Shift the Tide (Latitude & Longing #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Kiera

Even asleep, Kiera couldn’t stop running toward something she might never have. She was barefoot on cheap carpet, swaying to music she couldn’t quite place. Izzy was in front of her, close enough to touch, with a red Solo cup in one hand, her hand resting lightly on Kiera’s hip. The room was crowded, overheated. The music pulsed through the floorboards, but they were still, eyes locked.

When Izzy leaned in, Kiera didn’t flinch. She kissed her back like she’d been waiting for it, like nothing else mattered. It was slow and certain and just a little messy. They smiled into it.

Then the sweetness in the air shifted. The music faded. Something too bright crept in around the edges…

Kiera opened her eyes to the scent of incense curling against her nose, sweet and leathery.

She stared at the ceiling for a long moment, still half-dreaming. Then came the singing. Off-key, far too enthusiastic. Her dad, down in the kitchen, launching into “Here Comes the Sun” with the kind of energy usually reserved for toddlers and Broadway auditions.

The pillow muffled her groan as she pulled it over her face.

She stayed like that for a few seconds longer before forcing herself upright. The mirror caught her as she passed: loose t-shirt, yesterday’s mascara, a smudge of dried toothpaste from someone’s small hand on her shoulder. She rubbed at it without much conviction.

Downstairs, the day was already in full swing. Her mom stirred oatmeal on the stove with quiet focus, the incense stick anchored in a mug that said World’s Okayest Mom. Her dad was crouched beside the fridge, balancing on the balls of his feet like he was about to leap into a yoga pose.

“Morning, Sunshine,” he said cheerfully.

“Barely,” Kiera muttered, heading straight for the coffee maker.

Kiera’s mom, ever the devoted herbal tea drinker, gave her a look as she poured herself a generous cup of coffee. “You know, caffeine just adds to your stress levels.”

“So does existing,” Kiera said, taking a deep sip.

Eliza burst in a moment later, crayon drawing in hand, her cheeks pink with excitement. “Mama! I made you something.”

Kiera set down her mug. The paper was an explosion of marker colors, purples and golds, with two figures in the center with dark hair and a glittery crown.

“We’re fairy queens,” Eliza explained proudly.

“Of course we are,” Kiera said, pulling Eliza in for a quick forehead kiss. “And it’s beautiful .”

Quinn arrived just behind her, dragging a blanket and clutching a scribbled mass of green and black lines.

“I’m a monster truck,” she announced.

Kiera nodded in quiet agreement, giving Quinn’s hair a ruffle. “Well, naturally. I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

They settled at the table. Her dad produced strawberries from the fridge like a magician pulling scarves from a sleeve. Her mom set bowls down with soft clinks and gave Kiera a familiar glance — the kind that meant, What’s your plan today?

Before the question came, Kiera preempted it. “Same as yesterday. Apply for jobs. Wait for the universe to respond.”

“You could call the co-op,” her mom said, not unkindly.

“I could.”

The silence that followed wasn’t hostile. Just familiar.

After breakfast, the girls migrated to the living room and began rearranging couch cushions with single-minded purpose. Their voices rose and overlapped — Eliza demanding structural integrity, Quinn arguing for more aesthetic sparkle. Kiera sipped her coffee and let them build.

She opened her laptop at the dining table, the screen lighting up to the same set of open tabs she’d left the night before: district job boards, a half-filled spreadsheet of application deadlines and dead ends.

Her inbox had two new emails. One was a coupon for a local pizza place. The other was from a charter school she didn’t remember applying to.

She opened it anyway.

Thank you for your interest... At this time, we have decided to move forward with other candidates.

Kiera cleared the table while her parents shifted into small talk. Her dad launched into a summary of a documentary on sustainable farming he’d watched the night before—something about vertical gardens and aquaponics. Her mom nodded along, skeptical but patient.

It was all normal. All familiar.

Still, Kiera felt miles away from herself.

In the living room, Eliza and Quinn were mid-construction, balancing throw pillows between dining chairs, the couch, and an ottoman that had already been commandeered as a throne. Kiera leaned in to help, draping a blanket higher than Eliza could reach.

They beamed at her like she'd built it single-handedly.

There were moments, like this one, where the noise in her head softened. Where their laughter filled up the room enough to drown out the rest. They were okay. That was something.

Resilient in a way only children could be, Kiera thought. They took each change in stride — new house, new school, new rules — and somehow still found ways to delight in it. She envied that ease. That capacity for bounce-back. Hers had long since eroded.

Eliza knelt beside her, folding another blanket with serious concentration. The same curve to her brow, the same clipped way she pressed her mouth when she focused — it was like looking at a younger version of herself. Quinn, on the other hand, was all chaos and stubborn joy, more like her father than Kiera liked to admit.

Kiera sat back on her heels, watching them.

The divorce hadn’t been contentious. That, in its own way, had been worse. Alex had stayed in Omaha, entirely fine with Kiera taking the girls to Denver. He hadn’t fought her on custody, hadn’t fought her on much of anything. He’d agreed to split the house sale evenly and start over with his new life, his new girlfriend, his version of a clean slate.

Kiera had walked away with the girls and not an ounce of regret.

Sometimes she thought that should’ve felt like a win. Other times it just felt like abandonment.

She’d refused alimony. Aunt Jade had offered to help, of course — had paid for the legal side of it all without blinking — but Kiera hadn’t let her pay for anything beyond that. She couldn’t. Not even when Aunt Jade had dangled the promise of a down payment.

Without a steady job, signing a lease or taking on a mortgage felt reckless. So she’d stayed. Her childhood home turned into something temporary but indefinite, her parents reminding her daily, in small ways, that she was welcome, that she had time.

In return, she cooked. Cleaned. Folded everyone’s laundry while the girls were at school or when she wasn’t picking up a sub shift. She made it work. Or tried to.

Her phone buzzed from the coffee table.

A message from Maggie.

Maggie

Hey! What time do you get in on Friday? Can’t wait to see you!

Kiera picked it up slowly, thumb hovering. The trip had sounded like a good idea when it was just an idea. A beach house in San Diego. Ocean air. Her old college friends, Maggie, Danica, Pete, and Izzy. Her parents had practically forced her to go, promising they’d manage everything here. That it would be good for her.

Now it felt less like a vacation and more like a performance.

Kiera

Hey. I get in around 2 p.m. Can’t wait to see you, too.

It wasn’t a lie. But it also wasn’t the full truth.

Another buzz.

Danica

Hey, I wanted to check in before the trip. You’re coming right?

Kiera’s stomach tightened. She hadn’t expected to feel nervous about hearing from Danica, but there it was, the familiar worry and shame.

They used to talk every day. Now, messages like this carried the careful tone of people still holding one another at arm’s length.

Danica had been her anchor for years, the person she called when things cracked or collapsed. But lately, their conversations felt careful, like their connection was fragile and precarious all at once.

She thought about Telluride. About how fast everything had unraveled. Back then, she hadn’t known Danica had broken off her engagement. She’d only seen the way Danica and Pete moved around each other — too close, too easy — and something in her had buckled. It had reminded her of the lie she’d lived in for so long with her husband’s affair, of holiday parties and polite smiles, of everyone knowing before she did.

So she’d done something she couldn’t take back. She’d reached out to Danica’s ex, told him maybe he should come. At the time, it had felt like the right thing — like fairness. Like truth.

She hadn’t meant to hurt anyone, but intentions didn’t matter much after impact.

She hadn’t known it was betrayal until it was too late. And even now, the weight of it lingered. Quiet. Unresolved.

She typed out a reply, slow and measured.

Kiera

Yeah, I’m excited to be there. It’ll be a nice break from real life.

Danica responded almost immediately.

Danica

Seriously. Work’s been crazy. Looking forward to this weekend, though. It’ll be good to see everyone.

Kiera hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard. She started to type Looking forward to reconnecting, then deleted it.

Kiera

Yeah, it will.

She placed the phone face-down and leaned back into the couch. The room felt quieter now, despite the continued rustling and chatter from the fort-in-progress.

She couldn’t shake the sense that this trip was less about fun and more about proving something—to them, maybe even to herself. That she could still be part of the group. That she could belong, despite what happened.

Despite Izzy.

Later that afternoon, Kiera sat on the floor of her childhood bedroom, legs crossed beside the open suitcase on the bed. Clothes were half-folded, half-forgotten in small piles—tank tops, a swimsuit she hadn’t worn in years, a dress she wasn’t sure still fit.

She wasn’t thinking about packing. Not really.

Her thoughts circled Izzy, uninvited and persistent. She hadn’t meant to dwell. But the quiet of the room made it harder to ignore the knot in her stomach, the flickers of memory that caught her off guard.

Izzy hadn’t reached out. Not since Kiera had called her in a panic, asking how she could make things right between Danica and Pete, and they’d conspired to get the two back together. Now, a year later, Kiera had been too ashamed to make the first move. That silence had settled between them like dust, coating everything with a thin layer of discomfort.

The idea of seeing Izzy again — of sharing a house, a table, a conversation — made Kiera’s palms sweat. Would Izzy still look at her like she was someone to be tolerated more than trusted? Would she look at her at all?

Kiera tried to picture the version of Izzy she remembered best — head tilted, lips curled into a half-smile, that rare, genuine laugh that softened everything sharp about her. It came back a little too easily.

She folded a shirt more forcefully than necessary and muttered under her breath, “It’s not about Izzy.” But it was, a little. It always had been.

Her gaze drifted toward the dresser. A photo sat in a slim white frame — her and Danica on the Oval at CSU, arms slung around each other, mid-laugh, wind-tossed and sun-drenched. They looked like people who still believed everything would work out.

She didn’t feel like that person anymore.

A quiet knock broke the stillness. Her mom stepped into the room holding a mug.

“I thought you could use this,” she said, setting the tea down on the nightstand.

“Thanks,” Kiera murmured.

Her mom sat beside her, folding her legs like she might stay a while. “The universe will provide a path forward. Have you been practicing that manifestation ritual I taught you?”

Kiera arched a brow. “The one where I write, ‘I will get the teaching position of my dreams’ a hundred times a day?”

Her mom gave her a look, both amused and unimpressed. “I wonder what I did in a past life to raise such a skeptical daughter.”

“You probably manifested me wrong,” Kiera said dryly, and her mom laughed.

“Now, why are you moping in here instead of playing Scrabble with us?”

“I’m not moping.”

“You love beating us at Scrabble, honey.”

“I’m just packing,” Kiera said, though she hadn’t made much progress.

Her mom followed her gaze to the photo on the dresser, her expression shifting into something gentler. “Are you excited to see everyone this weekend?”

“Of course,” Kiera said automatically.

Her mom didn’t push, just nodded. “Tonya always says to look ahead.”

Kiera blinked. “Who’s Tonya?”

Her mom looked exasperated. “My new spiritual guide. I’ve told you about her. We meet over Zoom.”

Kiera gave her a long, blank look.

Her mom sighed. “Anyway, Tonya says the future responds best to clarity. You just need to decide what you want.”

“I’m trying,” Kiera said. “But it’s hard to look ahead when I feel like I’m failing the girls. And when it seems like I’ve disappointed everyone I care about.”

Her mom didn’t hesitate. “You’re not failing them. You’re doing your best. They’re happy, Kiera. That’s what matters. And as for disappointment? Never. Surprised, sometimes,” she added with a smirk. “But never disappointed.”

Kiera blinked back sudden tears.

“If those women are truly your friends,” her mom continued, “you’ll find your way back to each other. This weekend could be the start of that.”

“I hope so,” Kiera said, her voice thinner than she meant it to be. She turned back to her suitcase. The packing still wasn’t done. But the tea was warm, and the silence felt a little less heavy than before.

Her mom gave her hand a gentle squeeze and stood. “And if you need your dad and me to come pick you up from the slumber party early, just say the word.”

Kiera snorted softly. “Mom, that was one time.”