Chapter Fifteen
Kira
I sleep through most of the first full day of Nic living in my apartment.
I don’t mean to. I fully intended to be a better host, help her get settled in instead of leaving her to Grace’s tender mercies.
But fuck, that shift was brutal.
We were at the site of the apartment fire for hours, and when we got back, there was paperwork, reorganizing gear... and
another call, this time for a motor vehicle accident. I got zero sleep.
And so, after being awake for twenty-four hours... I crashed. Then I woke up, showered again because I still felt gross,
chugged a smoothie, and then forced myself to stay awake in a zombified state so I could get back on a normal schedule. I
interacted with Nic in some minimal way that was mostly muttering and watching some random show I didn’t retain any memory
of, but the whole experience is foggy. Needless to say, I went to bed early.
Not every shift is like that. The extended recovery was warranted. But still, the timing sucked.
I make up for it the next day by offering to go with Nic when her apartment building is cleared for residents to return (By
appointment only! With escort only!) to recover belongings before the repairs begin. The landlord provides us with masks to
help with the smoke smell and walks us along an approved, structurally sound path to Nic’s door, then leaves us standing in
silence in the open doorway with a box of supplies. Flashlights, since the electricity is shut off, gloves, industrial garbage
bags, cleaning supplies, and extra masks, all sitting on top of a pile of folded-up moving boxes.
Everything looks okay. This part of the building didn’t burn, which is the only reason we were able to come back. But I know
that looks are deceiving after a fire, and most of this stuff will either be garbage or need professional cleaning. Luckily
there’s no water damage here, but the smoke, combined with two days of no air conditioning, will have everything porous smelling
pretty nasty.
“Have you called your insurance company yet?” I ask, mentally cataloging everything in sight. “They may be willing to pay
for smoke remediation for your clothing and furniture. There are companies that specialize in all that.”
“Uh...” she says, trailing off. Uh-oh.
“Please tell me you have renter’s insurance,” I say, turning to her with wide eyes.
“Well...” She winces. “I haven’t exactly gotten around to it yet? I didn’t know my unit number when I first moved, and
things have been so chaotic since I got back in town, and renting an apartment by myself is so expensive, I didn’t think I
could really afford it...”
I cover my face with both hands and sigh inside my mask.
“Well, this sucks a lot more for you, then,” I say, closing the apartment door behind us. “Most of this stuff will be trash.”
Nic sighs heavily.
“I mean, I knew, but I guess I was hoping that the smoke wouldn’t have penetrated so deeply this far from the fire. I, of
all people, should have known better, though. I’m so sorry, Planet Earth,” she says miserably, shaking open a trash bag. “Because
I decided to be a cheapass, all this is heading for a landfill. Do you think anything can be salvaged?”
I grimace. “I guess let’s dive in and find out.”
The answer is... no, not really. Everything reeks of smoke. All Nic’s books are discolored and stinky, her wooden furniture
is unusable without complete refinishing, and her thrifted couch is no longer suitable for even a thrift store. You’d think
plastic and metal would be safe, but that’s extremely not true; most plastic is super porous, and without immediate cleaning,
many metals corrode after smoke exposure. All Nic’s kitchen utensils and plastic containers go, along with any pots and pans
that weren’t buried deep in the cabinets. Food, medication, everything made of wood, cosmetics, soaps and hair products—all
of it goes in the big black trash bags while Nic chants apologies to the planet.
She takes pictures of a few things she wants to make sure she replaces—some favorite books, a few trinkets from favorite TV
shows and video games—but I can see how every item that gets thrown out steals a little more of the light from her eyes, makes
her shoulders creep a little closer to her ears. Once we finish the bedroom and bathroom, I grab Nic’s arm and pull her in
for a tight, silent hug break. She wraps her arms around my waist, buries her face in my shoulder, and just clings for a few
minutes. When she pulls away, her eyes are red, but she heaves a big sigh and shakes out her arms.
“Okay. Let’s keep going,” she says.
In the end, all we salvage are the mattress, three boxes, and two big trash bags: most of Nic’s candle collection (anything
in glass could be wiped down and the top layer of wax scraped off), a box of important documents that were sealed inside a
filing cabinet, some old keepsakes that were essentially ruined but too precious to throw away, and all her clothing and bedding,
which we’re hoping will be able to be washed. The mattress should be trashed too, but it’s too expensive to replace without at least trying to salvage it. As we turn to leave, Nic looks so
beaten down—hunched posture, watery eyes, and a frown that refuses to give up weighing down the corners of her mouth.
I can’t let this stand.
“Okay, let’s go. This calls for bubble tea and snacks,” I say, picking up one of the boxes and starting down the hall. “My
treat!”
When Nic doesn’t immediately follow, I turn to check on her—and there she is, standing in the middle of the hallway, staring
down at one of the boxes on her doormat. When she looks up, her eyes shine with tears.
“I’m okay,” she says.She takes a deep breath and blinks until the tears recede. “Bubble tea sounds great. I have a lot to
talk to you about, actually. Skylar updates.”
I want to push, want to say, Tell me now before I crawl out of my own skin , but she looks so heartbroken that I let it go. We have all day, and she deserves some space to process.
We make several trips to get everything into the Toyonda, which always vaguely stinks, so I don’t mind the smoky smell. Once
everything’s packed, I drive us to my favorite bubble tea place near the University of Washington campus, then lead us on
a rambling walk through campus toward Union Bay.
“Did you go here?” Nic asks as we walk. “I never saw you around. I mean, I guess there are like thirty thousand undergraduates,
so of course I didn’t.”
“No, I got my degree online so I could be a full-time firefighter at the same time,” I say. “Took me five years, but I got
there. I ended up with a degree in emergency and disaster management. For all the good it’s done me.”
“Why are they the worst ?” Nic says with a groan.
She’s silent for several long moments, her feet clearly wandering some well-traveled route on autopilot. Once we reach the
Center for Urban Horticulture, she leads me onto the winding paths through the botanical garden that borders on the wetlands
of the bay, her silence taking on that heavy sort of quality when someone has something to get off their chest. Once we’re
well into the garden, away from everyone else, Nic finally speaks.
“I didn’t tell you this yesterday because... well, you know, you’d just put out an actual dangerous fire and were exhausted
from work,” she says. “But... Skylar knows. About our scheme. She’s definitely going to Fiji, and she wants us to stop
fighting it and support her. And...”
She pauses and looks out over the water, wrestling with the words.
“This feels really weird to tell you after... you know, what happened between us the other night. But I need to start being
more honest with people. And myself.” She takes a deep breath and blows it out, thumbs rubbing rhythmically at the hem of
her shirt. “I’m in love with Skylar. Or... I guess I thought I was? Ever since freshman year of college. But after talking
to Skylar last night, I know it’s never going to happen. And... I’m not even sure now that I ever really felt that way
about her. I’m questioning everything now.”
It takes me a solid minute to shove down my riot of feelings, all my visions of dating Nic, of repeating that night we spent
together, crumbling to dust and carried out on the bay breeze. There have been so many secrets in this group lately. Our shenanigans.
Willow’s disappearances. Skylar’s plans. Marco’s brunch guy. Whatever’s been giving Ian that pinched, sad expression lately.
And now this. A secret I really didn’t want to know.
“Wow,” I finally say, sounding too flat, but it’s the best I can do. “That’s why you were so desperate to keep Skylar from
leaving. You wanted a chance to be with her.”
“I mean, all the things I said before about being worried, and about her being the center of our friend group, those were
true, too,” Nic says, yanking so hard at her shirt hem now that it stretches out of shape. “But also... yeah. I thought
I wanted her to stay so we could be together. But she thinks—no, actually, I think too, now—that I was more afraid of her
and her family forgetting about me once she wasn’t around to drag me to holiday gatherings. That I wouldn’t be part of the
family anymore. That I’d lose... everyone.”
I laugh, shaking my head as I watch a long-legged bird pick their way carefully across the marsh. “Nic, the few times I’ve
spoken to Skylar’s mom, she’s talked about youmore than Skylar’s actual blood siblings. I don’t think you have anything to
worry about.”
Nic nods. “That’s what Sky said.And she’s probably right. She usually is about this kind of stuff. But it’s hard to make
my brain believe it, you know? I’m just so used to thinking this way that it’s automatic. Default.”
Well, that’s one thing I have firsthand experience with. I know logically that there’s nothing wrong with me—or the job I’m
doing as a firefighter—that’s stopping me from getting promoted. I’ve solicited feedback from supervisors, done mock interviews,
and taken careful notes at every annual evaluation. But it doesn’t stop my brain from whispering in the quiet moments before
I fall asleep, What’s wrong with you?
“I get it,” I say, quiet as the distant tide.
After another heavy beat of silence, Nic turns to me, forcibly replacing her frown with a bright smile.
“Hey, we were supposed to be going out to cheer ourselves up, and look what I did instead. I made bubble tea sad. That’s just
wrong.”
“How do you propose we fix that?” I ask, resisting the urge to lean in closer.
Nic thinks for a second, then thrusts a finger in the air with a “Ha!”
“I have an idea,” she says. “Let’s go on a random ramble.”
“A random... ramble?”
“Yes. We’re going to head back to 15th Ave and start wandering. I’ll set a random timer on my phone. When the timer goes off,
whatever we’re standing in front of, that’s what we have to do. Sound good?”
I mean, I’m normally the type to plan out routes and read menus in advance... so yeah, this’ll probably be good for me.
Push me out of my comfort zone a bit, force me to give up a little control. Trying to control every variable in my life hasn’t
worked out all that well up until now, so what the hell? Let’s try something new.
“Okay, you’re on. Lead the way,” I say, summoning a weak smile. “Let’s see what happens.”