. Are we her maids of honor or something? Are
we really gonna have to plan pseudo-bachelorette and bridal parties for this not-a-wedding? It sure feels like it.
The good thing about this whole mess is that it provides so many perfect opportunities for Skylar to realize how totally bananas
this plan of hers is. And that we need each other. And that this friend group she has here is golden, and leaving it is giving
up something precious. I might be oversensitive on this particular point, considering the contrast between my life pre- and
post-Skylar, but the fact remains. Today we have the opportunity to feel out where Skylar’s head is at money-wise and make
her see how ridiculous spending thousands of dollars on a fake wedding and leaving your best friends would be.
It is once again the beginning of my forty-eight hours off after a twenty-four-hour shift, and this time, everyone let me
sleep like smart humans with developed senses of self-preservation. Skylar, Nic, and I have plans this afternoon to go meet
with the manager of her chosen party venue and talk details, and Nic is taking a half day off work for it.
I manage to squeeze in two hours of schoolwork beforehand, slogging my way through a paper on managing officers through community
crises. I can outline a paper in my sleep, but doing the actual writing is like climbing to the top of a fifty-story building
in full bunker gear. I can do it, but it takes forever, and I kinda wanna die by the end.
This is an important topic, though. This certificate will be the perfect addition to my application for lieutenant, demonstrating
the level of thought I’ve put into leadership strategies and showing that I’m so committed to firefighting, I’m continuing
my professional development on my own time. My instructor seems to think I’m plenty worthy of promotion, though she also knows
exactly what it’s like to try to make it in this field when you’re not a cis white dude and might just be trying to help a
girl out. She’s offered several times to introduce me to folks in other fire organizations, to get me in the door somewhere
that will “appreciate my talents.”
Look, I know I’m getting completely stonewalled in Seattle, but I just can’t give up that easily. They can’t pretend I’m invisible
forever. My dad was fire chief here, and I’m trying to uphold his legacy, even though the people who hated him are in charge
these days. Even though he never saw me, either.
Even though he never wanted me to be a firefighter at all.
I have so much to contribute, though, in so many areas where this department is weak. As a woman, I feel like I have a perspective
to offer that isn’t heard much in the firefighting world, especially when it comes to community relations, inclusive management
strategies, and bringing different personalities together. There are some outstanding women in leadership already in the SFD,
but not enough. I want to be one of them.
And now it sounds like I’m conducting a job interview in my own head. Maybe it’s time to stop for the day.
I shut my laptop and stand with a stretch, already flipping through my mental catalog of outfits. It’s a rare seventy-seven-degree
sunny day outside, and I plan to take full advantage. Everyone in Seattle will be as naked as possible today, soaking up the
sun and warmth while it’s available. Summer doesn’t really start until July 5 here (we can still get “spring showers” to rain
out the fireworks every year), so I may as well take full advantage of this little sneak preview: shorts and a halter top.
Nic seemed to really like that purple one I wore on the day we met at the bar, and I have a bright blue one just like it.
Maybe that.
Not that it matters what Nic thinks of what I’m wearing.
I deliberately get ready with minimal preening—I’ve already said no to that particular line of interest—and leave the house
without looking in a mirror for longer than it takes to apply some SPF and get my eyeliner done. I give my beloved Toyonda
Civry a break and decide to walk to the venue. It’s only thirty minutes away on foot, and it’d take me almost that long on
the bus anyway, so I may as well indulge myself in the sun. I put on an audiobook, slip on my sunglasses, and set off in bliss.
My phone buzzes with a text the second I hit the street:
Skylar: Gonna be a few minutes late, last appointment ran long! Nic Knack should be there on time, though. I’m sure you can entertain
each other.
Skylar: Be there ASAP!
Sure enough, when I turn the final corner, there’s Nic, still in her business casual from work, but with her eyes closed and
face turned up to the sky like a sunflower. Her hands are shoved in the pockets of her black slacks, and her fitted gray button-down
shirt is doing the boob gap thing that keeps me from ever buying shirts with buttons. So obnoxious, but in this case, it affords
me a glimpse of the bright pop of color under Nic’s shirt. Wouldn’t have pegged her as the bright-yellow-bra type, but maybe
she too, was feeling sunny today. I allow myself one indulgent sweeping gaze, from the not-so-professional sneakers peeking
out from her too-long pants to the layered waves of hair she’s currently battling with. Just as she gets a hair tie around
it, she finally spots me, jumping in surprise.
“Sorry,” I call, hoping she didn’t notice my creepy staring. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
Messy ponytail in place, she waves the comment away and shoves her hands back in her pockets.
“No, no, sorry, I was just zoned out. It’s so nice today! It’s not that I forgot what Seattle was like while I was gone, I
just let myself get more used to Maryland than I thought. I kept telling myself while I was there, ‘Don’t enjoy it too much.
After graduation, it’s back to perma-clouds and daily drizzle.’”
I lean against the wall next to her, watching the people across the street rush past, out of work early to enjoy the weather
or dashing out for an afternoon coffee break. The traffic is approaching peak sunny-day disaster level, and I’m so glad I
left my car at home.
“I’ve lived here my whole life,” I say, not sure why I’m offering this information. I guess if she’s back for good, though,
and solidly part of the group, then I should try to get to know her better. “My mom lives near Vancouver now, and I visit
her as often as I can, but the weather isn’t all that different there.”
Really, we’re talking about the weather? That’s my get-to-know-you plan? Though to be fair, that’s all anyone here wants to
talk about on days like this. Nic doesn’t call me on it, just turns sincere eyes on me and dives straight for the vulnerable
point.
“So, your parents are divorced?” she asks, then winces. “Sorry, god, you don’t have to answer that, I’m terrible.”
“No, it’s okay.” I tug at the hem of my shorts and work past the initial surge of emotion. I want to make friends. Making
real friends requires vulnerability. I’m not great at that. Brené Brown would be very disappointed in me. I’m better than
I was, though; being friends with Skylar has done a lot for me in that department. I take a breath and force the words out.
“My dad passed away while I was in college. My mom moved to help out my grandmother soon after it happened.”
“Wow,” Nic says, shuffling closer. “Wasn’t that... It must have been hard, being kind of alone after that.”
“I don’t blame her, if that’s what you think,” I say, then bite back the instant flood of feelings. Honestly, I had blamed her a bit, afterward. But I understood, too. At least the loneliness got better after Skylar adopted me into her friend
family.
Once I get my reaction under control, I continue. “Dad was fire chief here. He climbed his way up through the ranks, spent
his whole career working for SFD. Everyone knew him. And you’d think that’d be a comfort, but for my mom, it wasn’t. She couldn’t
take being in the place they’d lived their whole lives together, with people stopping her on the street every time she left
the house to give their condolences.”
“Did he... pass away on the job?” she asks tentatively.
“Not exactly,” I say, swallowing hard. “Heart attack. It was probably the stress that killed him, ultimately. His time as
fire chief was not easy. He had a lot of enemies. A lot of people who made his time hell.”
“Do they make your time hell too?”
And isn’t that just the ultimate sticking point? She zeroed in quick.
“Yes. I’ve been fighting for a promotion for years, but the same people who tried to keep him down are succeeding with me
where they failed with him. His biggest obstacle was history. For me, I’ve got the history, the boobs, and the bisexuality. I’m a triple threat.”
Nic barks a laugh, then slaps her hands over her mouth with an expression of pure horror. “Oh my god, I’m sorry. That wasn’t
actually funny, just the way you said it...”
I pry her hands away from her mouth with a grin, grateful to have some levity injected into the conversation. “Hey, it’s fine.
I know I’m hilarious. You don’t have to apologize.”
She blushes and looks away. “That sucks, though, on so many levels. I’m sorry to hear about your dad, and about the way you’re
being treated.”
I shrug, as if this isn’t a huge defining part of my life that I’m constantly battling against. “Some of it is just regular
run-of-the-mill politics stuff, too. They didn’t agree with some of my dad’s policies, and they think I’m just like him. They
don’t want me in any position where I could make things happen. They have no idea. though. They thought my dad was a progressive upstart too focused on changing everything? I’d be their actual definition of hell.”
“I dunno, sounds like you’re exactly what we need,” Nic says, her expression serious. “I haven’t known you long, but I already
think you’d be an amazing fire chief.”
My heart does a funny little leaping dance at that, and I have to look away. She is off-limits, no matter what opinion my
clitoris may have on the matter. Her sincerity is totally disarming, though. I feel like she really means it.
“Thank you,” I say to my sandals. “I have a long way to go before then, though. I’m overdue for promotion to lieutenant, considering I’ve been working for the SFD since I
graduated from high school. I’m applying again really soon, and if I get passed over again... I don’t know.”
My lips press tight, trying to contain the last thing, the thing I hate to admit out loud, but I’ve said so much already.
The pressure valve bursts.
“My dad didn’t even want me to be a firefighter. Especially not one in Seattle. He knew this would happen to me, that I’d
never make it in this department. So, I don’t even know what I’m doing here. Do I stay here and keep banging my head against
the wall, putting off real dating and family and life stuff I want for myself while busting my ass to make it out of some
sense of loyalty, or legacy, or... pure stubbornness, maybe? Or do I go somewhere else and have to completely start over
in a place where I have no ties to anything?”
Nic hides her expression for a moment, then smooths the loose hair away from her face and looks back up. “I know a bit about
that, too. Maybe once this whole Skylar Fiji thing is over, one way or another, I’ll tell you about it.”
“I’d like that,” I say, and it feels... true. I want to know more. I want to know everything about this girl who wears
sneakers with her slacks, who burns things for a living and has the Super Mario Bros. theme as her ringtone. This girl who ran away from the city she called her adopted home, then showed back up and was instantly
folded into the group like she never left. They all love so deeply but have a hard time putting it into words. With Skylar,
everyone is instantly full of praise for her energy, her excitement for life, her empathy and compassion. With Nic, everyone
is like... she’s Nic. And that’s all they need. I’m pretty sure Grace would literally kill a man for her. She’s as much
a central figure in this friend group as Skylar is, despite her two-year absence, and I’m not sure she even knows it. The
air between us grows heavy, and I open my mouth to say some part of this, any of it... but of Skylar’s many wonderful qualities,
good timing is not one of them.
“I’m so sorry I’m late!” she says, bursting in on the moment like a confused bird through an open window, feathers flying everywhere. “My
last patient was having a really tough day today, and I had to tell them I was leaving at the end of the summer, which was
really hard. I know it’s just volunteer work, but I’ve known some of these clients for years, and I’m working to place them
with new counselors that I’m hand-picking based on their specialties, but it doesn’t make it any easier on them, and I’m totally rambling . Let’s just go inside and get started!”
Skylar turns and darts up the stairs to 10 Degrees, her chosen venue, letting the door bang closed behind her. Nic and I turn
to each other, blink, and bust out laughing, leaning against each other as we follow Hurricane Skylar inside.
10 Degrees is a fabulous small venue attached to a distillery, which, hello, bonus. The people there are super friendly and
obviously share Skylar’s enthusiasm for party planning. We’re escorted to a round high-top bar table that looks hand-finished
and are soon joined by a guy in thick black-framed glasses, an incredibly expensive button-down shirt, and a tie with some
kind of repeating pattern I can’t make out. He introduces himself as Silas, Skylar gets his entire life story out of him within
two minutes because that’s just how she is, and Nic and I sit back and let them ramble on while we exchange significant looks
and raised eyebrows. After a bit, Nic texts me under the table.
Nic: I think it’s time we added some gasoline to this fire, yes?
Kira: Oh yes. Let’s make this ridiculous.
Nic: Round Two: Fight!
“So, Skylar,” I say, breaking my way into the conversation. “I love that you’re incorporating the distillery next door for
drinks, and obviously the open bar is an expensive but fabulous idea. But what about a theme drink to commemorate the occasion?”
Nic picks up on my train of thought right away. “Oh my god, yes. You can call it The Solo, and it’s literally just straight
whiskey in a glass, to symbolize the bold journey you’re striking out on all on your own .”
Damn, brutal , but also, I’m biting my lip to keep from laughing at the expression on Silas’s face. He’s just sitting there with his mouth
half-open, brows drawn together, looking back and forth between Nic and Skylar, like he’s not sure whether he should be supporting
this or not. Skylar takes it from there, because of course she does.
“YES!” she shouts, startling the poor guy so badly he sloshes a dribble of the house-made whiskey over his tie, which I can
now see is patterned with little white goats. “I love that so much! Everyone will totally laugh! Though it could be dangerous for Ian. Nic, you’ll be on Ian duty that night.”
“Ma’am, yes, ma’am,” Nic says with a salute and much less enthusiasm. Not even a bump in the road. Skylar rolls on, detailing
the colors of balloons she’s envisioning for the balloon garland that apparently comes with the package, and the placement
of all the potted plants we got her. She must be confident they’ll all be alive by August.
When they start talking about the super hipster photo booth included in their fee, though, I get my next idea.
“Oh, Skylar! You should get a solo photo shoot done. I mean, if you’re really going hard at this like it’s a wedding, you
may as well take engagement photos. Give everyone something to remember you by once you’re gone, right?”
The word gone lands hard, just like I’d planned, and Nic grabs the ball and runs with it.
“There is so much potential here,” she says, reaching across the table to take Skylar’s hand. “You love posing for photos,
and I can already imagine the perfect backdrop. We’ll rent you a U-Haul ,” she adds with an evil grin. “Seriously, it’s a double bonus. It represents the fact that you’re moving away from all of
us—though I don’t recommend trying to drive a moving truck to Fiji— and you can also fully embrace the U-Haul lesbian stereotype, minus the actual girlfriend, immortalized in photography! I know
it’ll probably cost a lot, but I’m guessing you’ve paid off your student loans if you’re spending all this money on a party
and doing this huge move and still have startup capital for your farm. It’ll be a fabulous addition.”
It’s all conveyed with such perfect chipper nonchalance that I almost don’t process the details. It lands softer than it should
with those facts on the table, but the delivery doesn’t change the words themselves. Skylar’s eyebrow twitches. Then she laughs,
a full head-thrown-back belly laugh that makes poor Silas jump again, so badly he nearly launches himself out of his chair.
“I am so glad I have you two around,” Skylar says with a giggle, wiping her eyes. Nic and I freeze and lock eyes. Is that... what
it sounds like? Is she seeing the problems? Is this all it will take, and we can finally return to real life? Skylar giggles
one more time, then throws an arm around Nic and pulls her into a tight side hug. Nic blushes and looks up at me with hopeful
eyes.
Then Skylar opens her mouth.
“You two just know me so well. Yes, I love this idea. We are doing it, it’s happening, done! Do you know a photographer?”
she says, addressing the last part to the party planner guy.
Well, so much for that. They chat back and forth about local photographers for several eternal minutes while Nic and I exchange
panicked texts under the table.
Nic: Okay, I’m running out of ideas here. How is she just throwing money at all these things? Does she even have a budget?
Kira: I swear, last time we talked money crap she was still complaining about her huge student loan payments. What is happening???
Nic: Any last ideas to shove at Skylar?
I lean back in my chair and rack my brain for something— anything —that could be outlandish enough to trip up even Skylar. When party guy mentions cake, I finally get there.
“Okay, this is totally nuts,” I say, hoping the preamble will help Skylar realize that yes, this really is totally nuts and you should not say yes . “But hear me out. One of the guys at the firehouse recently got married, and he and his wife got—are you ready for this?—3D
scans of their entire bodies so they could be turned into custom cake toppers. They looked so good, but it cost like seven
hundred dollars just for a cake topper . Can you believe it?”
“Um, yes , I can believe it,” Skylar says, slapping her hand down on the table. “Because it’s sheer genius! I’m doing it. Get me the
number of whoever did that, because this is now a requirement.”
“And,” Nic adds weakly, with a last-ditch pathetic attempt to nudge Skylar over the edge, “you could wear your ultimate power
suit for your pose, to represent the successful career you’ve had here before you leave it behind. Whatever your favorite
work outfit is.”
Skylar tapped her lip with one finger and a hmm . “Maybe. It’s a nice gesture. I’ve totally loved my career, as short and unusual as it’s been.”
Short, my ass. Yeah, okay, technically she’s only been a licensed therapist for two years, but it should have been even less
than that. She finished her undergrad degree in three years and went straight into her PhD at the same college, found an internship
to complete her clinical hours with no problem, and passed the national board exam on her first try. It was hard not to be
annoyed when I first learned all that. And then , instead of getting a nice, stable, lucrative job as a practicing counselor, she went full-time with her social media psychologist
thing after graduation and just did pro bono work on the side. Unbelievable.
I love my friend dearly. I will never understand her choices.
“That said, though,” Skylar continues, “I think I might want to be immortalized atop a cake wearing something that represents
me as a whole person, not just my career. You know?”
I shoot Nic a pleading look, but she just shrugs helplessly.
“Yeah,” I say. “I get that.”
This whole thing is like a snowball rolling downhill, gathering speed and mass and destined to crush someone. If Skylar just
keeps agreeing to things, the cost of this party will go up and up and up, and we’re trying to make things better for her, not be the source of her inevitable financial ruin. I really thought something in this meeting would trip her up, that it would be easier than this. From the look on Nic’s face, she’s thinking the same
thing.
I meet Nic’s gaze one more time and shake my head, with a gesture like striking an item off a list.
Scratch this plan, I guess.
Obviously, more drastic measures are needed.