Chapter Twenty-Four
Kira
The decor for Skylar’s party matches the invitation boxes she sent us months ago, because of course it does. I’m sure she
had all of this perfectly envisioned even then.
Each table has a glass cylinder filled with layers of eco-friendly, compostable glitter in bands of color, surrounded by wires
of twinkle lights that make the glitter shine like fire in the late evening dark. There are tropical drinks with little umbrellas
ready to be passed around, and taro bubble tea to represent her Farmer Skylar ambitions, but inevitably, there will be a few
people who opt for Skylar’s custom cocktail for the night: The Solo, straight whiskey, just like we talked about. A giant
table holds little gift bags with a small goodbye token from Skylar for each guest, including a photo of her sweet, smiling
self in the back of a U-Haul. She actually did it.
And, adorning every spare bit of table and floor are the plants Nic and I bought for her, all perfectly healthy and ready
to be killed for real by whoever takes them home.
“I guess Skylar really does have a green thumb,” I say, leaning in close to Nic so my breath ghosts over her ear. She shivers,
her next words coming out in a jumble.
“Yeah. Green. Stuff. Good,” she babbles, leaning her head back on my shoulder to expose her neck... and giving me a perfect
view down the front of her top. Nice. I foresee a very good night in our near future.
Ian, Marco, Grace, Willow, and Skylar are all already here, chattering in a little cluster near one of the space heaters,
because even though it’s late August, it’s still Seattle. The barn doors are thrown wide open to let in the fresh night air— and the prying eyes of every passerby on the street. It worries me, considering the way Skylar’s fan base and the local media
reacted to the news of her departure, but she’s planning to livestream this whole thing anyway, so I guess privacy is a moot
point. As we approach, a flare of nerves makes me squeeze Nic’s hand tighter. We texted the group ahead of time to let them
know we were okay and everything would be good for the party... but we didn’t tell them that we’re officially together.
We wanted to save that news for in person.
Ian spots us first, followed by Willow, then the others, and the conversation falls silent, replaced by a hum of tension in
the air. I force a weak smile as Nic squeezes my hand.
“I’ve got my head out of my ass this time, folks, promise,” she says. “It’s for real now.”
To prove the point, I lean over and press a kiss to the side of Nic’s head, pulling a bright smile from her, and all the wariness
goes out of the group in an instant. In the space of a blink, we’re surrounded by our five closest friends, a giant clump
of hugging, squealing human. Skylar’s mom materializes from nowhere, joining the group and wrapping Nic in her love.
“It’s about damn time,” Grace says, the first one to break away. “I was about to concoct some kind of scheme of my own to
get you two to wake up.”
Marco lays a hand on Grace’s shoulder with a solemn, sympathetic nod. “It must have been so hard to hear them fucking under
your very own roof while knowing their incompetence with feelings. Thank you for your service.”
My cheeks go flaming red as I slap both hands over my face with a groan. Skylar’s mom—who is also Nic’s mom—just heard that.
And yet, rather than making it awkward, she laughs louder than anyone. Skylar insists on capturing the moment for posterity— and because, as part of her agreement with the bridal shop, she needs to post all our fabulous outfits to her feed before she’s
locked out of her accounts.
Through it all, Skylar looks stunning. The dress she chose for the event is not at all what I would have expected. Normally,
Skylar is all free-flowing, gauzy boho style with soft edges and a trail of fluttering fabric wherever she goes. Tonight’s
look is more structured and mature, a reflection of the Skylar she’s becoming. She wears a sleek, clean-lined sheath in purest
white, but the real eye-catching drama is at the top: an asymmetrical neckline that goes up over one shoulder, leaving one
arm bare. The other arm is encased in a full shoulder-to-wrist sleeve dotted with tiny white buttons on the forearm. A running embroidery of
flowers where the hem sweeps the floor completes the look, bringing in a touch of the old Skylar. It’s perfect, and Skylar
wears it with effortless grace.
“Okay, okay,” her mom says, shooing everyone back toward the bar once we’re done hamming for the camera. “The guests will
be arriving any minute. Skylar, are you ready for this?”
For just a second, I catch a glimpse of the version of Skylar she keeps hidden from the world—a vulnerable, nervous woman
who, for all her accomplishments, still worries she’ll never be truly competent. Then she takes a breath, brushes her hair
off her shoulders, and smiles—confident Skylar again, ready to take on the world.
“I’m ready.”
Skylar hands her phone to Marco, always her unofficial videographer when they’re out together, then waves to get everyone’s
attention.
“Excuse me, everyone! Yes, thanks, hi, I... have a few announcements I’d like to make, and I’m going to livestream them
to my social media, so I wanted to give you all a heads-up that if you aren’t comfortable being seen by hundreds of thousands
of people, you might not want to walk behind me right now!”
There’s a general chuckle, and then Skylar nods to Marco. As soon as he taps the phone, Skylar’s off.
“Good evening, everyone!” Skylar says with a wave. “I’m so glad all of you could be here with me tonight—both those in this
room right now and my dear Skylings joining via livestream. I have some news to share, some people to thank, and as I announced
yesterday, some social media accounts to lock up once we’re done.
“First things first: to my Skylings, I need to reinforce an important point that I try to reiterate as often as possible.
Social media is not reality. The version of myself I present to you is not a complete picture. The truth is this: I am both
the PhD-holding therapist you love and the somewhat messy pseudo-entrepreneur you love to hate. And underneath it all, I am
also an anxious, imperfect human terrified of failing at the things that really matter to me. All my pet projects—they’re
just experiments, something for me to hyperfixate on when my brain gets squirrely. But there’s one thing I’ve been working
on for the past two years that I’ve not told a soul about, other than my family and those directly involved.”
Skylar takes a breath and blows it out, centering herself. I feel Nic’s hand slip into mine, and she squeezes, resting her
head against my shoulder.
“I’m proud of her,” she whispers. I nod my agreement as Skylar continues.
“I’ve been collaborating with my former PhD advisor on some research that is close to my heart: the effects of climate change
on interpersonal relationships. I can finally announce that we’ve just had a paper published in the most recent Nature Human Behaviour ... and my upcoming move to Fiji is actually because I’ll be continuing that research with other psychologists from around
the world. We’ll be studying community mental health needs, centered in one of the areas that will be most impacted by climate
change in the coming years.”
Nic glances down at her phone, which is open to the livestream chat. There’s a near-constant stream of hearts and shocked
screaming face emojis, a few dickish comments about Skylar “getting political,” as if they haven’t already been following
a queer woman advocating for mental health all this time—but mostly just love. Lots and lots of it. Skylar gives a little
self-deprecating smile and shrugs.
“It’s been... hard to take myself seriously as a researcher. Even though I’ve accomplished a lot, I’ve also burned many
projects to the ground over the past few years, and I know that. But this is work that deeply matters to me, that I’ve loved
pursuing, and climate change affects us all. If nothing else, I hope you will take this as a call to learn more about the
ways climate change is affecting people’s lives in life-or-death ways right now . Not in fifty or a hundred years, not once the oceans cross a certain temperature threshold, but right now . I’ve put together a list of resources on my website, and I hope you’ll take the time to look. I owe so many thanks to my
advisors and fellow researchers, who are all cited there, and some of whom are here tonight. I appreciate all your support,
and I hope we’ll help many more people together in the coming years.”
I glance back down at Nic’s phone. The comments are scrolling almost too fast to read, but apparently, people are already
on the site, checking out the resources. At least a few fellow academics in her community are impressed, proclaiming her “the
real deal.” Good. She deserves some recognition and respect.
Skylar takes an unsteady breath and shakes out her hands to release some nerves.
“And, finally, as promised...” she begins, letting the tension hang for a beat. “Tonight, I am locking myself out of my
social media accounts. Once again, I will be leaving my old content up as an archived resource, but I will no longer have access and will not be posting anything new
going forward. I’ve asked my wonderful friend Grace, who is known for her... hmm, what’s a kind way of saying ‘bull-like
stubbornness’?”
“Steadfast and reliable!” Marco says with a wink.
“Damn right!” Grace calls up. A chuckle rumbles through the room.
“Right. My steadfast and reliable friend Grace is going to join me up here to change my passwords and delete the apps off my phone. Grace?”
Grace practically bounds up to the front, grinning her delighted shark grin. “Reporting for duty!”
Skylar gives her a quick side hug, then turns back to the live stream on her phone.
“Well, my dear Skylings, this is where I bid you adieu. Be kind to each other, take care of yourselves, go to therapy, and
as always: have compassion for yourself and for others who are nothing like you. This world is on fire, and its people need
your love—and action —now more than ever.”
Finally, with a glint of tears in her eyes, she waves.
“Goodbye, my friends.”
She blows the screen a kiss, then ends the livestream and hands the phone to Grace like it’s a hot potato. Marco stands by,
filming them both as Grace taps into the settings, changes the password, deletes the app... and then it’s done. A hundred
pounds of weight falls off Skylar’s shoulders, and her smile is enough to light up the night sky.
“It’s done!”
Then she breaks down into tears—but not of regret, or sadness even. She looks so free . We all join in, smushing her in a giant hug and getting tears all over each other. Ian smothers me from one side, Willow
from the other, Nic behind me, and Skylar in the center of it all. It’s the end of an era. The beginning of so many good things
too, of course, but this whole phase of our lives is ending. What an incredible thing that we all got to be together for this
moment. I guess Skylar knew what she was doing all along. I should’ve known.
All in all, the party is—to everyone’s surprise—a simple and beautiful affair. The evening concludes with hors d’oeuvres, more drinks, a cake that does not have a seven-hundred-dollar topper on it—Skylar was fully fucking with us by that point—and the distribution of the houseplants.
Nic and I end up with two each somehow. Punishment, probably. It’ll be embarrassing if, after all this, we can’t keep them
alive... but I suppose we’ll deserve it.
And finally, when the party winds down and it’s just our group left at the end, we say our private goodbyes to Skylar. She’s
getting on a plane first thing in the morning. There’s a tiny part of me that’s been bracing for this moment. For my own painful
goodbye to my best friend, the woman who helped me through some of the hardest times of my life. And for Nic’s goodbye, too.
After everything, I’ve been worried... but I shouldn’t have been. They hug each other so tight, and there are tears and
quiet words. The word sister is whispered between them.
Then, we leave—together—and Nic takes me home to her place and pulls me out of the dress that tempted her so at the bridal
boutique.
When you have a big, emotional ending in life, it helps to have a new beginning to look forward to. I think back to Gabe,
to the tarot reading, and to that Ace of Cups at the end of my spread—new love, a cup overflowing.
I look down at my Ace of Cups, her cheeks flushed and hair spilling over the pillow... and I drink deeply.
I have a feeling my cup will never be empty again.