Chapter Twenty-Two
Kira
The Toyonda Civry finally gave up the ghost at the worst possible time, of course. I was nursing a broken heart, in a rut
at work, and deeply exhausted , so it was almost anticlimactic when it finally blew a head gasket and stranded me (at the DMV, of all places) earlier this
morning. Renewing my Washington State driver’s license felt like an almost defiant act at the time—I’m not leaving, I’m not —so it felt like punishment for my hubris when I got a repair estimate higher than a down payment on a new car would be. Figures.
As a result, I’m riding in the passenger seat of Grace’s car, on the way to the firehouse, when a notification pops on my
phone with a headline:
SEATTLE INFLUENCER TO ABANDON ALL ACCOUNTS, START FARM IN FIJI
Internet relationship counselor Skylar Clark is reportedly fleeing the country
“Oh, shit,” I say, eyes wide. “Pull over. We’re close enough to the station. Here’s fine. You gotta read this.”
Grace yanks the wheel to the right way too quickly, parallel parking around the corner from the fire station, then practically
crawls into my seat.
“This is a straight-up media massacre,” she says, reading over my shoulder as I skim the article on a trashy Seattle gossip
website. One of many articles, I’m now seeing.I nod, lips pursed in sympathy.
“A true roasting. I never expected it to be this bad. They sure know how to take something innocuous and make it sound sinister.”
“Right?” Grace says. “‘Fleeing the country,’ they say, as if she’s some kind of fugitive criminal on the run from the law.”
The source of the rumor is someone who claims to have overheard us at the club on Friday night, though why it’s only now hitting
on Monday, I can’t say. I don’t know how someone managed to lurk close enough to hear us, but they have the basic details
correct, down to Skylar’s plans to farm taro and run a vacation rental property.
“Sounds like self-indulgent privileged millennial bullshit to me,” the anonymous source is quoted as saying.
“People are so quick to run their mouths when they feel anonymous,” Grace says, shaking her head. “They know I’d teleport
in and punch them in the throat if I found out who they were.”
The story has been picked up by every local culture and lifestyle outlet, from blogs to podcasts to the back page of an actual
real-life newspaper, with varying levels of viciousness. How is this news ? Must be a slow week.
My phone buzzes, and a notification pops up: @DoctorSky is going live!
“Oh, here we go,” I say, tapping the notification. I have to be at the station for a 5:00 p.m. meeting in twenty minutes,
but we’re here plenty early, and I, at least, want to see what Skylar’s strategy is going to be. My phone fills with the image
of Skylar curled up on the bed in her childhood room, attempting to look like she just woke up, but in a way I know means
she’s already brushed her hair, washed her face, and changed into something “cozy yet accessible—that’s the vibe, Kira.”
“Hey, Skylings. I wanted to post a quick video here so you can get the truth straight from me before wild speculation completely
takes over the narrative. And of course, I owe you all an apology.”
Grace clutches my arm so tight that her nails dig into my biceps. “Oh my god, she’s doing an Internet Apology Video. This
is wild. I’m so excited right now.”
Skylar smiles on the screen, so sweet and sincere that it’s impossible not to forgive her. “This isn’t how I wanted you to
find out about my plans, obviously, and I’m genuinely sorry for the way this news has gotten out.”
“The apology that isn’t really an apology, check,” Grace murmurs, holding up a finger for one point .
“I actually had a whole big announcement video recorded and scheduled for next week!” Skylar continues. “But so it goes. One
of the best skills you can cultivate in life is adaptability, and through it, resiliency.”
“Slipping in a little counselor speak there. Nice,” Grace says, ticking off another point.
Skylar shrugs on the screen with a helpless little grin as if to say, What can you do?
“So, to make sure things are absolutely clear, I’ll tell you which of the wild rumors flying around right now are true. Number
one: yes, I was planning to delete all my social media accounts in the near future. Since then, however, I’ve talked things over with a few
friends and have instead decided to leave my accounts up as an archive. One thing remains the same, though: I won’t be here
anymore, and I won’t have access to my accounts. All my old posts will remain available as a mental health resource, but I
will no longer be creating new content or responding to messages and comments.”
Her smile turns wry, somehow managing to make it feel like every one of her hundreds of thousands of followers is in on a
joke.
“Now, let’s talk about this Farmer Skylar business. Come on, folks. I have more solid plans than ‘run halfway across the world
and start a farm.’ I can’t tell you what they are yet , but I will soon. That’s not a tease, I promise. There’s just one thing that hasn’t been announced publicly yet, and I can’t
tell you about it until it is. For now, just know: yes, I’m gonna play around with learning to grow taro and rent out my house
whenever I’m not using it, but that’s just for fun on the side. I have one big reason for going... and it’s a really good one, too. Not ‘good’ as in like, ‘oooh, it’s a juicy secret’ and I’m teasing
you about it. Good as in... joyful. And important. Yeah, I’m really happy about this.”
The live reaction chat is a flood of speculation.
She’s totally marrying someone and moving to Fiji to be with her. Remember when she said she was “off the market?”
She’s joined some kind of exclusive influencer cult where they lay around on the beach all day and sell skin care products
right???
#SkylarsSecret is that she’s a tool
Maybe it’s a commune and she’s doing one of those digital detox cleanse things?
“I’m literally watching her follower count skyrocket,” Grace says, constantly reloading Skylar’s socials on her own phone
to watch the numbers change. “If I didn’t know for sure that Skylar is following through on all of this, I’d say it was a
brilliant PR stunt.”
As if replying directly to Grace, Skylar continues.
“I know some of you will believe this is a stunt for attention or something, which is okay. Time will show my sincerity, and
I can endure a week of the inevitable harassment until then. As always, I ask that all of you be kind to each other in the
comment sections, even as things get complicated and hard. This community has always been a space for productive dialogue
and healing, and I hope we can keep it that way throughout this final week. I’ll have some content coming in a day or two
on parasocial relationships and some recommendations for other counselors I trust and vouch for, who you can follow for all
your relationship advice needs.”
Skylar yanks her artfully slouching sweater back up over her shoulder and blows her viewers a kiss.
“And of course, I do still have that one last secret... and it’s one I hope will give everyone something to think about.
Hopefully you’ll all allow me this one indulgence while I get everything in order for my big move. Don’t worry, my dearest
Skylings. You’ll hear the rest very, very soon.”
The livestream ends, and the silence in the aftermath feels echoing and strange.
Well, I guess there’s no shoving this feral cat back in the bag. It’s out there now, and that makes it more real than ever.
It’s happening, publicly confessed and everything. Skylar is leaving. And now Nic is, too.
Without the distraction of the livestream, reality comes slipping back in. I fought with Nic. She doesn’t want to be with
me. She’s leaving and we’re over. Skylar’s mad about the whole thing and basically said “go fix it before the party.” Then
she’s leaving. And now, the car my dad gave me is dead and gone. Just like he is.
And who knows, my career might be dead, too.
“Hey, you look like you went to a bad place,” Grace says, poking me in the arm. “Go, do your meeting thing, and then let’s
get dinner. My treat. I’ll be right up the street at the library until you’re done, okay?”
“Okay. Thanks, Grace. You’re the best.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” she says with a wink.
I steel myself with a deep breath, then climb out of the car, shoulders back and eyes forward.
Being called into the chief’s office on my day off would be worrying any time. Today, when I’m dragging a broken heart around
like a lead weight around my neck, I feel like I’m walking toward my own execution.
I have no idea what this meeting could be about. Did I screw something up? Are they afraid I’m going to sue the department because
I got passed over for the promotion again , and there’s going to be some kind of “we swear it’s not about gender” mediator there to talk me down? If so, they’ve way
overestimated my energy. I am tired , down to my bones and soul. All I want right now is to grab food with Grace and get through Skylar’s goodbye party with my
dignity intact, then take a few days to go visit my mom in Vancouver. She’ll fuss over me, get angry on my behalf, tell me
all about whatever new miracle curly hair care products she’s discovered, and take me on a tour of every single public art
project I’ve already seen.
It’s exactly what I need right now.
I walk through the door to the station with ten minutes to spare—early as always—so I take some time to give my locker a good
clean and scroll through my social feeds while lounging on my bunk. It only takes two swipes for photos of Friday night to
pop up, posted by Marco, Grace, Ian, and Skylar. They’re pre-fight photos, of course, so Nic and I are glued to each other’s
sides in the group photo, grinning at the camera. I perfectly remember the feel of her pressing into me, the heat bleeding
through my dress... I shove it all away. No point in wallowing. I give Skylar’s accounts a quick glance—yep, completely
on fire—then make my way to the chief’s office now that it’s acceptably early instead of annoyingly early .
I stop outside his office door and close my eyes, centering myself. Finding that calm, resilient place in me that can withstand
whatever they throw at me. My father’s ghost whispers in my ear, his words from the years before his death running on constant
replay: “Don’t be a firefighter, Kira. They’ll never let you make it. There’s no point in you doing this. Why are you doing
this?”
And, the coup de grace, the thing he never said while he was alive, but for sure would if he were still here today: “Why do
you keep trying? They’ve made it obvious enough that you’re never going to get ahead here. Just give up and move on with your
life.”
I loved my father, but his words always hurt me way more than any challenge I faced at work. If he’d believed in me, would
I be a better firefighter than I am today? Would I be good enough?
I lift my fist and knock just under the name plate: Kip Barnes, Battalion Chief. When the chief calls for me to come in, I
turn the knob and walk in with my head held high, my father’s voice in my ear the whole way.
“Have a seat, McKinney,” Chief says.
This is looking worse by the minute. His face is serious and sympathetic, and sure enough, there’s the mediator from the city
office. What is this?
The mediator, a white lady with lightly curling hair the same shade of blond as Skylar’s, gives me a serene smile and holds
out her hands.
“I’m Anna Markland, and I work in human resources for the City of Seattle. I’m just here to answer any questions you may have
and facilitate any discussion that arises.”
I feel the hot rush behind my eyes but fight to keep it back. I will not cry. I will not . Not even when I’m apparently being fired for no reason from the job I’ve given everything to since I was eighteen years old. I take a slow, calming breath in through my nose, then
pull myself together.
“Nice to meet you, Anna. Chief, what’s this about?”
He lifts a pen from his desk, shiny and red like our vehicles, and fiddles with it for a moment before he realizes what he’s
doing and lays it back down.
“McKinney, a transfer request has come down from the ops chief. They want to move you to Station 37. I’m approving the transfer,
effective September 1.”
I blink, stunned on so many levels I can’t even process. I’m not being fired, it seems, which is good. But I’m being transferred
to a fire station all the way across the city, as far from this station and my apartment as you can get. And even worse...
“Isn’t Higgs the chief over there?” I ask.
Chief grimaces, because he knows exactly what I’m getting at. “Yes, he is.”
Great. Higgs hated my father. They butted heads for fifteen years, and when my dad made assistant fire chief of operations, it was all-out war.
This is a punishment. Or an attempt to run me off. Possibly both.
“And do you know why that station specifically, when I’ve been serving this neighborhood for almost ten years?”
Mediator lady Anne opens her mouth to say something soothing, but the chief speaks up first.
“The ops chief did not share his reasons with me. I know it’s a big shift, and you’ll probably want to move across town to
be closer to your new station.”
I close my eyes against the stab of pain the thought provokes. I’ve lived in this neighborhood my whole life. It means something
to me, to be here. Maybe too much. I think back to the tarot reading, to that figure on the Ten of Swords, run through and
bleeding out. Maybe it is time for a change.
Just not the kind of change they’re looking for.
“We hate to lose you here, McKinney. You’re a good firefighter and a well-respected leader.”
I snort, and both the chief and Anna from HR tense, like they expect me to shout at them, or throw things, or get violent.
Instead, I stand and hold out my hand to the chief.
“It’s been a pleasure working with you, sir. I know this area better than anyone else currently on staff, and I’m sorry that
I can’t continue to serve the neighborhood I grew up in. But I’ll give my all to my new station. I look forward to meeting
my new colleagues.”
That is some of the fakest bullshit I’ve ever spoken, but one lesson I learned from my dad early on is to never burn your
bridges, no matter how desperate you are to reach for the lighter fluid, strike a match, and watch everything crumble to ash.
Today’s enemy might be tomorrow’s colleague or job reference. I want to crawl across this desk and scream in his face, tell
him what a shitty job he does running this station and all the ways I would improve it if I had his job. I want to tell him
he’s making the biggest mistake of his career, denying me promotions, letting me go to another station. I want to say it all.
I don’t say a word.
I turn to leave, but the chief’s last-ditch effort at smoothing things over gives me pause.
“McKinney, this new station... it looks like there’ll be a lieutenant posting opening up soon, and more after that, plus
lots of young green recruits who could benefit from your experience. It’s a good posting, with room for advancement, and you
might have better chances—”
Bridges be damned, I can’t listen to this.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I say, cutting him off.
His mouth tightens. Then he nods.
Asshole.
Despite all the pleasant talk, I know he’s one of the people who’s been keeping me down. I know his history in the service.
I see him being all buddy-buddy with the male firefighters, and with the folks higher up in the service who hated my dad.
He’s never wanted me to have a permanent place here. Now, through some backdoor deal with the ops chief, he got his wish.
It’s no matter. I’ll put in my resignation letter first thing tomorrow morning.
There’s no point in staying here any longer.
I turn, march out the door with my head held high, and make it all the way back to Grace’s car before I break into wracking
sobs.
Now this is over, too.
I’ve lost the thing that mattered most to me in this world, the thing that I’ve arranged my entire life around—that I wanted
more than anything.
The thing that lost me Nic.
If I’d just agreed to go with her, I could have left this department on my own terms and had her. Well, maybe. In hindsight, I’m not sure her offer was sincere anyway. She doesn’t seem to know what she wants, and I refuse to be an afterthought.
I fill Grace in on everything once my sobs die down. After a fierce hug and much swearing, she drops me back at our apartment
with a promise to return with the good mochi and a bubble tea. I wash my face, then stare at myself in the mirror, picturing
that Ten of Swords card once again.
“There’s nowhere to go but up when you’ve got ten swords in your back , ” Gabe said.
With my tears dried, a strange lightness fills my body. It’s a little like taking off all my gear after a fire call, the absence
of all that weight, the feel of the cool air on my skin, sweat evaporating. Every day has been another battle, a constant
struggle, pushing, pushing...
I’m not going to push anymore.
I’ve gotten a definitive sign that my path forward is not with this fire department. And since Skylar is leaving, and I’ve
burned things to the ground with Nic... I’m completely free. I can forge a new path. I have so many options available to
me, and nothing stopping me from choosing any of them.
I do a few jumping jacks to get the excess tension out of my body, then sit down at my computer and search for that email
from my FEMA instructor. She offered me mentorship and guidance in finding a new department where I’d be welcomed, and it’s
past time I took her up on it. If they can’t see me here in Seattle, can’t see what I’m worth, then they don’t deserve me.
I’ll go somewhere I’ll be valued, where I can do good work and make the kind of real change I’ve always dreamed of. And if
I have to leave Seattle, the place I’ve lived all my life, to make that happen? Well, so it goes. Everything here is a disaster
anyway.
I’ll go to Skylar’s party. I’ll get through it without making a scene with Nic. I’ll watch the girl I fell in love with run
away to grad school again.
And when it’s all over, I’ll be okay. I’ll do what Skylar’s doing and go pursue my dream somewhere far away. I’ll have a new
direction and new opportunities. I’m strong enough to handle this, and brave enough to make it happen.
For the first time in a long time, I feel... hopeful.
There are so many good things on the horizon.