Chapter 14 Kira/Landon
KIRA/LANDON
The Burrow Bitches
Ariadne: When was the last time you saw your parents?
Britney: bring me back some cheese!
Macey: Britney you’re lactose intolerant
Britney: cheese is worth the sacrifice
Kira
Sometimes I saw life as a string of random moments—no pattern, no purpose, just chaos stitched together by time.
Other days, I couldn’t ignore how certain events aligned too perfectly to be pure chance.
Like maybe the universe was less random than I gave it credit for.
Maybe some moments weren’t accidents at all but quiet nudges that happened one after the other for a reason.
Today felt like one of those days.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. There must be an unspoken rule that economy seats must be hard enough to convince you to splurge on business class on the next flight. Unfortunately for the airline’s pockets and my ass, that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon.
It had been a few months since I’d last seen my parents.
I had meant to visit sooner, especially after Dad’s irregular heartbeat diagnosis.
He was fine overall, and I spoke with him regularly, but things like that made me realize how little time we had.
How important it was to cherish the moments we still had to spend together.
Not that I wasn’t looking forward to seeing Mom, too, but there was always something more with her. An extra step I had to take to impress her. Another step in my makeup routine to get the compliment. A promotion to make her proud. It was always about getting to the next level.
What my mother didn’t realize was that I was more than happy staying where I was.
I didn’t need to get to the next level in life in order to be successful.
I’d seen too many people waste their time and energy, thinking something better would be on the other side, only to realize they’d brought their problems with them.
No matter where you go, you’ll still be yourself. All insecurities and thoughts included.
I would know. Landon and I had reconnected two months ago, and even though things in my life were going through dramatic changes, the core of my issues remained. Landon and I had messed things up once. Who was to say we wouldn’t do it again?
As if last night’s argument with him wasn’t bad enough—with him literally accusing my mother of interfering with our relationship—I forced myself to replay it in my head over and over as I flew to my parents’ house in Wisconsin.
By pure coincidence, I already had a trip planned to visit.
I needed their help with my second piece for the residency application.
My phone buzzed with a text. The airline’s seats might be uncomfortable, but at least they had free Wi-Fi.
Dad: Dear little tree ur mom & I r so excited to see u soon! Mom wants to hear about the job but I want to hear about the art program ur applying to. Love, Dad
My mother and I had reminded him so many times that texts weren’t charged by character count, so he could spell out you and are. But despite the fact he thought he was paying extra pennies for each letter, he never failed to start a text with dear little tree and end it with love, Dad.
He started calling me little tree when I was a little girl. It was a reminder that you only needed to be rooted to yourself, not a place, to grow. He encouraged me to take up space like a tree: “Grow slowly for yourself until one day, everyone notices.”
I wrote back quickly, sending him my love and telling him I’d see him soon. I loved my parents and was excited to see them.
So why did my stomach feel like it was trying to tie itself in knots?
I stared out the window at nothing, unable to stop thinking about the rooftop. About Landon. About what he said.
The letter.
The words kept ringing in my ears, over and over. “You blocked my number…so I wrote you a whole letter.”
I wanted to believe he was lying. That would’ve been easier and cleaner. I could protect my anger like a precious thing, keep the sharp edges intact. But the look on his face when he said it—the confusion, the ache—it didn’t feel like a lie.
I’m sorry. The two words written on paper, in Landon’s familiar scrawl.
But what if there had been more?
My hands curled into fists in my lap. I didn’t want to accuse my mom of something so awful. She was complicated, sure. Protective. Controlling, sometimes. But this? Hiding a letter from me? It seemed far too dramatic.
It wouldn’t have been the first time she’d tried to steer me away from Landon. I used to think it was because she didn’t understand him. Now I wasn’t so sure she ever tried to.
Would she have read it? Made a decision on my behalf? Thought she was sparing me heartbreak? Or worse, thought he wasn’t worth the second chance?
I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted metal. The thought burned in my chest.
I wasn’t sure what the truth was. Maybe this was just Landon rewriting history to ease his guilt. Still, I had to figure it out. Even if it broke something open that I couldn’t put back together.
The bus to my parents’ house was quick and easy. I told them not to worry about picking me up. I had always been a bit of a nerd for public transportation.
The Wisconsin air had a biting chill, still unfamiliar to me. I stood on the porch of my parents’ new home, the red door staring back at me like a warning. I shifted the overnight bag on my shoulder and noticed a new garden of colorful flowers in the front yard.
I had barely lifted my knuckles off the door when it opened.
“Little tree!” Dad pulled me into a bear hug. He was tall and broad, with the kind of sturdy build that suggested he’d spent years working with his hands. His flannel shirt was tucked into well-worn jeans, and his thick-soled boots scuffed the hardwood as he stepped forward.
“Hi, Dad.” I laughed as I hugged him back.
The warmth of the house hit me instantly, carrying the comforting scents of kimchi and fried food. A pang of nostalgia engulfed me. It smelled just like it did in my childhood home, back when Landon and I were teenagers sneaking kisses in the backyard.
Mom loved to cook, and she was talented in the kitchen. If only that gene had passed on to me. Baking, on the other hand, I could manage.
“Kira,” a sharp voice called from the kitchen. Mom appeared in the doorway, her expression controlled, her gaze slicing through the air as it landed on me. “You’re finally here.”
In many ways, she was the opposite of her husband: petite and sharp-featured, with dark hair pulled into a tight bun that emphasized the fine lines around her piercing hazel eyes.
She wore a neatly pressed sweater and slacks, and the only hint of warmth on her face was the faint pink flush on her cheeks.
However, she was similar to Dad in other ways. They both had a drive unlike any other, a dedication to bettering themselves that knew no bounds. They both loved deeply and for long, committed to each other and to family.
“Hi, Mom.” I walked over to give her a hug. I was only an inch or two taller than her. Mom returned the hug briefly.
“You made it in time for lunch. Come help me finish setting the table,” she said, already turning back.
In the kitchen, the air was warm with steam and spiced oil.
Mom moved efficiently, but there was a tightness to her motions—chopping scallions too fast, stacking plates with a bit more force than necessary.
The rice cooker clicked as it finished, and she opened it with a puff of steam. My stomach growled on cue.
I didn’t need a microscope to see what was really bothering her.
She wasn’t happy when I mentioned applying for the art residency program, and that was what brought me here today. At least as far as she knew.
“So,” she said finally, spooning kimchi into a porcelain bowl, “what will you be painting while you’re here this weekend?”
“Not painting—drawing.” I took the bowl from her and set it on the table. “With charcoal. I have a few ideas I wanted to talk to you and Dad about.”
“Hmm,” she muttered, focusing on the grilled chicken. She said it like she was entertaining a toddler’s fantasy. “Why are you bothering with that echo room residency again?”
I swallowed the sigh climbing up my throat. “The Chicago Echo Studio Art Residency is a solid program. It’s a good opportunity for me.” I hesitated a beat. “It was Landon’s idea.”
The plate of chicken slipped from her hands and shattered on the kitchen tile.
For a second, all I could hear was the sharp intake of breath between us and the ticking of the stove burner.
“Shit,” I said under my breath, reaching for the broom. Good job, Kira.
Her eyes snapped to mine. “Landon Cole?”
She didn’t bend down to help, just stood frozen in place, her hands still hovering midair like she hadn’t quite registered the noise.
“Kira,” she said, voice sharper now, “how long have you been talking to Landon again? Have you forgotten how badly he treated you?”
I straightened with the dustpan, pressing my lips together before I answered. “Just a few months. He moved back to Chicago. We’ve been friendly.”
Two friends who shared a kiss.
Her expression shifted, shock giving way to something else. Something between reluctant acceptance and pure exasperation.
“It all makes sense now. You wouldn’t even be applying for this ridiculous residency if it weren’t for that boy,” she snapped. “It’s like he waltzed back into your life with a bat and is trying to wreck it all over again.”
I stared at her, the weight of her words landing harder than the broken ceramic at our feet.
“He’s not holding a bat to my head to make me apply. He’s encouraging me, but he doesn’t make me do anything. And would it really be wrecking my life if I got into the residency?”
“You didn’t have any of these thoughts until Landon came back,” she insisted. “You have a good, stable job, with a promotion coming. One that will keep you secure for years to come—”